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Little Bird

There's a girl who's been calling me. Little, bright, brown eyed one.
Fine boned is she, delicate outside and tenaciously tender to the core.

Yet she hungers, presses in to the side of me, and whispers
"Can we go today Mom? Will you pick me up?"

She knows our time is coming, stolen moments for a Mommy~Daughter
pair. With life so full of busyness, challenges to distract, this little flower
has been waiting, face upturned for the nourishment of attention. One
on one time for hearts to connect, eyes to meet, mouths to laugh, arms to hug,
and time to stand still.

I will go, for I see her yearning and I know that sweet anticipation of being
in the joyful presence of little heart who was birthed from mine. For sparkling eyes
and small strong arms to embrace so tightly.
I'm always so amazed by the strength of her hug as she reaches around my neck and
grabs me close each night, "One more hug Mommy. I love you tooo much." She whispers as I tuck her in.

Her name means Faithful and her middle name is Joy.

I am utterly and completely blessed.

And so I go.

She is waiting on the bench outside the office when I get to the school. Big smile and a hug and off we go.
"Where are we going Mommy?" she asks, and I say "To the park" with a smile back at her, tucked behind me in our car.
We arrive and choose to eat our picnic on a large rock. So we sit facing each other and thank God above for this day and this time to share, then dig into our bagels with cream cheese.
She's happy, I can tell, not overly chatty, just noticing and eating and being...being together.

This is what we came for isn't it.
We noticed a jay, bold in his blue attire, saucy with his jaunty crest, perched on a rail fence, then flapping his way into the tree above.
We discussed little things like what the poppyseed things were on her bagel, and how things are with Jesus...not so little.
After food we headed off to swings, not such a great prospect for a forty something Mom with a full belly, but after a few tries and a determination not to give into a dizzy head and woozy tummy, we were soaring.
She's like a butterfly this little one, so light that she's airborne in a matter of seconds, dark brown hair flying back from her face, revealing a great grin that erupts into laughter. "I'm going higher than you Mom" she laughs as she swings by me.
I begin pumping, ignoring my protesting head, and pretty soon we're both in the clouds, level with the top bar of the swing set, eye to eye with russet leaves adorning trees in the park.
"Oh that makes my tummy feel funny" I giggle out, "Does yours feel tickley too?" She screeches out her "yes".
Then we slow down, hop off and head to what we call the spiderweb, a network of ropes and poles built to climb on. So up we go. She shimmies up in seconds flat as I try to weave my adult body through the ropes. But then, there we both are again, up high, laughing like school girls.
It makes me think of that song "Love lifts us up where we belong, where the eagles fly, on the mountains high...".
Yes, a love song to be sure, but I love my daughter, and the choice to indulge and play together today is completely rooted in that love.

We clamber down. She swings herself along a set of monkey bars, with sinewy strength to match that of any boy, and then we're off for a quick walk in the woods. It's quiet and we enjoy the journey, just being together, holding hands, walking, talking about everything and nothing.

Then it's off to school again, and we're late, gloriously late, and I'm glad, because what she could have learned in school may or may not stay with her, but our time together today will always be a treasured memory.


Belinda said…
Always, always, you are right; a treasured memory.

What a wonderful moment in time, captured in a bottle of words. Thank you for the pleasure of sharing it.
Joyful Fox said…
Oh Ancat!

So well written, this captured snippet of treasure. It's a joy to hear of your mother daughter time!
Susan said…
"gloriously late"

I love it.
Angcat said…
'Captured in a bottle of words...'
I love it.
What an image.

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