While cleaning the garage I found a container of sidewalk chalk. Not just any container of sidewalk chalk, but the mother of all containers of sidewalk chalk. Enough sidewalk chalk to draw a seventeen-mile line (give or take a few feet, I'm guessing) before scraping our fingers to nubs on the sidewalk.
It should last us until the end of June.
While my oldest daughter was playing at a friend's house and the youngest was napping, I showed the box of chalk to Brooke. Her eyes widened and she nodded before I could even ask if she'd like to head outside.
We sat on the sidewalk side-by-side, drawing. She chatted about whatever crossed her mind: whether butterflies and moths were related (cousins?), how it's hard to draw rainbows just right, why cats are her favorite animal, at least for that day.
I began to talk freely, too. I shared about a recent presentation I had made and commented, "I think it went okay."
Without looking up, Brooke replied, "Oh, it definitely went okay."
I stopped chalking, curious about her assertion of my good performance, even when she wasn't there. Even when she doesn't fully understand what I'm talking about. "Why do you think it went well?"
Her response was so simple. "Because it was you, Mommy."
Because it was you.
No other explanation provided, and -- in her mind -- no other explanation needed.
Right at that moment, I chose to believe her. If Brooke, my littlest, biggest cheerleader, believes that the presentation went well, then who am I to think otherwise?
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