I try to be cute, making little rhymes like Fezzik in the Princess Bride.
Unfortunately, I am not as cute as he was. Imagine, not being as cute as a 7’4” wrestler.
“Look,” she says, pointing a chubby finger at the sky, “an airplane!”
“I prefer to remain,” I say. She rolls her eyes.
But she forgives me, as little girls will. Grabs at my waist and pulls me to the swings in the playground. Demands my attention as she fills pail after pail with sand at the beach, never making anything, never needing to. Cheering madly at the ridiculous relay races held between baby pigs at the state fair. Raising her sad eyes to me each time I say it’s time to go home, wanting to blame me for the ending of another day, but not quite being able to manage it.
Our holidays are always too short, for her and for me.
Already I can see her getting older, her small child’s frame stretching into a young woman’s, gaining an inch, and then another, outgrowing clothes, and games, and someday even me.
She can’t imagine it, won’t hear of it.
“I will NEVER be bored of you!” she says, and means it. “Now can we go jump in the water sprayer?”
I’d rather stay dry, so I try to distract her with a rhyme.
“What if I was elected mayor?”
She rolls her eyes again, and pulls me to the water.
Posted as part of the September Story A Day challenge, on which I am still running a day behind.
Image via Wikipedia.