perspective [or, some moments speak louder than others]

I sat at the dining room table, writing about joy, relishing the quiet while it lasted. I had been thinking about life and the oddness of it all, how some days the world feels heavier than others, even if we can’t articulate the reasons why. 

I was feeling tired, physically and emotionally, when she woke in from her nap.

The look on E’s face when she walks out of her room after a nap... I’m not sure how to explain it. It is some sort of magical mixture of contentment, determination, agenda, and evaporating fatigue. It is the best. 

And her hair. It is one of my favorite things in the world, the wildness of her hair upon waking.

She marched out of her room and beelined for me, another bonus of the post-nap ritual. But this time she walked past me and perched on the little table in the corner, blinking fast and surveying the room as if trying to get her bearings. I went over and sat on my knees in front of her, brushing the hair from her eyes. “How are you?”

Immediately, she popped up and walked straight into my arms, settling into my lap for what was easily one of the top eight hugs of all time.

“I want to give you some love, Mom.”

This made me so happy that I started to cry a little, and I said so.

“Oh, E, I really needed some love. How did you know?”

“I just knew, Mommy.”  And then, “You know, some people cry when they get so happy. Just like at bedtime when I cry sometimes, it’s because I’m so happy that I get to go to sleep.”

[Ummmm... Not so much. But can you imagine a more precious two-minute slice of time? Never.]

Then she asked if she could watch Sleeping Beauty.

Note to all the four-year-olds in the house: Follow the above instructions exactly, and you will get what you want. Every. Single. Time.