…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

Go:

Turning off the shower and stepping out into the steamy bathroom I yawn. It’s too early and there is too much to do and my sinuses are pounding. It’s Friday and I have to be ready to leave for work in 30 minutes. I leave earlier than other weekday mornings so that I can return earlier and have a date with Lovey before daycare shuts down. Before we spend the weekend together as a family. The pain is worth the gain. But I miss the girls on these mornings. I miss driving Zuzu in to school and hearing the thoughts that are forming in her head, her life, her world. I miss being together. It’s these moments where it is just the two of us that I’m most likely to hear what she’s proud of, what she’s afraid of, what she plans to eat, and say, and do that day. It’s 10 minutes together and it tells me more about her then the other 23 hours and 50 minutes combined. 

“Does weather come from God or science Momma?”

“I’m scared that my teacher is getting married Momma.”

“Lucy is my best friend Momma. I’m going to play with her at recess.”

“JW got into purple Momma. He gets into purple more than anyone. I’m going to get into purple today.”

“I’m in the hard reading group now and that means that I get to pick non-fiction books.”

“I’m scared to be in the hard reading group Momma. The books are too hard.”

“Erika & Julia don’t want to play with me Momma.”

“I don’t like Monday afternoons. There’s no one to play with once the Quail goes to therapy.”

“I broke my record yesterday and got all my homework for the week done.”

“Everyone else is going to be lunchbox on the field trip Momma. I’m the only one with a school lunch. Please?”

Pushing a brush through my wet hair I peek through the bathroom door and see Lovey sitting at the computer with the Quail on his lap. She has her arms wrapped around his neck and his eyes are closed. The rest of the house is still.  I smile and quietly close the door shut hoping she won’t see me yet. I know that hug. It goes to who she runs into when she first wakes. When she comes to life and starts to tick off the morning activities on her small fingers. Before her will collides with our need. Before chaos and rush and petulance settles in feathering our best laid intentions.

When I finally leave the bathroom the office is quiet and I hear the sound of the small whistle float from the living room. Lovey and the Quail run through the daily “bite-bites”, the small acts that create big words. I move around the periphery of the house willing the baby and Zuzu to stay asleep and the Quail to cooperate while my coffee pours quickly and I escape back to the computer for a few minutes to be alone, before we are again, together.

Stop.