TEN.
10.
Double digits.
A decade.
A tenth of a century.
Like a dime.
Tiny but mighty.
This is a day for celebration right? Celebrating the things you can do, the things I never thought you would do like....
walk swim eat sleep pinch giggle.
But this is a day of mourning, a day that marks that time is steadily marching on, and somewhere, somehow, your brain hasn't figured out how to do all the little things that make a 10 year old so
typical.
And I've put to death those dreams of a pink ballerina, dolly clothes, fairy wings, dragon costumes, your singing voice, prom queen, and your white bridal gown.
I packed them up neatly in a wretched box, tied with a bow,
threw them in the attic where they're collecting
dust, webs and wings.
And every year I forget more and more about the box in the attic because I've created a new box for you, a basket of sorts where I'm collecting the new dreams.
One with all the colors of the rainbow,
popsicles,
sparkly objects,
fireworks,
Caribbean waters,
hot sand,
rushing wind,
rap music,
the Polar Express,
piano ballads,
bouncy horses,
smooth rocks,
and squishy spaghetti.
 |
| June's special birthday treat delivered at school today |
To put you in a box.
Prove me wrong, my girl.
Put those fairy wings on and fly.
Sing me the most beautiful song.
Ride your bike with me over the bridge,
into the sunset,
onto the little island
where we play all day in the hot sand
and recite prayers of
Thanksgiving
to the
Great I Am.
I've got time.
I've got a few more decades of time.
I think.
Your Daddy and Mommy love you our little Bug.
