It is nearly bedtime on the last day of the school year. We are exhausted, but happy.
Katie has claimed the comfy chair in the corner of the den. Brooke and I share the love seat. She is nuzzled into the crook of my arm, curled into a ball against my body. The television is on, tuned to Nick Jr.
Moose A Moose is leading his presumed audience of preschoolers in a game of memory.
Brooke runs through one script after another as we watch – finding comfort and predictability in them at a desperately unstructured time of year.
I play my part when cued. ‘Mama, can you say … ?’
She finally grows quiet. It’s been a long day for everyone – school followed by three hours at the pool has us all pretty well cooked.
We watch the TV together in a comfortable silence.
Out of nowhere, Brooke says, “It’s a family of God.”
If it’s a script, it’s not one I recognize. I run through the catalogue of lines from Godspell in my head. I hear them all day long; it must be in there – but I come up dry.
I look around the room for a clue. Moose A Moose is asking for help remembering where the other airplane card is. He’s no help.
Katie and I look at each other and shrug.
“What is, baby?” I ask Brooke.
“The whole world,” she says.
I remind myself to breathe.