Schtarbucks

"Mommy are you sad?"

"Yes... yes mommy is sad..."

"OH!  ....Daddy, go get D'Schtarbucks for mommy!  Go now!"

My daughter knows how to make me happy, even if I'm only suffering from the first world malaise of needing a coffee syphon.

It's the little things, y'know?

Iced coffee being a little thing.

And my daughter makes me laugh a lot when she has my back, especially if it comes at Lloyd's expense.

Because sometimes he'll say "no" and she has a way of making him say "yes" to early evening treks to Schtarbucks for coffee.

And Sayler makes me so happy in so many ways it is difficult to not lean on her for support when I'm having an off day.  The neediness I feel to be in her joyful presence, the absolute security I find in our quiet early morning bed-lingering where we often stare, sleepily,  at one another, small kisses of the butterfly and Eskimo variety in abundance...

 

And though she is too small to realize it,

 

I feel like I need her more than she needs me...

 

And her validation and support...

 

The other night as I sat, sweaty from a long, beautiful run she asked "mommy dgu' go wrunning?"

 

"Yes, I went running..."

 

"OH! Good choice!"

 

And I think her sweet, funny response was meant as a kind way to show support for my pursuit of good health and not as a "good choice" because mommy could stand to drop a few before bikini season is in effect.

 

I think.

 

And when she says, "I have a good idea..." followed by something that is usually anything but a good idea I have to applaud her for her direct, ballsy efforts to sway me.

 

I like that she calls my iPhone "her" iPhone.

 

I like that the "Jungle Book" is referred to as "Jungle Movie" and I appreciate that my daughter never, ever, ever makes me feel guilty for going to work, going for a run or going to have a stranger touch me in strangely pleasant ways.

 

It's true.

 

When I head out for an indulgent massage, go away for work, go out with Lloyd, go out with Ariel or friends or go away for "me" time my daughter hugs me tight, gives me a warm, affectionate kiss and bids me farewell.

 

She never complains.  She never cries.  She never induces unfounded guilt because she always knows that she is my soulmate, my kindred spirit and the giver of all my hair pulling moments and countless ello-els.

 

I hope someday she will trust me the way I trust her- the unconditional ways she makes me feel loved, capable, strong, despite my inadequacies as a mom, as a wife, as an oft-negligent friend, sometimes-absent sister, occasionally forgetful daughter and persistent tryer to be Martha Stewarter despite many failed attempts...

 

(Many).

 I will love her that much.  She can trust me that much. 

 

I hope she will believe she is pretty the way I believe her when she pulls my face close and says that I am pretty.

 

I believe her more than I believe anyone else.

 

I trust her more than anyone, because even though she is a complete mess, in a constant state of undress, experiments with my fragrances and powders to my pocketbook's chagrin, sleeps perpendicular to anyone in proximity, insists on making us sing the ABC's in rapid succession, pulls out each and every book and puzzle she owns moments after I tidy them up...

 

She is consistent.

 

She is consistently thoughtful, aware, loving, intelligent and a daydreamer. She is consistently making me proud when she learns something new about the world, about herself and what she is capable of doing.

She is consistently curious, consistently brave and consistently making me a more present person.

 

And she consistently has my back- especially when I could use a tall, cold one from d'Schtarbucks.