By 8:00 this morning I could just tell.
I could see the look in her eyes every time they darted for a painful second to meet mine.
All I had to do was ask her if she was OK,
and before I knew it, she broke down crying.
As I sat with her on the edge of her bed, with tear-rimmed eyes and a voice that sounded like it would crumble, she told me that maybe she’s just having a hard time with getting back in the flow of school, and the feeling of the hustle.
She said that she didn’t really know all that was wrong,
but I could have named a list that kept going.
These kids right now are dealing with more than we realize.
They bear the weight of a world in a crisis on shoulders that weren’t built for much more than a shake when they giggle at a sleepover.
If quarantine had taught me anything, though, it’s the healing balm of just stepping back, and pulling away a bit from the schedule;
So today, merely two weeks into the first days back in school in a year and a half,
I called the school office and reported she would be absent.
Today I took Chloe, age 14, to the local children’s museum.
As we pulled in, in a still-shaken voice that was trying to lift, she talked about all the things about it she remembered.
The last time she’d been there she was much smaller; still playing little girl games.
Time has passed, and she’s traded so much little for all of her bigger girl things;
But today I took my girl to a safe place where she could remember how life used to be:
Sidewalk chalk,
and shadow silhouettes.
Wooden toys, and bright bits of paper.
Most other kids there only came to her knees.
She no longer fit on the tricycles.
She played with her sister, and she sat in the sun, and she built a wood scrap city with me in silence;
And there in the sun, by the butterfly sculpture,
I watched as her stress faded into the lullaby wind chime music,
drifting up up and away over the top of the play structure.
Nothing matters more than my girls’ mental health to me.
No plans we have, or any grades they are given.
Today I let my daughter remember a her that she thought had long passed;
One that twirls, and smiles, and feels inspired.
I said “hush” to the voice telling her she should act her age,
And replaced it with the memory of her own voice calling out,
“Higher! Push me higher!”
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
