The journey home

Wait on Christmas for a moment. Fearing that my open letter was too focused on the tough parts in spite of my intentions, I want to take a minute to describe the best moment of every day: picking Edith up from school.

The sheer pleasure of meeting Edith at daycare is the reason I’ve sworn off most university activities that run past 4:30. Both Tom and I are so eager to be there at pick-up that we rarely trade off pick-up duty but instead meet to do it together. The sunny smile that breaks over Edith’s face as she greets us, often running to us with arms outstretched, is priceless. It’s not the happiness of a prisoner sprung from jail so much as that of an excited, busy person whose cup has just run over. She is in a great mood and full of thoughts, and the slow walk home from school catching up with each other is the sweetest time in the day. Take today as a sample:

Tom atypically couldn’t be there at the appointed hour, so I picked up Edith alone. Since Daylight Savings ended last week I’ve been reluctant to leave her at school until the usual 5pm, as that would mean picking her up in the near-dark. Now that she’s older and more cognizant of the passage of time, aware that darkness means bedtime and mommy milk are imminent, it seems hard to leave her at school until what must feel like night. So I’ve been cutting my workday short and getting her while there is still daylight. Today the children were still out on the playground as I got there, but Ms. Bela and Ms. Chrissy saw me coming and brought Edith to meet me at the door to the playground.

Edith burst into a story about having a rash on her legs, which Ms. Chrissy confirmed, then asked if she could keep the ponytail that Ms. Chrissy had put in her hair. I handed Edith the brochure we had come across at the public library yesterday listing various children’s books about Indian culture and history, and she handed it to Ms. Bela, saying, “In here you will find all the pictures of India.” After we chatted a bit her teachers said goodbye, and we went into Edith’s classroom to get her things.

On the way back through the main room, she passed a book stand in the pre-K class and pulled out a Hello Kitty book she obviously knew and wanted me to read. We sat down and read it there on the floor; it was surprisingly substantive. When I was done reading, Edith wanted to read it to me. So we went through the book again.

At the entrance we had a moment of confusion about why her empty lunchbox wasn’t sitting outside the kitchen as usual, until we remembered that the school had had a special lunch of homemade pizza today and that we hadn’t brought her lunchbox. Edith needed a little convincing that it was at home and that we weren’t leaving it at school, as we did once last week by accident. Finally I suggested that Daddy was waiting at home to see her and that we should hurry.

Outside the school Edith was showing me some of the flowers still blooming in the raised bed, when Torrey and his mother, Cherri, came out of school. Edith said goodnight to Torrey as Cherri commented on the fact that she had lapped us and noted, “Torrey doesn’t want to leave school today either.” Edith turned and told me, “Torrey doesn’t want to leave school today either,” then turned back and asked Cherri, “Is Torrey’s father waiting to see him at home?” Cherri said he surely was, and Edith turned and told me, “Torrey’s father surely is waiting for him.”

Once Torrey got in his car to drive away, we made it past the school building and parallel to the playground, where the kids were still outside. Edith called goodbye to Ms. Monika, then exchanged several greetings with Joshua and Harrison through the fence. Then she ran to a tree, hugged it, and told me, “I’m interested in trees.” I told her that I was interested that even though it was so cold, that particular tree still had a full set of green leaves. Edith ran to the next tree along the way, which was either a young tree with low branches or a very tall bush, whose leaves were mostly red already. Announcing that she wanted other children to be able to pick up the fallen red leaves from this tree, she started plucking leaves from its branches one by one and dropping them on the ground. I watched for awhile, then observed that the wind could probably do this job itself. Not to be deterred, Edith continued her task, supplying a ready stream of commentary. Realizing after awhile what a large job she had set herself, she looked up at the top branches and asked me to help, saying, “I can’t reach those branches enormously.” When I confessed that I couldn’t do it either, she insisted, “But you’re big.” I stretched up my hands to show her that most of the branches were still well above my head, and she commented, “Well, you’re still pretty big. But we both can't do it.” She continued denuding the lower branches even after announcing several times, “I’m getting pretty tired of this…will you help me?”

I finally convinced her that this might be the work of several days and that perhaps we ought to resume tomorrow. She seemed accepted that suggestion and jumped up, announcing that she was Miss ’Ria and I, for once, was Gretel. Inspired by the expanse of grass in front of the apartment building closest to school, she then asked that I join her in singing “first, ‘Do Re Mi’ and next, ‘Do, a Deer.’” We were interrupted momentarily by Zeke’s dad passing on the way to school—Edith wouldn’t speak to him because he called her Edith rather than Maria—then launched into the song. Next she insisted that we repeated the song while walking on our knees, like the VonTrapp kids when Maria first teaches it to them, rising and flinging out our arms when they do, then running across the grass, etc.

Only after a fully choreographed rendition did Miss ’Ria ask Gretel to carry her the rest of the way home, because the thunder was starting. Also, it was dark. We stopped en route to chat with Harry’s mom about the impenetrable logic of the university accounting system, a conversation of no interest to Miss Maria (who in real life was strikingly inattentive to financial questions, as perhaps befit either a nun or the wife of an enormously wealthy aristocrat, though not an impecunious refugee). She was saved from the dreary details only by the approach of the Captain, who had arrived home and was coming to find us. From there we made the rest of the distance quickly, completing our 150-yard journey in just under forty minutes.

I know we won’t always have the luxury of a school right down the block, or forty free minutes in which to walk home, or a daughter who wants to share all that time with us. I’m enjoying it to the fullest.

***

One more important milestone of note: This evening while Tom and I ate dinner, Edith was playing in her room, bare-bottomed in order to air the rash on her legs. After several minutes of silence she suddenly came running into the dining room with a look of excitement but also astonishment on her face. “I pooped in the little potty!” she announced. Indeed, for the first time, Edith had determined that she needed to use the potty and done so successfully without requesting any adult help. Much celebration and cheering all around.