The quiet moments, the you and me moments are few and far between these days, my girl. When we have them I feel like they’re stolen. If your brother were to know we were perched in the kitchen, drawing and writing together, munching on chocolate chips while he finished up his nap (and hollered for us a few times too many) he would surely splay himself out on his back, wailing, as is his customary fit-pose these days.
But he didn’t know. And we pretended not to hear his quiet calling. At least for a few more secret minutes.
(look mommy, it’s me…with elbows!)
Watching you learn to write ignites a magical flickering fire in my heart. I’ve told your daddy for weeks now that if you would just listen to me I could teach you to write. To communicate! Before you and your brother and photography, it was my passion. Teaching young children who had something to say, to write it. Nothing brought me greater joy.
But as lovely and lovable as you are, you are also your mother’s daughter. Which means words of direction must be few and far between lest the pen go flying and the daggers from the eyes follow suit. I understand you, my child, even when it’s maddening. So I leave you in your own thoughtful world to draw yourself and your family and your elbows. With a sprinkling of moms and dads and sarahs here and there. Learning as you go. On your own.
But it’s coming. The strings of broken, disjointed consonants and vowels and the incessant how-do-you-spells. I’ll wait for you to ask me. Because I know that’s the only way true learning happens – in it’s own time.
And in the meantime I’ll be here to slyly mention on the way to school that Cobb is an easy name to spell. Aren’t we lucky! C-O-B-B!
And when I pick you up at the end of the morning and your teacher reports that you sat down first thing, grabbed a crayon and a color sheet and wrote proudly at the top of the page: S-A-R-A-H-C-O-B-B, I’ll be cool.
I wouldn’t want you to think I might have actually taught you something.
13 comments