Backpacks and piggy tails.
Headbands and tennis shoes.
Warnings to wait for each other after school.
I love you.
Send them out into the big wide world.
Help them fly.
And every day be thankful for their return.
There is never a guarantee of another tomorrow.
But there is today.
Today there is homework.
Tears and success.
Disappointment and joy.
There are hugs and kisses and more goodbyes.
More not knowing if they will return.
There is laughter and riotous play.
Blonde hair poking out of blankets.
Small heads at the side of my bed.
Every time I hug my children, I will say a pray for those who no longer can.
Toys scattered about.
Screams and frustration are reprimanded with admonitions to be nice.
Prayers before bed, “Please bless all those families,” my sweet daughter says.
And another today turns into tomorrow.