Some Kind of Quiet

Daddy, Reese and I dropped you off at kindergarten this morning. First we stopped by Mrs. Nance's room to wave at Nora. Then I showed you where the girls' bathroom is, so you wouldn't be anxious about that. When we walked into the room, there were a few boys crying, but that didn't seem to bother you much. You hung up your backpack and got your school box from your cubby. Mrs. Smith decided that your seat would be between two other little girls who were quietly coloring. I gave you a kiss in your hand and whispered, "I love you." And that was that. We walked away before you could see my tears. I didn't have many, but a few stubborn ones got out. I've been thinking about you all day and looking at the schedule. I hope you had fun in art; I'm sure that will be one of your favorite specials. While you were gone, I cut up the peaches Grandma Dixie brought down for us last week. When I drained the water out of the sink, I could hear it run through the plumbing below. I know that's a sound I've never heard since we moved into our new house. Reese played quietly most of the morning until she scooped up Pearl and sat in the basket beside the couch. I think she was missing you. I know I do.