Thursday, June 30, 2016

where my kid can be a kid

A friend brought her daughter over on a Friday night when my niece and nephew were spending the night and she remarked that our home was a place where kids could be kids. And nothing could have been a bigger compliment. 
I love seeing the little evidences of her everywhere. Her fingerprints on my laptop screen. Her toys in the bathtub. Even the former inconveniences are now smiles and reminders that I keep the coffee table top clear for her to put her coffee set and naked butt on when she runs around after bath time.
I don't want to hide her presence in any way. Nor of any child who enters my home.
Lyla left her mark on chalk "I love you Tia. You are my BFFF." 
I don't find any of her things ugly. They are hers and she likes them so they are treasure.
Here she pretends. Here she puts on a tiny glove then knows where in the kitchen the big ones are.
Opens and closes doors. Moves and spreads everything around in the day and mom tidies at night.
Not because I mind the mess. But so that she can make a fresh one every day.
And her messes can be the breadcrumbs of her playtime, showing me what I missed while away.
And the baskets are filled with her little friends that hug her when I can't be there myself.
She will be two next week. My baby. My toddler. My kid.

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