Tuesday, June 5, 2012

My Little Big Girl

Large Fry had a slightly tumultuous bedtime tonight, having been caught in a lie of omission.  So when I laid down next to her on the floor (her stomach bug at the end of last week has resulted in her sleeping on the floor, which has been good, since it hasn't been quite so hot there), I reminded her that I loved her, and always would.

She nodded, but still looked discontented.  "What's wrong, honey?" I asked.

And the floodgates opened.

"I don't want to leave Mrs. H!" she cried, then buried her head in my shoulder (which is still damp) and sobbed.

At last, I knew what's been bothering her the last couple of days, and it explained her being ill again last night, in combination with a too-long day on Sunday.

I held her.

She cried.

I prayed out loud for her.

She still cried.

I stroked her arm and held her close and murmured what I hoped were soothing phrases.

My big, almost-seven-year-old girl, who had been so excited about summer and second grade in the fall, was now terrified of leaving first grade and her teacher.

Hubby & Large, Easter 2012
When she couldn't stop crying, I kissed her forehead and went into my room, where Hubby was laying in bed, half out of it after managing to stay upright for the high school Baccalaureate service that he was in charge of tonight...after being up most of the night, being extremely ill with a violent stomach bug.  He and Large Fry have a very special relationship, and if anyone could get her to calm down, it was him.

I made sure it was okay for her to come in--he's been avoiding snuggles today so he doesn't pass this bug on to the kids--and helped her crawl up on the bed next to him.

He got her talking about what she was so upset about, and proceeded to tell her some of the same stuff I had, about being able to see Mrs. H. in the hallways next year and everything.  Coming from Daddy, it was apparently more believable.

She was almost asleep, curled up against his side, when I sang the first verse of "Goodnight, Junior" for her, which has been something of a tradition now at bedtime for the last several weeks.

My poor little big girl.  The end of first grade is rough.

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