I picked up a very tired little girl from her daddy’s house around noon. Even at that time of the day, her eyes were drooping and I could see the wear of a week-long lack of sleep and too much time in the sun at the lake. Her eyes teared up when I stepped through his front door and she launched herself into my arms, “Momma! I missed you.”
I am so grateful that this is still so. I know there may come a time when she wishes to be far from me. I soak up these little moments during her young life and store them for a later date.
Somewhere in the valley on the eve of Independence Day, there had been celebratory firework displays. The smoke of which clung low in the atmosphere, hugging the mountains in a smokey white cloud and creating an elegant image.
She and I journeyed out to the edges of town and, along the way, passed a domestic elk ranch. We stood at the fence, eyes wide with awe and stared at the huge, magnificient beasts. One fine specimen was perched in the small creek, near the fence, chewing his cud. He was near enough that his astounding velvet-covered antlers were within reach. My daughter, adventurous soul that she is, reached her hands through for a touch.
She ran to me with a squeal. “It feels soft and… tingly.”
“Tingly?”
“Yeah! It made my fingers tingle. It feels like it moves.”
I was intrigued, so I ventured near and reached in. The bull elk was oblivious to our touch, although I was certain he was aware of our presence.
Indeed, the rack did vibrate. As he chewed, the crunching resonated through the branches.
She and I secreted ourselves away in the cool darkness of a movie theater. I allowed her to pick the movie – Nancy Drew – and endured a painful rendition of a classic character. I allowed her to go to Hobby Lobby with her own hard-earned paycheck (she is contracted to clean her daddy’s office every week) so she could buy art supplies to her heart’s content. I allowed her to pick the restaurant for lunch. I allowed her a visit to Jamba Juice where she picked and purchased her first sampling of their delicious juices – a small Razzmatazz. I was simply along for the adventure of her company.
Traditionally, the Fourth is spent with family and friends usually at a park with picnics and fireworks. This year, it was just the two of us with a long nap after the juicing, a splash in our swimming pool and then a cuddle on the couch as we watched one of our favorite movies – A Good Year. During the flick, we heard fireworks from some celebration. She dashed out the front door but could not see them.
Early to bed last night. Late to rise this morning.
“Gee, Momma. I didn’t get to see any real fireworks last night. I kinda feel sad about that.”
Me too. Independence Day just seems incomplete when my eyes are unable to drink in the brilliant explosions and feel the sonic booms in my belly.
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