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“I learn to count!” Sarah says, her steps turning into skipping hops of excitement.
“Really? Will you count for me?” I love how much Sarah enjoys learning.
She’s proven a quick learner and an attentive student, from what her daycare teachers have said. Not that she’s in an intensive program. Mostly, the children spend their days learning social skills, arts and crafts, and playing. But the school offers a fair amount of basic educational instruction that will prepare her for preschool.
“You count too, Mommy,” she insists as we reach the car and I open the back door.
Sarah climbs in, determined to put herself in her car seat because she’s as stubbornly independent as I am. I watch her carefully, ready to lend a hand if she gets stuck. Then she plops into her car seat and watches as I lock the buckles in place.
“Okay, I’ll count with you,” I agree.
“Oone, twooo, thweeee...” Sarah holds up a finger for each number she says, though the fingers don’t necessarily match her words.
And I say the numbers just a hair behind her because I want to hear how high she learned to count. She makes it to five before the numbers start to escape her. Then she takes a long pause, her eyebrows pressing together in determination.
“What comes next, Mommy?” she asks when she can’t recall.
“Sssi—”
“Siiiix, niiiine,ten!” she finishes with a triumphant shout.
Breaking into applause, I beam down at my little girl. She might have skipped a few numbers, but clearly, she knows her end goal, and the numbers she remembered, she even kept in the right order.
Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, I close the car door and round the back of my sedan to climb into the driver’s seat.
“Are you ready to go to the park?” I ask.
I often take Sarah to the Koret playground in Golden Gate Park if we have a free afternoon, and with the sun out today, I thought it might be a perfect opportunity to enjoy the rare bit of warmer weather.
“Yeah!” Sarah says, her hazel eyes growing wide with excitement.
She watches out the car window with the enthusiasm only a toddler can have for colorful plastic slides and jungle gyms. She’s not big enough to do the long cement slides some of the older kids race down. They still scare her. But she’s getting better and better on the short slide, and she’s a natural climber.
As soon as we pull into the parking lot, Sarah’s bouncing in her seat, ready to get on a roll. She’s going to sleep well for Zoe tonight. I can guarantee it.
But she’s still a good girl, taking my hand and walking with me until we reach the sand footing. Then she’s off like a rocket, heading straight for the tiny rock wall, her black curls bouncing as she toddles through the deep footing.
She’s going to have a pile of sand come pouring out when we empty her shoes before we leave. But I don’t care, and neither does she. The park is one of her favorite places to go, and I wouldn’t deprive her of it for a second over the grains of sand that make it through my front door.
Some messes in life are worth cleaning up after,my mom used to say, and I smile as I hear her warm, loving voice in my head. That’s what she used to say about Sarah when my seven-month-old baby was still pouring pasta noodles over her head instead of eating them.
God, I miss her.
But it means the world to me that I got the extra time with her that I did. The money Maks gave me for our one night together helped prolonged her life by nearly a year—or so the doctors believed—because, for a time, the alternative treatments did manage to slow the cancer down. But nothing was going to stop it.
And now, if I want to spend time with my mom, I have to visit her in my memories.
“Come play, Mommy!” Sarah calls over her shoulder, her tiny hands clinging to the colorful knobs that serve as rock ledges.
“I’m here,” I agree a few seconds later, coming to a stand behind her. Not that the rock wall is tall enough that I would need to climb it, but I know Sarah likes it when I stay nearby.
She babbles happily to me as she climbs—her version of playtime with me.
After the rock wall, we have to hit the swings, followed by the slides, and ending with the park’s very own carousel, which Sarah has to ride at least three times to ensure that all of her favorite animals get the proper amount of attention.
Standing beside her ostrich, as Sarah holds tightly to its neck, I pull my phone out of my pocket when it starts to ring.
“Hey, Zoe,” I greet, loving this day more and more.
