Kayli gets up early on Saturdays.
With hair and eyes still full of sleep, she unzips her backpack, letting books and papers and folders and gloves spill onto the hardwood floor.
First light streams through windows, revealing my girl and her world.
She runs glitter-tipped fingers through dark locks, “I have A LOT of homework,” she laughs.
And I, groan. (Not-so-secretly), homework is not my favorite, or my best.
She flips that dark hair over one shoulder. “We do this one all together,” she says, pulling a large construction paper heart from the pile.
She holds her heart up high, is hidden behind it.
“A Family Heart” is the assignment, and this, is homework that I can get behind.
I put on the coffee, Familiar Warmth fills our kitchen.
One by one we take our place around the table, shading this place in a second coat of Familiar Warmth.
We cut and crinkle and glitter and glue at Kayli’s direction.
The table and the floor and even our fingers fill with scraps and colors, signaling our hard work.
She hands us each a little piece of bright paper. “We can put what we love in here,” she leads.
Quietly, we work side by side, fitting our own sparks into teeny tiny spaces.
And that’s just how it goes sometimes, isn’t it? We find that what we love BIG, needs to be boxed in small.
She puzzle pieces these parts, fits them like a frame around our whole.
What we each love and hold close, where we find our bliss and what I call our Spark, has its own place within our family.
Flexing to fit, affecting the edges, but definitely there.
She glitters the open spaces, while we stand in unusual silence, watching.
We take in the full and the fit and the sparkle and the way that there seems to be just enough room for us all.