Somedays it's the little things that keep ya' going...

Some days the sunshine is all that tethers me to sanity.  Some days it's the small precious conversations with Kate; those delightful moments of joy that she hands me as she tells me a story, takes my hand on a walk, or finds me a "leaf of the day".  The other day we were walking home from the new school and discussing the big events of the day.  She had called in the late morning and I missed the call, but since she's the only one of my kids without the teen requisite electronic appendage (otherwise known as a cellphone) it was fairly easy to deduce which of my little ones would be calling from the "Bellingham School District".  So as we began our amble home I started out by asking her if she had called me from school.  "Oh yes," she said.  "I was in trouble."  Off to a great start for the new school year.  So, all patience and motherly cool reserve, I asked what for, wondering if choking would make another appearance, and if we'd have to seek help for our nine year old.  They don't promote very many anger control classes for such juvenile (all be it diminuative and terribly cute) offenders.  "Oh," she said, "I wasn't doing my work.  But, I got it together and Madison helped me, with my cursive.  Not the Madison you know.  Not Madison U. and NOT Madison Ryan, she's way to OLD to go to my school, but another Madison."  As clear as Madison Mud or Madison Soup.  But, she was pleased she pulled herself up out of the pit with the help of a friend.

     On just about any walk we look for a rock of the day.  The rock of the day is generally a rock that appeals to us in some way that we collect from the roadside or forest and relocate to the Bernal rock collection.  On the way home from school that day Kate delighted me by finding a great big fallen maple leaf, green with delicate flecks of yellow, and collecting it as the "leaf of the day", which she promptly stuck in my ponytail.  So, for most of our walk down Yew St. hill I looked like I was trying for some weird,  slightly ridiculous, quasi-indian head dress.  But,  oddly enough, I wore I proudly.  It said that one of my kids loves me unreservedly; that she  still like to walk with me and even decorate me.  What's more she didn't think I looked ridiculous.  She said I looked beautiful.  With my indian princess ponytail, my smile, my dog, and my girl, I didn't care what anybody else thought as they hurried past us.  I was completely happy.  For the moment...