Mommy Moment – Galit Style

Welcome to another Mommy Moment! If you’re not sure what it is, head over and read all about how Mommy Moments at the Monster came to be. I am excited to have one of my favorite bloggers/writers here today, Galit from These Little Waves.

Galit is a mom of three, wife, co-founder of a monthly linkup, Memories Captured, and an AMAZING writer. She is involved in all kinds of writing blogs and if you haven’t read her work, you are really missing out!

So go grab a cup of coffee and a donut, ahem, I mean a low-fat muffin, or depending on the time of the day maybe some wine and chocolate, and sit back and enjoy the story!

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“Here, mama?” He asks, pointing to the burgundy chair. Its wooden arms and legs are sturdy, strong, well worn. Many children have sat here.

“Yes.” I nod, distracted by my own thoughts and worries and mission.

I turn from him with a blind faith that he will, indeed, sit where he should for as long as I need. One slice of a moment is all it will take. Tiny, important.

Walking up to the counter, I press my palms against my jeans. Even as an adult, a school counter seems so very big, and makes me feel so very small.

The receptionist smiles my way and flips her strawberry hair over one shoulder. Her smile is warm, her eyes are searching.

Parents don’t usually come to school in the middle of the day without notice or reason or, at the very least, an appointment.

I know this, and yet I’m here.

“Hi.” I greet her. My smile is wary and my hello is strained, tinny even.

I know this too, and yet I go on.

“Can I see Kayli for just one minute?” I ask, crossing my fingers against my thigh, silently whispering, “Please don’t ask me why.” And to her credit, she doesn’t.

Smoothing a smile onto her lips with the ease and grace of someone who has heard stranger things from behind that big, tall counter, she calls down to my girl’s classroom.

I stand and wait, noting the quiet hum of the office. Another phone call is made, children deliver blue-inked notes,  a harsh fluorescent light washes over us all.

I murmur my thanks, then turn from the smallness of this space, towards the vastness of the hallway.

My flip flops smack against harsh carpet, each step announcing my arrival.

Sunlight beams through paneled doors landing in slants against the wall, revealing oil pastels in the brightest of colors, and against the floor, revealing my waiting stance.

A single heartbeat later, Kayli’s flip flopped stride comes my way. Her steps are ever-sure, her expression matches the school secretary’s.

“Hi mom?” She asks.

I take in my girl. Her spaghetti strap lays loosely against one shoulder, her pink tinted lip gloss was recently applied.

When I dropped her off that morning, we barely said good bye, having just matched wills and stubbornness and harshness.

I wince into that moment. Were we running late? Was her backpack unpacked? Her homework undone? Her voice too edged? I have no idea what happened, but I do know that I handled whatever it was badly, and that I owe her an apology.

I lean down so we’re eye to eye, chocolate brown meeting light hazel, “I’m so sorry about this morning, Kay.” I whisper.

Without pause, she whispers back, “Thanks Mommy, me too.” She melts into me with her arms and her face and even her tippy toes.

I squeeze her tight, breath her in, then let her go, grateful for tiny, important slices.

She smiles between pink tinged lips, then turns on her own heel, her flip flops marking her own path down that big hallway. I watch her go, my heartstring repaired.

My feet still firmly planted, I glance towards Brody, ready to gather him from that burgundy chair and head home.

That’s when I catch a glimpse of that strawberry hair once more, framing warm eyes, and a smile that mirrors the feeling. The secretary nods my way with her chin and her smile and even her eyes, mother to mother.

She’s seen so many stories unfold from behind that desk, and I’m so very grateful to her for letting me rewrite a slice of mine.

-———-

I should have mentioned you would need tissues! See what I mean about Galit’s writing? I felt like a voyeur watching that moment unfold. Learning to say that I am sorry and admit when I’m wrong to my kids has been a challenge…one that I work on everyday. Galit handled this the way I’m striving to.

We all take on so much as moms – it’s a tough gig! There’s no manual out there for what we do, so sharing stories like this helps us all learn from each other.

Now head over to These Little Waves and say hello to Galit. If you are a Twitter addict, you can find her there, and on Facebook and Pinterest too! And if you are a new follower, make sure to tell her that I sent you!