Just Write: Mama Always Comes Back.

"Mama always comes back and gets me. Mama always comes back and gets me." She is reciting over and over and over again from the backseat.

She has asked, begged, pleaded with me to not send her to school. My outgoing chatterbox lover of all things people doesn't want to go to school.

"I go to coffee shop with you." She's been saying the last couple weeks. "I help you work." She tries and she tries.

As I unbuckle her and strap her backpack on her back, hand her her lunch box, I tell her school will be so fun. And play with some friends today, ok?

"I not have friends." She says.

I want to say, no crying today, but I know it's inevitable.

We walk in and she hangs her backpack, puts her lunch box on her chair and her hand grips mine.

One hug, one kiss. I tell her. I can't pick her up because when I do, the teachers end up having to peel her little body off of mine.

We hug, we kiss, we hug again. Her eyes lock with mine.

I'll see you in a little while, I say while handing her hand to her teacher watching tears stream down her face.

I stand in the hall and listen for the sobs to stop. They do. They always do.

It just doesn't make it any easier.

Four hours later, I pick her up and she is engaged and she is happy. She must say goodbye to all her friends she claims she didn't have and  also her teachers. And when we walk out she tells me, "Mama always comes back to get me."




Linking up to Just Write today. An exercise in free writing, no editing.