"Of course Peter promised, and then he flew away. He took Mrs. Darling's kiss with him. The kiss that had been for no one else Peter took quite easily. Funny. But she seemed satisfied."- J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan
For years I've hung on to picture books. There were Littles for so long. These books were in perpetual play. Since Beautiful Daughter is going to be 8, I recently attempted to discard most of them.
I've too much emotion attached to brown bears and Jesse bears and hungry bears and little bears and pooh bears. Perhaps it should be easier as they've grow older but I am overripe because they don't remember Those Hours reading books. And how could they remember how I perused the book section of the thrift store, choosing carefully just for each one in turn?
To encourage his interest.
To teach him something new.
To delight him with color.
To widen her world, appreciating aesthetics.
Or strengthen a concept.
Or a relationship.
To teach a virtue.
At the dawning realization that Those Hours I shared with Them and not they with Me, I become Wendy who waits for the spring-cleaning.
A book is always my Go To. Until now, when I can't know how to mend the aching while launching all these pieces of my heart.
Eventually, I will don my rose colored glasses like all good mothers and this catch in my throat will be satisfied.