Pluck

My littlest girl has been fighting a cold for weeks now. Try as we might to encourage her to rest, however... when you are six years old, there is just too much to do.

One cannot expect to sit on her laurels and still keep on top of one's social calendar.  There is a Kindergarten musical to rehearse, Grandparent's Day in her classroom is approaching, and, joy-of-joys, the school principal recently issued the proclamation that snow pants are no longer required playground attire.  Meaning, of course, that it will make the chasing of boys so much less cumbersome.  Only the most fleet of foot win at that game (and of course, Mom doesn't know what she's talking about when she says that catching one, may not actually be considered a win...).

Today, when she didn't leap out of bed to embrace the dawn, I took it as a sign that she needed a bit more rest and decided to wait and see how she felt later in the morning before sending her to school.  "Later in the morning" turned out to be less than an hour later, just after the school bus made its departure (of course).  She appeared in the kitchen, mad as a wet hen that I would keep her from school when she had so many commitments and so much accomplish.  So, we saddled up (figuratively speaking) and headed for town.

I couldn't have asked for a better way to start the day... or week.  After a dark and rainy Sunday, this day dawned with a cloudless sky, the air fresh and filled with birdsong.  Hints of the first green grass emerging in the roadside ditches.  The sight of hilltops beginning to dry in the fields, meaning it won't be long until the farmers are out turning the soil and planting this year's crop.  Country music on the radio, and the voice of my plucky little six-year-old socialite in the back seat telling me...

"Turn it up, Mom... it's JOHNNY CASH!"

Together, she and I concluded that listening to Johnny Cash cranked up on the radio while cruising down the road on a sunny spring morning was totally worth a tardy slip.