Thursday, August 29, 2013


We walked out to the garage that's getting too cluttered, and he enthusiastically waits to get into Mommy's truck. "Bubbles?" he asks, pointing at the TV screens. I reluctantly turn it on, what's supposed to be for extended road trips only.

We arrive at preschool and casually stroll in on the sidewalk, taking in the "twees," "rocks," and "watah" we spot along the way.

Confidently, he steps into the building introducing me to the "ishies" as though I never noticed the lobby fish tank before. We toddle down the hallway, legs high as if in a march.

No sooner I open the door to his classroom, his face crumples with overwhelm and he puts his arms up to me, to be held. "Hoed you," he begs.

"Momma, momma, momma," he exclaims in somewhat a nervous panic. The unfamiliar teacher throws him off his game lately.

I console him and show him toys, awaiting breakfast to be served.

"Ah," I exclaimed, "look, Reef, waffles and peaches." "No wahsohs (waffles)," he laments.

I softly explain that momma needs to go to work. "Momma work?" he responds. "Bye Momma bye," he follows.

It's like he thought it through and came to terms and let go. I learn from him.


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