Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

This morning Harper and I stood in the kitchen window and watched as my mom's big red Tahoe backed out of the driveway and started the trek back to Wisconsin. We waved and blew kisses and I cried a little bit. I am not embarrassed to admit that leaving my parents' house, or having them leave here, is just sad and I think it always will be.

It is nice to have company in the house all day long.

It is nice to have an extra set of hands for when the toddler turns into the tyrant.

It is nice to have someone want so badly to be of help to me that she will get on her hands and knees and scrub my kitchen floor.

It is nice to have someone spend the day with us and then tell me, in a completely non-patronizing way, that the job I do is hard and I actually do it well, at least some of the time.

And so, as I held Harper at the window, my eyes leaked just a little bit. Harper looked at me with concern and asked me why I was crying. I told her I was sad that Mugga left.

She gently patted my back and said, "It's otay Mommy, Mugga will be right back in a yittol bit."

Over and over she said, "It's otay Mommy." Then she snuggled with me on the couch for a few minutes, offering kisses and hugs.

This is something of a miracle in my eyes, as well as a relief, that this little person who so often bears the brunt of my exhaustion and exasperation, is already able to reach out to me with such kindness and compassion.

I think we must be doing some things right after all.