When I was five years old and in constant pigtails, my dad sat me down amid a field of dandelions and made me make him one very serious promise. The promise was to be made between a father who loved his little girl and the little girl who found him to be the object of her idolatry.
They locked eyes, they shook hands, and the promise was made:
She promised that she would always remain five years old.
Needless to say, it was probably the first promise I ever broke.
In terms of weather, today may have been my favorite day of the year so far. A warm day with a cool breeze and a nearly cloudless sky. We spent the entire morning outside. We picked tomatoes, dug holes, chased a pretty confused frog, played on the swingset, went for a walk, and even compiled an epic rock collection.
We finished the first half of our day as everyone who can should: with a picnic. Grapes and grilled cheese on a bright yellow picnic blanket. We named clouds and shouted back at the birds and then, for our own version of dessert, we ran around like complete maniacs without any rhyme or reason.
Just because.
As I watched my little O hustle around the garden, fists pumping and fueled by a full belly and a happy day, I decided that this was the time I wanted to freeze. Forget 5....this time right now is just about perfect for me.
She's full of questions, and wonderment, and love, and with all the emotions surrounding her love of school and her preference for me over lunch with her teachers...I just want to hold on even tighter.
So that's it. We're going to make the deal. Now, I realize by typing this I am inviting the Blarma gods in in full force. Today at dance class she'll probably impale something (or, eek, someone) with her tap shoe. But I really don't care. I'll take the morning battles over clothes and the nightime war over what constitutes a wholesome dinner. I'll take the tantrums and a thousand days straight of runny noses.
I'll take it all.
Deal.
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