Cheerio

Just like all school days, I didn't see Lyla until I picked her up. I walked into her classroom to find her and two other tiny people standing around a table covered with Cheerios. Since none of them had the dexterity to grab Cheerios quickly, it was a free-for-all in slow motion. It almost looked like they were politely sharing.

Lyla saw me and said, "Mmm! Mmm!" She had Cheerio bits stuck to her face, shirt, and hands, but you can't really demand that she clean herself off; you just have to come to terms with getting half-chewed Cheerios smeared on various parts of you.

I knelt, and Lyla army-crawled over and climb-hugged me. I pulled a Cheerio off her chest and another off the bottom of her foot. I asked her how big she was, but she didn't feel like answering.

In the car, she fussed until I changed the radio from MPR to a music station. I heard her shake the interlocking ring toys I had given her in the carseat. I switched over to an 80s mix CD, and she started fussing again during Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al." I couldn't really blame her.

At home, after some playing, Mama coming home, some dinner, and some more playing, Lyla went to bed at 7:00 without a squawk or a whimper.

Tomorrow will probably be a lot like today. It feels cyclical, like the progression of life right now isn't a straight line, but a circle. And that's fine with me. It's a comfortable circle. It's a Cheerio.