Hi, sweetie. It's me. Of course you know it's me because you have caller ID. And quite frankly, it's a miracle if you're listening to this message because you don't really listen to messages, you just call people back. But just in case, I know we already talked tonight - and I had some work to do and so did you; reports, I think you said. I know we already talked tonight but there are these things that I forgot to tell you.
Like how cute Bean's bum is in her Big Girl Underpanties. So cute, you have no idea.
Like how well she did on her first day of potty training--- I am so proud I could burst. She only had one accident. The unmistakeable sound of drip drip drip gush on the hardwood floor, it was like a levy breaking. I ran upstairs, holding her aloft, hoping to salvage the opportunity to pee. Of course it was lost - staining her shocking white unders yellow. She was most upset about that, the panties-- the panties, mommy! When I whisked out a new pair, she quieted. I told her it was okay. Accidents happen. Ten minutes later there was this awesome moment when she came to me asking to go to the potty. Again, we rushed upstairs, and met with absolute NUMBER TWO CONTACT SUCCESS. The joy. The joy, Chip, it was perfect. She threw her arms around my neck and squealed.
Like how tonight, when I was putting Bean to bed and it was her turn to say her prayer, she insisted that she do it herself. She pulled herself off my lap and sat across from me in the dark room. Her small head bent over her arms. This is what she said, "I'm grateful for my family. Thank you for piggie. We had a great day today. Please bless my buddies. I'm grateful for mommy. And daddy. I love daddy. I love daddy - and he loves me (and now she was singing--) WE ARE A HAPPY FAMILY!"--- and then this: a breathy pause, a small hand on my arm, a whisper, "Mommy---can you pease help me?". We finished together.
There were many small moments like that today. Little glimmers of joy that I wish I could wrap up and give to you. If I could, I'd send these boxes of joy to you on the next southern flying wind, so they'd find their way into your pocket while you work. In a quiet minute in your car you could open one of the boxes, pull the long string until the wrappings open with a small pop. Perhaps you'd open a little gift of Alice's laugh.
We miss you. But you know that, you must always know that, I say it so often.
Call me back when you can. I love you.