Things I’m missing just a little bit

A long time ago, I dreamed of three little girls, dressed
like Madeline, swarming out of the house. 
There would have been three but there were two, and that was good, too. It
seems like the promise of little girls is a promise that is forever but in
reality the colorful plastic toys and endless readings of “Frog and Toad” pass
quickly, so very quickly, and the next thing you know they’re getting
scholarships and going off to learn more than you could ever have imagined
knowing.  And so there are things that
won’t happen again, like little girls making snow forts, though I suspect the
older one will always eat snow off her mittens, and there will always be hot
chocolate to spill. There will be regrets within my control, and without my
control. I could have taken them tobogganing more often, but I couldn’t bring
them up in the world of freedom of my childhood. They learned to swim and dance and play
music, to question everything (everything!) and to be bold and strong. This is
good.

But there are some things I miss. I miss helping them get
the second mitten on and tucking hair inside their balaclava. I miss the dark
winter nights of the last couple of years, when it was just me and one of the
girls, having a punk meal of leftovers or freezer meat at the island in the
kitchen just in time to leave for dance. I miss having time to bake cookies in
the afternoon, and surprising Hannah with her favorite macaroni and cheese. (So
when she came home a couple of weeks ago it was a joy to make waffles again.)

On the other hand, I come home to amazing hugs and piano
playing. I get to watch Rebekah’s mind expand with high school the way her
sister’s did, to watch her fill with passion and commitment.  And she gets to teach me about Doctor Who. So
it’s not all over yet.