We were driving to school this morning after a bit of a (normal) chaotic morning. I struggled to get all of you in the car on time with what seems to be our daily luggage. I rushed around and hurried you in the car.
That’s when I noticed you, not talking a mile a minute like usual. You sat quietly in the back of the van, talking to yourself and the stuffies you brought along.
This morning you were so great, so helpful – such a big girl.
You brought your stool to the pantry and picked out your cereal from the third shelf. It wasn’t that long ago that you could barely reach the second. You grabbed the milk from the fridge and put it on the island and asked for me to get you a bowl and a glass for your milk.
You patiently waited as I tried to calm your baby sister and to draw up the morning meds for your little sister.
You helped throughout the morning, grabbing diapers and new changes of clothes. You waited for me to help you zip your jumper after you had done everything else to get ready on your own. You made jokes while I chased you around to brush your hair, because you had already done it once.
Then there you were sitting in the car, innocently playing with Sophia and Dance Star, your beloved teddy bear and a friend. You played so sweetly…making conversation, imagining in your head a whole other world of play in the back seat. I watched you from the rear view mirror, and I discretely lowered the radio to listen to you, in hopes you wouldn’t stop because mom was watching.
Let me remember you like this my sweet, sweet child. Six years old. Sometimes it can feel like you’re going on sixteen with your attitude, but most of the time it’s just that you’re getting older. You’re such a big, responsible girl – able to do so many things on your own, willing to do so much in our family, but still my little, big girl. Loving on your stuffies and loving on me. Even when I don’t have the amount of patience you deserve, you love on me.
Let me remember to keep chasing you and not to become stern quite as fast in the mornings. Let me remember to snuggle with you the few extra minutes that you ask while you let me. Let me remember you are six – and that six short years ago you were just the age of your baby sister. I can’t believe this time has already passed me.
Let me remember how much faster the next six will go and how I may not be quite as perfect as you see me now. But please help me to remember to always try to be – for you.
Let me remember these mornings. And God willing, let you remember them, too.