This child here, Rosebud, pictured with me, sweet as the day is long. See the sweetness of my baby girl’s face? Holy, loving, tender. She is a very good girl. She is eleven – oh, please don’t think “tween” because, well, I hate that word, but also because she just isn’t like that.
But, this morning, well. I think I have done something wrong, missed the mark somehow. Often, while working (today on math) she hums or sings to herself. She gets distracted occasionally by her own inner artist, doodling and illuminating her various manuscripts, such as math book and dictation book…
I digress. Today, I hear her humming: ooooo, ooooo, ooooo, oooo, stayin’ alive, staying’ alive….oooo, oooo, oooo….
Do you hear it? Dis. Stress. I look at here, brows furrowed in wonderment. She looks at me, smirking. The secret language of eyes.
Oh, the subtle power of relationships.