Monday Morning

Yesterday, I spent the morning, as I do every Monday, watching Story. Monday was gorgeous in the morning. I walked to Sharon’s place, the sun shining and the air warm enough for a light sweater. Spring seemed inevitable, which made me feel relaxed and excited all at once.

After Sharon left for her mom’s group, Story and I went outside and played in the wind. A series of pavers led from the porch to an aboveground pool, and Story “jumped” from stone to stone—which meant, really, that she stepped from one stone to another, then paused, then kind of bounced while saying, “Jump! Jump!”

I thought, this is life for her. This is life—a backyard on a day when spring seems inevitable, a series of pavers to “jump” on, the wind. And I wanted to surround her and protect her from everything else, from everything that is not a backyard on a day that feels like spring.

She’s not yet two. She won’t remember these mornings with me. She won’t remember running in the yard, she won’t remember the time I picked her up and spun and spun and spun. But I hope that when she’s older she’ll have a sense, somewhere deep within her, of being loved, of being protected, of being cared for. That when she sees me she will know, even without an image, that we spent mornings together in between seasons, when it was not quite winter and not quite spring.