This morning, Little A was not in the best mood. Mondays are like that for her. At the end of the week, she hangs out outside (when the weather permits) and plays some computer games and stuff inside and all of that is interrupted by Monday and having to get ready for school. Never mind that she really enjoys school. Somebody has to pay for her weekend hanging being disrupted. It’s usually me because I come through and make sure her attire is acceptable. This usually means she can’t wear her favorite pajama top to school even if it is in her favorite color and covered with glitter. After the power struggles upstairs, she came down and went out of the door off to school.

Her father said, “You really look pretty, Little A.” Her entire countenance lifted and she skipped off to the bus. She was still beaming by the time she sat down. I overheard her telling the bus driver about her daddy.  You know, I tell my daughter that she looks pretty fairly often, and she responds positively, but it does not go nearly as far as when it comes from her father.  Somehow it made me think about my relationship with my dad and how complicated and painful it has been at times and how despite all of that my life has been blessed by so many moments like the one my daughter had today.