As I Know Them

-
I left them as I know them.

At the airport as they stood in line for departure I saw my husband as I have him in my head: His freshly laundered white tee that he had carefully pressed in the a.m. already had a mark front and center where his daughter's mystery hand smudge left evidence.  

"I don't know why I bother trying.." He sighed. 

But it is him and what he does. 

His face bore the look of worry he has every time he flies and his look of fear was that of a man who knows his daughter will get everything she wants on a long international flight. 

Whatever game she wants him to play with her... Whatever movie he must carefully watch with her without diverting his eyes, whatever snack he must allow her to feed him while asking with each morsel "Zat good, daddy?" and every color marker she must hold all by herself will be at the ready. 

I left him with a new album downloaded moments before we left the house so he could have the latest Arctic Monkeys for his listening pleasure if his daughter allowed him time to himself... 

And her...

I left her in the freshly laundered clothing that already had marker stains across the top and pants from her coloring endeavors on the road to LAX.  I left her with a backpack of playthings, books, stickers, iPad with a brand new movie download (Monsters University) so I could picture her in flight giddy at seeing "D' TWO Monsters Movies!" Instead of just one.  I left her with fresh clothes to arrive in that had been gifted previously from her nana and grandad so they could see her just as they know her. 

I left her with a mass of hair that looked unkempt despite my combing earlier in the day. 

I left her with a kiss. 

I left her as I know her.

Tiny and perfect and like a ragamuffin.  I was lucky, at least, that she hadn't taken off her shoes and socks (again) while standing in line.

Like me, she can't stand the confines of footwear. 

I left them in anticipation. 

I left them with tears in my eyes. 

I left them as I know them.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Dear Bobby"

-
Image
"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when
Read More

The Good Dancer: A Dating Story

-
Image
I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with.  He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off.  (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.)  Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them.  Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop.  Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists.  If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer.  He didn't crowd.  He didn't sweat profusely.  He didn't sin
Read More

Degree

-
Image
It was on Friday night. We laughed a lot, perhaps made delirious by the sweet smell of men that were familiar-yet-elusive and desirable. It could have been the wine,  it could have been the great company of old friends and conversations and shared opinions with other women. I disagreed with Ariel more than once, though... "Too sweet" or.... "smells like a jelly bean...." The ones I couldn't put down were the ones that smelled like a man's deodorant, hidden among 75+ samples that scattered in baskets around the coffee table. There we sat around a table full of scents as we sampled the fragrances from a friend's Scentsy collection, eager to fill out our order forms for the smells that would soon promise to envelop our homes. I opted for the "Iced Pine" option, which always reminds me of the home I have not yet lived in and lingered around the fragrances that smelled of citrus and orange peels.  The idea of the smell of "Orange
Read More