I was inspired to write this post after reading Kristin’s post from yesterday. While I can (and maybe never) not know what it’s like to truly be in her shoes, we all know what it’s like to see time pass. To mark that time in our own ways…

The sliding glass doors lead out of our home office on to a patio, down a small hill and to a small pond in the backyard. We’ll be in this house four years in May and every spring a family of Mallard ducks take up residence in the pond. There always seems to be more of them every year and for the last week, we’ve had over 20 ducks swimming and quacking and chasing each other (Uh, Spring is in the air?) around the pond. This, as you can imagine, is toddler heaven.

“QUACK QUACK! QUACK QUACK!”, she yells while banging on the glass. “MAMA! QUACK QUACK!”

On Sunday before nap, we went outside and fed the ducks some pieces of bread. Though still February in New England, the temperatures were warm enough to enjoy a few minutes in the fresh air.

That evening just as the sun was setting, my Dad spotted a red fox trotting toward the pond and yelled for Dan to grab his camera. He managed to capture this beautiful shot:

Shameless husband plug: Dan’s photos are available for purchase here. Become a fan on Facebook here.

Since I work from the quiet house all day, I’ve grown quite fond of these ducks. As sad as it sounds, watching them is peaceful and serene. It’s one of the reasons I love where we live as it can be isolating and calm, yet I can still get to Costco in just 3-minutes. Nature amazes, thrills, and terrifies me all at the same time. I’m not afraid of the ducks or the fox, but if a black bear wandered about, I’d change the For Sale sign in the yard to FREE and get the hell out of dodge. Still, I enjoy these ducks.

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Lyla’s transitioning rooms at school; moving from the 12-18mo classroom to the 18-24mo classroom. Her new teacher is amazing. There are fewer kids in that class. The new room has a working sink just her size which is right up her alley since she just loves to “ahsh ands” and a play kitchen. There’s lot of art supplies and a sensory table with rice and sand toys. Great stuff. But transitioning is hard. She hasn’t spent as much time with this teacher as she had with her present ones when moving up from the infant room. The teachers she has now are terrific and she’s really close to them. Any mention of their names bring big smiles to her face. When we get in the car no matter where we are going she chants “School? School?” and her teacher’s names all the way there. She hasn’t cried at drop off in months. I get kisses and “Bye Mama!” every morning. When I go to pick her up, she’s never in a big hurry to leave. I love that she loves it there so much.

Today I attempted to drop her in the new room and it was a monumental mistake. The tears. Big, fat tears. Rolling down her big cheeks. She was clinging to me like a barnacle. Her new friends were bringing her toys trying to cheer her up, but she wouldn’t stop crying. We tried to color and play in the kitchen. I wanted her to show me her new toys and books and meet her new friends. She has been spending a few hours each day for over a week in the new room, but I had never seen it. Nothing I did or the teacher did helped calm her down. It was awful.

I wound up taking her back to her old room before I left. I couldn’t leave her upset. If one of her teachers wanted to bring her back to the new room after I had left and let her scream it out, that was fine, but I couldn’t leave her miserable. I couldn’t leave with her sad little face embedded in my mind. I got her settled next to the kids she’s used to at the table she’s used to with the caregivers she’s used to, gave her a kiss and left. She waved and smiled. With a heavy heart, I came home. This is really going to be hard.

And after this particularly difficult morning, I was even more sad to settle into my desk, peak out the sliders and see that all the ducks were gone. All but one. One lonely duck. Maybe he was asleep when his friends and family left. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Maybe he didn’t get the memo. Maybe… he just missed his flight.

Dearest Lyla,

Take this flight. It will be okay. Be brave, my little duckling.

Love,
Mama

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