Tell Me

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Tell me she won’t remember my frustration after she dropped the pretzels.
Tell me she won’t remember how I promised the playground and then it rained.
Tell me she won’t remember the exhaustion in my voice after I tucked her in the third, fourth, fifth time.
Tell me she won’t remember the deep sighs and the rolling eyes.
Tell me she won’t remember the frantic race out the door only to be early.
Tell me she won’t remember when she wanted to bring bankie and we left him in the house.
Tell me she won’t remember errand after errand on our one day of the week together.
Tell me she won’t remember the one time, really, only once, that I skipped the pages in Horton Hears a Who.

And tell me that she’ll remember the morning cuddles, licking the spoon, afternoon trips to the library, the coffee shop, the playground.
Tell me she’ll remember the laughter, the endless hours drawing, the lemonade on the front step.
Tell me she’ll remember me, mama bird, feeding her, baby bird, one long worm of spaghetti from my mouth to hers.
Tell me she’ll remember the good.
Tell me she’ll remember the goofy.
Tell me she’ll remember the love.
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3 thoughts on “Tell Me

  1. That is so lovely – of course she’ll remember the good and forget the not-so-good. I like to think that you and your siblings only remember the good stuff you experienced growing up and not the times I was impatient and angry. You’re a great mom and she’s a lucky little girl.

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