Book Report

Read this in a book last night. Liked it. Seemed like something I should remember:

I remember when Cassie was a little girl, not even two years old, she had a love of lights. She'd walk through the rooms of our house, day and night, pointing at lamps and light fixtures, yelling "On! Mama do it!" One evening, we were out past dark and as I lifted Cassie out of her car seat to bring her into the house, she turned her head upward and pointed at the dark sky. "On, pease, on, pease," she said, pointing up at the night. "Mama do it." No one else ever loves you the way your children do when they're young.

No one else will ever cry when you leave the room.

I try not to spend too much time thinking about those days, because I know they are only perfect in memory . . . but sometimes I can't help but give in to it. To remember what it was like, back when she smiled just to see me, back when she had to reach up to hold my hand.

Back when she thought I could turn on the sky.


Guess I was feeling a bit sentimental last night. Janie is not a huge screamer, but it does kind of bug me if she freaks out when I walk out of sight. That little passage just kind of framed the typical baby event a little different for me. Because it is pretty much true, no one else cries when you leave the room.

Unless you hit them, I guess.