her own bed

I am standing in the kitchen, and she is staring at me eyes wide, waiting. E is ready for an answer. She looks so darn cute; I get distracted for a moment.

I mean, she is in her sleepy clothes and her hair is, well, unruly.  It’s like it’s reaching up and out to catch the morning light streaming through our windows. Reaching, reaching, just like E. So grown up, yet just so…not.

She is serious, though, so I better focus. You see we’ve been talking a lot about a certain slumber party these past weeks and my opportunity for procrastination has run out.

“Am I going, Mom?”

She knows me well and waits patiently. She is careful to do everything right. Say everything right. And I want to say yes. Don’t tell her, but I always want to say yes.

“Please?”

And then I hear myself asking the same questions I’ve already asked, and she’s already answered. She doesn’t remind me of this, though. She only answers them again. She has the patience of a saint!

“Who will be there?” I ask. “What will you do?” and “What will you watch?” *Gasp* I love this last question, because it lends me the notion that I might have an out. I fantasize for a moment about her sleeping in her own bed. Me, tip toeing in to kiss her goodnight.

“Mom?”

You see, I don’t want her to go. I never want her to go. I’m selfish like that. I like her company. She’s been leaving me since the day she was born, ever independent. Okay, I’m being dramatic. There are times, you know there are times.

But it is the unknown that's always creeping into my mind. The what if?...

“Lord?” I lift my eyes. “Now would be one of those times, Lord, when you could dump down on me some of that great wisdom you’re so generous with.”