The Sacred Hour

Each day, when E come’s home from Preschool, I gently question about her day. Being the girl that she is, she had other things on her mind. She gave me very little back, and it felt like she was sliding into a secret world at school that I would never fully understand.

All I ever get out of her is that she played trains and lots of other things, when I ask what snack she had I got the reply cheesy biscuits and the reply is always in her threenager attitude, as if to say enough of the questions, just let me play.

On a night-time E always wants me to get her ready for bed, on rare occasions she will let daddy. One night after reading stories I asked her if she had a good day today, her reply surprised me as she started to talk about preschool. She told me about people she played with, those she doesn’t. She told me about a little boy called Ryan who always pushes her packed lunch box out-of-the-way on the table, I couldn’t help but feel a little twang of upset about this. She told me about her keyworker and who her favourite grown up person is, she really opened up.

From this I realised that when she comes home from preschool she just wants to sit and relax and do more playing, she doesn’t have time for twenty questions about her day, yet when she is relaxed before bed she will happily and excitedly talk about her day. E loves preschool and I love that she tells me what she has been up to, well some of the time.

And so each night, before rushing out of her room to check my email or watch TV, I linger just a moment, waiting and listening to see if tonight is the night she has something to share about her day.

Looking at the pizza  menu

 

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