She crawled into my lap amidst all the background noise, dishes clinking against each other and water hissing into the sink &muted laughter from the front porch with small feet pounding up and down the stairs.
"Braids!" she declared and reached for her sister's hair.
She twisted out of my arms and gently tugged the dangling braids that draped nearby. "Need my hair like this!" So her sister reached out and took her. Within minutes her body was warm against my knees again, hair neatly braided, She yawned and asked to cuddle.
Quietly my little brunette interrupted to ask for kisses goodnight and then her small tread could be heard on the stairs.
My baby snuggled against me while I clicked, typed and clicked some more. Her body grew heavier and leaned deeper into me.
Soon all that could be heard were quiet breaths, the occasional click of the mouse and voices subdued on the front porch.
The house was filled with sleep.
Childhood Vignettes
Friday, May 27, 2011
Read me a story.... please?
I felt a little tap on my elbow calling my attention away from the screen - I shifted slightly and turned my head and was greeted by a solemn face that was haloed by golden curls cascading down around her shoulders and framing her face. Golden brows furrowed and my daughter lisped "will you read me a story?' hope steeped in every word. A book dangled by her side and her deep brown eyes locked on mine - willing me to say yes.
My eyes still locked on her face, I could none the less see the mental image of my computer screen and the work upon it. She leaned into me just a little and whispered: "Please!"
Torn between my work and the idea that I held the weight of her world in my hands, I hesitated. Her eyes, deep pools of brown, held me in her stare.
It was just a book, a passing, fleeting moment in her life. Why did it matter so much to her?. A few words on paper accompanied by pictures. It mattered not if they were works of art caught between the two covers or carelessly scribbled cartoons. What she was seeking was not so much storytime as mummy time - my time. Would I give it her?
Slowly I stretched out my hand and reached for her book and a smile stretched across her face - greeting my smile. She scrambled quickly onto my lap and melted into my body; fitting comfortably between my two arms as I held the book in front of us. I opened its cover and slid my finger slowly down the page flipping it over to reveal the first words. "Once Upon a time...."
My eyes still locked on her face, I could none the less see the mental image of my computer screen and the work upon it. She leaned into me just a little and whispered: "Please!"
Torn between my work and the idea that I held the weight of her world in my hands, I hesitated. Her eyes, deep pools of brown, held me in her stare.
It was just a book, a passing, fleeting moment in her life. Why did it matter so much to her?. A few words on paper accompanied by pictures. It mattered not if they were works of art caught between the two covers or carelessly scribbled cartoons. What she was seeking was not so much storytime as mummy time - my time. Would I give it her?
Slowly I stretched out my hand and reached for her book and a smile stretched across her face - greeting my smile. She scrambled quickly onto my lap and melted into my body; fitting comfortably between my two arms as I held the book in front of us. I opened its cover and slid my finger slowly down the page flipping it over to reveal the first words. "Once Upon a time...."
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