Parenting

Trees Make Sad Faces

The door creaked as my daughter’s head poked around the corner.  “Daddy,” she said.  It was five-forty five in the morning.  I bookmarked the page I was reading.

“Good morning,” I said as she jumped into my lap.

“Four things,” she started, “one, we will go to Lydia’s house; two, we will read all the books in the world; free, we will go back to Lydia’s house; and sixteen,” her voice fell to a whisper, “we will go see your favorite movie: Curious George.”

“Today?” I asked.

She nodded.  “Oh, and nineteen, we will eat hot chocolate.”

“Sounds like a good day.”

Looking over my shoulder and out the window, she changed the subject: “Do you see that pretty pink color in the big-blue sky?”

I turned.  “The sun is waking,” I said, “rising over the edge of the world.”

“Beautiful,” she said.  “I like pink.  But what about all of the trees making sad faces?”

“What?”

“Look,” she pointed.  Bare and leafless trees were creeping over the edges of the window, obscuring the sunrise’s pretty-pink colors.

I kissed her on the forehead.  “I guess they do,” I said.

“I have to go potty.”

We stood.  I held her hand as I directed her to the bathroom.  She hopped on the seat and smiled.  “Daddy,” she said, “you have to leave.  I need my pregnancy.”

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