My heart smiles.

You are 4 years old. It’s a Sunday in April and the weather is unexpectedly beautiful. You’re in shorts and a t-shirt and wearing your bike helmet. You run through the kitchen in a hurry not wanting to be left behind by your older sister and father. But as you open the door leading to the garage, you pause and yell to me.

I can’t see you from where I am standing, but I can picture you clearly in my mind. Your socks are uneven. Your clothes don’t match in any sense of the word “coordinated”. The 'protective' helmet on your head is terribly askew and I can just hear your cyclist grandfather saying “It’s not going to do her any good if she doesn’t wear it properly!”. And you most likely have milk or jam or some other food item smeared across your chin. And you’re desperate to hurry up and get out there on your scooter.

But... you pause at the door anyway and yell {unprompted!}…

 

“Good-bye, Mommy! I love you!”

Then I hear the door slam.

My heart smiles.

I love you too, Boogey. I love you too.