Little Miss Spunk

Well, the boy and I took the next big step in our relationship and committed to join the last decade, and we get iPhones.  I know, good people of the techno-webs, I can’t believe with our fast-paced track record of committing to all things up and coming that we only waited 10 years go fall into one of these smart phone situations.  It’s still kind of a shiny and weird, unfamiliar thing in my hand, but it was helpful that one time I took it grocery shopping.  So there’s that. 

 

(Imagine this…a portable, hand-held device with these crazy little application thing-a-ma-jigs that let you do things like remember your grocery list.  On demand.)

 

But piffle...who wants to hear about my gold, glittery case that I found on clearance.  That makes for super exciting dullsville reading.

 

Instead, I have a story about my favorite 5-year old. 

 

One day, the little squirt wasn’t in the pick-up line where she was supposed to be, but we quickly found her on her bus ready to go.  She had a sub in her class that day who accidentally got her transportation situation mixed-up.  The principal found her and brought her over to my car, but she was just holding it all in. 

 

The next day, I did need her to ride the bus home.  Her teacher was double checking to make sure that my little bit was getting on the bus but missed her in the organized chaos that is a hundred kids getting on buses.  She called in back-up (the principal – a really great guy), who got on the bus to personally ensure that my child was where she needed to be.  He called her name and my child, my little Spunky McGee who was at the back of the bus, stood up in the aisle, put her little fists on her little hips and loudly stated “My mommy TOLD ME I’m supposed to be on the bus today!”  He smirked (I’m sure), replied “Okay!” and reported that all was well to the chiclet’s teacher. 

 

My kid.  My second born.  My little mini me.  She’s got some sort of spiff about her that already defies my logic. 

 

This will be one of the pinnacle moments of my parenting life to hear my child first stand up and declare herself present and aware.  I have no doubt that this will be one of those moments I repeat to her again and again when I’m old and shriveled-y.  

 

And on that note, I will share that I’m full-on developing wrinkles.  I may not have grey hairs yet, but ye olde face isn’t as young and smooth(ish) as it once was of yore.  I think the good remembering things like a plucky daughter are bunching up and making me smile more.  It’s hard not to smile.