Living with Kennedy is like living in a charming novel. She has the role of the lively young girl on an infinite adventure, and I can be anyone I want to be along side her.
This morning I was in Kennedy's bedroom while she was getting dressed for school. I sat on a brown leather chair made for a child and looked at the scenes set up on the floor. There was a doll on a couch across from a tv, surrounded by open dvd cases; she appeared to be watching a movie while eating popcorn. There was another doll hanging from a gymnastics bar, her long tangled hair barely above the mat. While I sat there anticipating Kennedy's outfit selection, I thought about what else I needed to get done before we walked out the door. I interrupted my own thoughts and I blurted out "Do you want to buy your lunch today or take your lunch box." I repeated myself several times in exchange for pure silence, as if I were asking the dolls in front of me.
Moments later, I heard her say softly from her closet, “Mom.”
“Yes, Kennedy.” I replied, now standing up so I could see her body in the door frame with a purple and pink striped shirt over her head but not yet over her arms.
“No Mom, look through here.” She said, and she moved to look through a slat on the side of her white bunk bed.
I found my way through the dolls and doll clothes to the opposite end of the bed from her. I crouched down and looked through the slat, across the white sheets printed with pink horses and through the other slat, where her bright blue eyes were focused on me.
“Oh Mom, I see a little cat next to you.” She said. I turned slightly to the left to see the tiniest little toy cat sitting on the bed right next to me. I smiled and faked a sneeze.
“Hey Kennedy, would you like to buy your lunch today or take a lunch box?” I asked again, but this time looking through the slats, as if there was nothing else in this world except my eyes and hers.
“I’ll take my lunch.” She said contently with a big smile.