Maddie and Katie are in separate rooms at their daycare. Every morning we make the long trek down the hall to Maddie’s room first. She hangs up her coat and backpack, and we give a quick hug and a kiss.”Have a great day! Be kind,” I tell her as Katie and I walk away with a wave.
Same thing happens in Katie’s room down the hall. Although I usually have to grab Katie for a hug and a kiss and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t hear me say good-bye because she’s off and playing with her friends.
What both of my girls don’t know is this: I always come right back.
I don’t head towards the door to the parking lot. I make that long trek back down the hallway to Maddie’s room. I stand behind the door frame where she cannot see me (but the teacher usually does). I peek around the door and watch, for just a moment. Is she settling in? Has she found a friend? Does she look happy?
I stop again at Katie’s door. Hiding behind the door frame, I peek in. Katie’s teacher offers me an understanding smile. Is she playing? Does she look happy? Is she taking turns?
Satisfied, I leave for work.
My girls are getting older, becoming more confident and assertive with age. They probably don’t need their momma peeking around the corners of doors. Maybe one of these days I won’t peek around the door frame. Maybe one of these days I’ll just head for my car.
But for right now, they don’t know I come right back.