I wake up suddenly and super alert at 4:30 am. But I’m not ready to be awake. I say a quick prayer, “God if there’s anything you need to tell me this early, I’m ready to hear it.”
Then I slip into dreamland again. I dream that we decide to move every piece of furniture we own into our bedroom. Why is it that I always have the weirdest dreams between 4-6 am?
Just before 6, Persephone whines at our door. Why doesn’t Griffin ever seem to hear her anymore? I think as I nearly fall out of our bed to let her out. Why was I sleeping so close to the edge?
I watch as she paces the yard, carefully trying to find a spot to pee. She almost pees three times before she finally picks a different spot. Why does it seem to take her so long when I want to go back to bed? Is that how God feels sometimes watching me? Wondering if I’m ever going to make a choice so we can both get on with the day.
“It’s going to be a good day, somehow,” I whisper my new mantra to myself, watching our dog run through the yard. The early morning sprinklers making the cool morning air remind me of all the reasons that I love summer.
The warm days.
The early sunrise.
The smell of freshly cut grass nearly every single weekend.
Lazy mornings. Late evenings together.
Standing there wondering if I’m going to have to call Persephone back in now that’s she’s done or if she’ll come on her own, my mind slips easily into my childhood.
I wonder, how can I make Von have these same feelings too so that she looks back on her summers growing up fondly?
I really want to help her see the mundane as charming and adventurous, even when maybe it’s not. I think life is more about creating your own adventure or making your own magic, I used to do that all the time.
. . . . .
Later, Von’s playing on the windowsill and I’m watching another episode of my Gilmore Girl’s rewatch when she looks at me holding her Minnie Mouse toys in her hands, “Mommy, can I go play with these in the tub and wear my swimsuit?” I tell her yes. It’s not quite bedtime for her, so she can play for a while.
I listen to her chatter as she talks, playing pretend with her little people (er, mice).
“Why?” she asks me, when I tell her (for the millionth time) that drinking bath water isn’t the greatest idea. She agrees, half-heartedly and then goes back to playing. “We’re going to save this cup of mug for later.” I don’t think I’ll ever try to correct her when she says things wrong, it just makes my heart soften so much.
She’ll play for a few more minutes, and cry when it’s time to get out. I’ll remind her that she can play again tomorrow, but by tomorrow she’ll have some new adventure on her mind.
And as I watch her eyes light up as she plays in the water, I can’t help but wonder if making her life more magical or a bigger adventure will be easier than I thought, since she’s already living that world on her own.
. . . . .
#40daysofwritingtheeveryday day 4 | find the writing challenge here.