I walk as quietly down our flight of 18 creaky old stairs as I am able, into the kitchen and to the counter where I start everyday.
It is Saturday, 6:30 a.m. I am waking up a little later than normal, but am ready to make coffee and get writing.
Within moments, I hear the padding feet of my three-year-old. Each of the girls has her own distinct morning stair padding pattern, and I know hers.
One-two. One-two. One-two. Pause to gather up tighter anything in her arms while she tries another grip at the railing. One-two. One-two. One-two.
Lala is carrying some of her favorite “pals” — oldest friend Lamby, Pillow Pet giraffe (a Christmas gift from big sister) and doggy blankie.
I approach her at the bottom of the steps.
“It’s early, sweetie. Time to snuggle with Papa.”
“No, Mama,” she says, “I want to cuddle with you.”
And her little voice and arms full of snuggly pals breaks me, and it echos through the stairwell.
“Okay, honey,” I cave, whispering. “Let’s go.”
I lift Lala into the bed, pull a piece of my pillow out for her little head, cover her with a sheet, down comforter and the homemade quilt Michael and I received when we married. I kick off my slippers and lay beside her.
She offers me blankets.
Lala makes a raspy morning “mmm” like all is right in this world here.
The other day I ask her over lunch, “What is your favorite thing in all the world?” Without hesitation, huge grin spread across little face, she answers, “Snuggling with my Papa.”
So many mornings while I write, this is their time.
Under these blankets on a Saturday morning, it’s cozy, us three.
“Your legs are so warm, Mama,” she says.
“Yours too, honey,” I say.
On the other side of Lala, Michael’s breath finds its morning rhythm.
My girl reaches rounded hands to my face and then puts hands around her blankie.
She stills, and I feel the rise and fall.
NPR pops into the space around us, and Roberta Flack is talking with Scott Simon.
I listen to her sing “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” and I know it’s probably a song about different love, but when I hear the words, this is how I adore her.
“The first time ever I saw your face, I thought the sun rose in your eyes. And the moon and the stars were gifts you gave to the dark and the endless skies.”
I remember the August afternoon when I first saw those eyes charcoal dark and singing light. And I think of the ways she brings joy light to pitch.
Lala’s eyes long blink, and she looks at me tender, then to the ceiling and says she sees sparkles.
This piece is a free-writing exercise for a Tuesday feature called “Just Write,” hosted on a blog called The Extraordinary Ordinary. I do this on Tuesdays whenever the mood strikes.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Makes me all warm and cuddly. That was always my favorite time as a little girl. The “First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” is my song with Kim. It was really popular when she was born. Makes me want to cry!
Was it really? Wow, I had no idea — how special! Thank you for sharing that with me. Love you, Auntie Claudia, and am sending big hugs and cuddles to you from all of us.
Oh Ashley I love that you’re doing these free-writing exercises! You know (don’t you?) that you have such a gift for creating a mood, for setting a scene in such a way that we seamlessly slip in – smelling your coffee, hearing the rhythmic paddling of slippered feet on the stairs, feel the bed covers around our chins, see the long lashes pointed toward the ceiling, and even see the sparkles there. I know I go on and on, and I’m sorry, but your pieces just touch deep chords of remembrance in me. They connect me with things little and grand. I’m so grateful!
Ah. Thank you. So much little and grand to give thanks for. And leave it to you to know about those precious little eyelashes.
Such a sweet story, Ashley. You are so tuned in to your children’s needs it came as no surprise that you “caved”. And, “warm legs” blessed us all as a result :)
You have such a sweet way to look at it. Thank you, as always. :)
Beautiful tribute to one of those tender moments with your sweet youngest girl…a reminder that “our” plans (yours to write that morning) sometimes need to be layed aside to love on the little ones that God has placed in our lives! :)
You are so right, Becca. I’m praying we both continue to be available to recognize when it’s “one of those moments.” xoxo
This is such a lovely dance of nearness. One-two. One-two. One-two. Thanks for sharing you and Lala.
One-two, one-two, one-two. I’m so thankful for the dance. (And for your dear comment, Carolyn.)
Love the bond between mother and daughter even at such a young age for Lala. Both precious people and for you to write such a lovely piece is priceless.Love Mom
Oh, thank you, Mom! I am so grateful for hers and my relationship. Such joy to me!
It’s really true that the smallest of moments are part of our life’s quilt. The more of these little gems we remember the more complete and lucid our memories become.
Yes! What an apt metaphor quilts are for the patchwork of our life’s memories.
The elegance of simple loving moments made extraordinary. Well writ Ash.