We all sit down to eat lunch before he has to head back to work. He kisses his girls and tells us that he thinks we are beautiful. As we wave goodbye I turn and ask her if she would like to go for a little walk. Although it's good weather for it, and I know she likes it, my reasons are selfish.
She says yes. We put on shoes and I let her carry the house keys in her backpack like a big girl.
Her little hand slips securely into mine and I feel that overwhelming feeling of being the most blessed person on the planet. We walk hand and hand for many blocks. We talk about the vehicles we see parked along the street, the animals we cross paths with, and the helicopter we see flying overhead.
She then begins to talk excitedly about something God told her. I don't understand all of what she's saying, but her story telling already mesmerizes me. The way she moves her little hands around, the inflections in her voice, and how when she thinks something is funny she will laugh as she's saying it. There is nothing better than walking hand and hand with this sweet little girl while she tells me stories.
The last leg of our walk is always my favorite. We turn the corner and can see our house two blocks down. She tells me 'take hand away' and then bends down to pick flowers. I can't believe that in our six years of living here and going for walks I have never noticed all of the flowers in this yard. She picks a clover and puts it up to her nose, 'fwell good Mama. Hew, fwell it.' I drink in the smell. It does smell good. She picks a dandelion, and then gingerly shifts both flowers to one hand while slipping her other hand back into mine.
I know that someday she will no longer want to stop and pick flowers, hold my hand, or say, 'oh my gosh you awe so butiful.' I don't hurry her along. I don't dismiss her stories as silly. I drink in every last moment so that one day, when she calls to tell me about taking walks with her little ones, I will be flooded with memories of the same thing, and will smile.