We drove to the airport Sunday as my dad flew home from Florida. McKenna stared out the window as we arrived, “there’s no snow! It’s spring!” She followed with ramblings of our afternoon plans, the park with Daddy and a bike ride and then a picnic in the backyard.
Somewhere lost in five year-old translation was the fact that my dad wasn’t actually bringing Florida and it’s weather home with his plane. We would be getting out of the car to the same temperature we climbed in, boots to our knees, re-zipping coats.
She asked about Easter and how many days and if it was Summer or Spring before Easter or after? and I combed my brain for a way to explain time and the order of things.
When I was in grade school I couldn’t wait for high school, there would be new people and nicer girls and I would drive.
In high school I dreamt of college, no more cliques, a class schedule without Gym and my own life.
I couldn’t wait to finish college and move out on my own, support myself and my daughter and walk right into the arms of the man of my dreams.
It is 10 am on a Tuesday and the washing machine and dishwasher are waiting as are two writing assignments and four kids with urgent requests.
I am typing and writing and listening to playroom sounds and ice melt.
Driving home from the airport, I count the months of winter off to McKenna and remind her our snowman still needs a nose and wasn’t sledding so much fun? We might have lots and lots more weeks until spring so she can wear her favorite piggy hat to keep her head warm and take it off when she only needs her favorite pink sunglasses. Then we will love spring while it is here and not really wish for summer to come or think about fall because winter will back and she will already be six.
I stop at the grocery store for almond milk and eggs and a carrot for our waiting snowman. We have big plans to finish what we started before it is gone.
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