SOL 11: Art

But I don’t wanna go to bed. The sun is still up.

Daylight savings time is killer on a toddler’s routine. She gets out of her bed every 10-15 minutes until close to 9:30. Tomorrow morning is going to be awful. I need to wake her at 6:00 AM when her little body still thinks it’s 5:00 AM.

Come morning, I bribe her to get out of bed with the promise of some TV before we leave…as long as she gets a move on.

It’s not time to go to school, Mama. It’s too dark outside.

She’s right. Just last week the sun threatened to burn a hole through your eyes when we pulled from the garage. Leaving home in the dark has a certain kind of eeriness about it…so much more so than coming home in the dark.

Along our way to school, the sky begins to brighten and we can see the trucks hauling their cargo beside us. It’s a new favorite game of ours.

What’s in that truck, Mom?

I think it’s a whole bunch of balloons.

And that one?

It must be macaroni and cheese.

It’s a fun game that began one day when she saw a large salad painted onto the side of a semi as we traveled our familiar route.

Look. God is painting the sky this morning.

When I look at the horizon, my heart stops. She’s right. It’s so beautiful that it could only have been created by God.

I think my Angels are helping him. They like to paint.

These are such wise words from a child who has never really spent a Sunday morning in church. Although we talk about God and she unfortunately is all too familiar with angels, we don’t attend any sort of formal religious services. We pray pretty regularly a simple prayer of Thank you, God, for…and please keep safe… Of course, we talk about our Angel Grandmas–we have all too many of those. Although we are fortunate to have many Grandfathers, we are light on Grandmas as they have all been called to heaven much earlier than anyone could have ever anticipated.

My Angels are good painters. Do you see all that pink, Mama? That’s my favorite color. They know that. They are painting for me.

I’m sure they are, Little One. I’m sure they are.

I am writing for the 2019 March Slice of Life Challenge

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SOL 10: Sunday Dinner Date

I have a date today. He’s a tall, handsome, older gentleman with envious silver hair. He would be described by those of his generation as a silver fox. He’s retired and treats me well. He buys me dinner every Sunday at his favorite restaurant.

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SOL 5: But how do they get out?

On our way to school, McK and I chit-chat about all sorts of things. Sometimes we talk about her friends or music. Sometimes we listen to my favorite podcast if the topic is appropriate. Sometimes we listen to her favorite podcast to hear a good story. Sometimes we play an epic game of I spy…

Today, though, she caught me off guard. I heard a quiet question from the back and turned down Thunder so I could make out what she was saying.

Mama? How do babies get out of the mamas’ tummies?

I’ve been dreading this question. I could say something like magic or I don’t know. But I’ve been firm about telling her I would never lie so I feel like I need to be honest here.

How do you think they get out? Maybe I’ve dodged a bullet.

Nope! I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you. How did G and me get out of your belly?

Well, the doctor helps the baby come out. I’m hoping it’s a sufficient answer that is truthful enough that she cannot call me out on it when she learns the whole story.

But how do they get out?

I sat in silence for a few moments. She asked again. I took a deep breath.

They come out of the mama’s vagina.

Oh. Ok. Then a minute later…But how?

The mama has to push and the doctor helps.

Ok. Like when you hold my hand when I poop?

Kind of. But Daddy held my hand.

Ok. Can I get a munchkin?

What I thought was a big deal was not. Sometimes moms are the ones that make things bigger than they should be.

Question. Answer.

It was as easy as that. I just hope she doesn’t ask me how they get into the mamas’ tummies anytime soon.

I am writing for the 2019 March Slice of Life Challenge