Couch Sitter

My daughter, Heather, will be in kindergarten this fall. Over the last few months she has said and done some things that have startled me. I suppose this happens to every parent. Every now and then we look at our kids and think, man, I remember when you were just a little meatloaf with eyes and ears, and now you’re <insert amazing thing here>.

The other day we were at a roadside park, having stopped on our way up north. Heather and I were casually walking back to the car when she said, “Race you to the car, Dad?”

I said, “Okay.”

And then she took off.

I was like, “Holy crap!” and started busting my ass to catch up to her. Just a few months ago a half-hearted jog was enough to beat her. Now I’m catching my breath at the car like, “Still got it.”

Meanwhile I’m trying not to puke.

A couple days ago she showed me a drawing she’d made at pre-school. There were four stick figure people in it, two of which were big, one was medium, and the other was small.

I said, “Is that me and mom in the middle?” pointing at the big stick figures.

“No, that’s me and Sam.”

“Oh. Is that me, then?” pointing at the medium sized stick figure.

“No, that’s mom. You’re over here.”

I was the small figure laying sideways on the paper, looking disoriented and disheveled.

“Hmm… why am I so small and stuffed in the corner.”

“You’re sitting on the couch.”

“Oh.”

“Watching us dance.”

“I see.”

“It’s your favorite thing to do.”

“Heck yeah, it is. High five!”

Slap.

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