I knew my daughter's teacher was a brilliant woman when she explained that she has her class run a "marathon" throughout the year. Every morning as soon as the opening announcements are over, the class goes outside and runs laps around an adjacent field for ten minutes. She's measured off a circuit for them that's 1/10th of a mile, and she keeps track of everyone's laps. There's a big bar graph on the wall outside the classroom showing how many laps each child has completed toward the ultimate goal of 262--the 26.2 miles of a marathon.
Parents who want to stick around after drop off can run with their kids, but I usually have to race back to the car to get my son to his school on time. Today, though, his dad was available to drive him, so I stayed behind to run.
My youngest has this habit of saying "Mommy? . . ." and letting it trail off like she forgot what she was going to say. When I say, "Yes, baby?" She says, "I love you." It happens at random moments, apropos of nothing, probably 20 times a day: when we're walking to the car from the grocery store, or when she comes in the kitchen while I'm ironing, or when I'm sitting at my computer like I am now. I always smile and say, "I love you, too, little one," before she picks back up whatever she was doing.
Today as we ran (6 laps!), she must have told me she loved me ten times. She is so earnest, and the way she lets love spill out of her and wash over me makes me want to drop to my knees right there in the parking lot or the kitchen or on the field next to her school. Life is hard for the lovers of this world--oh, man, do I ever know that--but it is beautiful and sweet, too.
Just like this little face.
Mother, photographer, writer. Expert in making things up as she goes and figuring things out along the way.