Taking my daughter to the library

Taking my daughter to the library

I pick her up from school around 2 O'Clock and tell her that we're going to the library.  She expresses her enthusiasm as only an unencumbered spirit can. By jumping up and down and stiffly clapping her hands and that smile, oh that smile. She shows me her happiness and her approval.  I cherish both. 

I lead her by the hand to our "all American" family transport vehicle, also known as the mini van. I don't like to think of it as a mini van, of course. I mean, they've come so far, don't you think? We climb in and drive away, waving to the other parents and children that we know, and some that we don't.  The library is just around the corner.  She asks the question anyway.  "How long until we get to the library Daddy?" It's just around the corner, I say. 

She smiles.  We arrive.  She unbuckles.  We walk hand in hand across the parking lot, taking this time to practice our "payng attention while we're walking in a parking lot".  Do we skip and run in a parking lot where there's lots of cars? No, Daddy, we pay attention!

We come to the door and I open it for her.  Often there is a sweet old lady coming thorugh at the same time, clutching a dusty volume of something that I don't remember, but she always smiles sweetly at my little girl.

Once we cross the threshold, the ritual begins (you mean it hasn't already begun).  Not too loud, do you need to use the bathroom? Daddy's going to read for a few minutes then I'll play with you.  Maybe puppet show? Maybe puzzles? Maybe another little one will come in and that's always more fun.

Okay, Daddy.

Daddy, I love you.  Well, I love you too, Goose.