“What time are we voting?” She asks, pulling me away from my moment’s Important Matters. Dirty dishes. Chocolate milk. Pumpkin waffles.
I pause, silverware in hand, lean against the counter, taking in her morning look.
Loose, almond curls framing soft eyes, spaghetti straps -that so recently replaced printed pajamas- fallen onto one shoulder, and set mouth.
I know that set, it matches my own.
I grieve the picture I had already painted.
I’d drop everyone off at school and quietly vote, my fingers wrapped around a Pumpkin Spice Latte because I hold onto fall with a frightening grip until the first thick, white, stick-to-the-ground snowfall of the year.
But of course they’d want to come.
I brought them with me to vote when that meant pushing a clunky stroller that I needed help getting through heavy doors. Carrying snacks and dropping sippy cups and holding sticky fingers.
When I look across the counter at my HeartStaircase, I finally put down the silverware. The metal clang bouncing between the counter and their breakfast and my mirrors.
And while I pictured voting with their smaller versions, I zoomed into their big words.
I get to vote for president as soon as I turn 18. Oh, that smile is wide.
She’s so lucky! And that pout, is equally powerful.
Because while Jason and I don’t hope to own their friendships or their loves or even their religion, there are some things that we do “preach.”
Each of these is knitted and woven and braided to the other, and they’re what we hold in the palm of our hearts, splaying to them gently, but fiercely.
So today, the four of us huddled in a plastic booth meant for one.
Kayli’s hair against my arm, Brody on my hip (barely fitting there), and Chloe reminding me to be careful with my circles.
And when we stepped outside, beneath the gray, drizzling sky, they opened their mouths to catch only the raindrops, the fresh, the clean, the Good.
I walked behind them, Hoping for only the same, as we made our way toward that Pumpkin Spice Latte and m&m cookies, of course.
- I’m ridiculously proud of a post I wrote for Kveller. It’s about the feeling, rather than the routine, behind religion. It would mean the world to me to see you there.
- Memories Captured with Alison of Writing, Wishing starts this Sunday, November 11th at midnight. Won’t you join us? Find out more here.