everything is replaceable, but you.

vows to wear mismatched socks

Once upon a time I met you when you were 5.
I remember picking you up from school first in kindergarten and the days into 4th grade. 
All the trips across our city for speech (therapy) and bagels and hot chocolates to tide us over. 
I remember the sprints down the street back to the car. 
Skipping too.
Like I remember your cross country races the older you got. 
I remember holding hands.
I remember all the happenings of the day hearing from the backseat and you opening an umbrella once while I was driving.
And all the observations that can only live in childhood.
Ladders to clouds.
Hidden slides.
Asking why. 
Almost unlimited whys.
To better understand. 
Wanting to be a train conductor into finding a public bathroom just in time (urban life woes).

We would move from one house to another. And one place to another.
Between your mom's and dad’s. 
Me, you, and your sister.
If there was justice in this world every kid could get a cushion in between houses during those transition times of divorce. 

halloween the first year we all met

return of graduations in 2021 (we got one outside)

Our favorite food spots mostly diners, sugar spots ice cream related, and those slides built into the hill we would drive to on special days. 
I remember looking back into the rear-view mirror and smiling.
And in time something grew.
No one tells you how to help join in raising a child or children.
No one tells you what happens in growing beyond the birthing and assigned roles.
I wish they did.

Broken open. 
Growing into.
Sick duty and the sick couch and tv doctor and somehow I never got sick. 
Adventures in sugar.
First day of school was fro yo and unlimited toppings day. 
Plans on how to get mom to adopt a dog might have failed. 
We all vowed to wear mismatched socks.

I always told you that it didn’t matter what you broke. 
Or spilled during dinner. 
We called it the splash zone then.
I didn't tell you then, but it was because I never wanted to get mad over accidents. 
Kids living so authentically make them a lot.
And adults just pretend they don't.
The lowlights and highlights we told every night for dinner. 
Each person did their social contract of helping before or after. 
We all made jokes about a nanny cam + performing for it even though we all knew there wasn't one. 

As you played a trumpet taller than you.
As you read each line easier in that book until you could read it without me.
The time I stepped in your barf - I knew in that moment what caregivers have felt and will feel again.
Because I didn't flinch. 
We would all create our wish list of fun adventures for school breaks. 
The plays you were in school and community theater. 

Everything was replaceable but you, I said.

And then one day - when you were much, much older and I was in your room visiting now for our family dinner
I stepped on something and broke it.

You said without skipping a beat- don’t worry Kate- everything is replaceable, but you.

Everything is still replaceable, but not you.