I drove to Columbus at 8:30 tonight. So hard to leave my family in the evening, but so much better for me, a night owl working an early bird schedule tomorrow.
Before I left, both my teenage kids jump up from the dining room table where they'd sat doing homework, and grace me with a goodbye hug. My daughter's long hair is still slightly damp from her post-run shower, and she lets me nuzzle right into her head and squeeze her tight. I whisper "sweet nothing, sweet nothing" into her ear (an old habit left over from her childhood), and then she pulls away as quickly as she came, heading back to her computer and an essay she's writing.
My son has a grin on his face, and it turns out he's got his childhood blanket ("Blue") with him, and he quickly shakes it up above us, then tents it over both our heads. We're laughing under the hot fleece, and I notice how threadbare Blue has become as the light peeks through. Blue (and my son!) are fifteen; each hug is a gift.
I scoot out to the car and tune into NPR for the 2+ hour drive, arriving as a cold rain starts to fall. I know I still have to Slice. I take a breath, close my eyes, and think about the day's most important small moments, and I know I need to capture those warm, loving goodbyes.
Before I left, both my teenage kids jump up from the dining room table where they'd sat doing homework, and grace me with a goodbye hug. My daughter's long hair is still slightly damp from her post-run shower, and she lets me nuzzle right into her head and squeeze her tight. I whisper "sweet nothing, sweet nothing" into her ear (an old habit left over from her childhood), and then she pulls away as quickly as she came, heading back to her computer and an essay she's writing.
My son has a grin on his face, and it turns out he's got his childhood blanket ("Blue") with him, and he quickly shakes it up above us, then tents it over both our heads. We're laughing under the hot fleece, and I notice how threadbare Blue has become as the light peeks through. Blue (and my son!) are fifteen; each hug is a gift.
I scoot out to the car and tune into NPR for the 2+ hour drive, arriving as a cold rain starts to fall. I know I still have to Slice. I take a breath, close my eyes, and think about the day's most important small moments, and I know I need to capture those warm, loving goodbyes.
Such a sweet slice. I love the impact of your descriptions! Simple yet powerful. I am also a night owl often working an early bird schedule, so I would have done the same thing. Glad you made it to Columbus safely!
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