And then I compare Marley to a floating balloon.

September 2010

Marley purposely wore the same dress on the last day of school that she had worn on the first day of school. She was, I suppose, having her own exercise in Before and After, and helping me to realize how much she and Rudy have grown over the past ten months.

When I went to pick her up, I brought along a small bouquet of pink and purple balloons. Rudy had her own balloon, which inevitably floated away the way that they all do: so fast that you can't grab them back even though you feel like you should be able to, and then so slow that you can keep looking up to help convince yourself that yes, regrettably, you let it go, and now it's gone.

June 2011

This is, of course, a fitting metaphor for Marley's past year. It happened so fast. Most of the separate drop-offs are a blur of usually apologetic kisses after a harried morning. Most of the pick-ups blend into one hopping and screeching Rudy in a tutu who is overjoyed to see her big sister again. For a few minutes. And things have changed. Marley's grown into a kid who's more comfortable joking around, for one thing. Now she often follows her comments with a giggle while shrugging her shoulders and wrinkling her nose. And she throws her head back and laughs when Rudy says something ridiculous. It's like she's in on it now. And that's different. And, those mornings of preschool are gone, thankfully having floated away slowly enough so that I think I was able to appreciate them.