Tuesday, December 1, 2009


My daughter and I have a gap between when I drop my son off at school and when her school starts. We have started to go to a Starbucks near her school to play Dominoes. At first, she didn't really understand the game (she's three-and-a-half). She would put random sides together that didn't really match. But she is starting to be able to do the entire thing herself.

It's funny how I still want to direct her choices, and I have to hold myself back.

I remember hearing somewhere that there are over 400 different ways of doing dishes - and everyone thinks their way is right.

So it is with the Dominoes. I often think I know where she should put something, and she finds another suitable choice.

I hope I can remember this as she grows up.

There is a Spanish man who also goes in the same time every morning that my daughter was instantly attracted to. Kids know a genuine spirit when they see it. This morning, I saw him walk in and told her Miguel was coming in. She lit up, turned around, and started waiving her arms around to make sure he saw her. Then she grabbed her lipstick out of her pocket and started applying it, again.

He came over and patted her head very gently, looked her into her eyes and said hello.

It is these small moments that make me very happy.

I don't remember the last time my husband actually saw us.

My daughter, for the most part, refuses to talk to her dad. And to me this is why. She knows that he doesn't see us. It's not so much about him missing her birthday party like I previously thought. It is the every day acts of neglect.


  1. I'm sorry that he doesn't see your daughter. That is tough. I think that may be the worse kind of neglect--to ignore something bright and beautiful that is right before your eyes.

  2. Thank you.

    Her name actually means "ray of light" and that's exactly what she is.