The Background Mother

This morning I was getting ready for work when the little angel showed up, carrying the thank-you cards I keep in the television armoire.  I wondered briefly what else she'd pulled out of there.

Her: "Can I have a pen?"

Me:  "Sure - what are you doing?"

Her: "I'm going to make cards for my teachers."   

We went into the playroom and got some colored pencils. I watched her pretend to write cursive, mumbling, "Thank you for being my teacher.  I love you."  Then she sealed them up and "wrote" her teacher's names and her name on the outside of the cards.

Her:  "I'm going to give these cards to my teachers today to say thank you for being my teachers."

(We'd made cards for her teachers last Friday for Teacher Appreciation Day, and I think she wanted to do it again.)

Me:  "Okay - I think that's really nice of you."

She talked about the cards all the way to school. When we got there, her teachers weren't there yet. I asked her if she wanted to keep the cards in her cubbie until they got there, but no, she wanted to keep them. Just then, one of her teachers walked in.  I watched the little angel walk over and hand the card to the teacher, who was talking to another teacher.  Then I saw the second teacher in the door, also preoccupied. The little angel walked over and handed her the card, then stood in front of her, smiling shyly. The second teacher didn't stop talking, though she did throw out a thank you.  The little angel looked confused, and considered to stand in front of her, waiting for something, a realization of what the card said.

I thought about telling the teachers what the cards "said." They would never know, since the little angel can't really write anything other than her name.  I saw her standing there, so hopeful, face shining up at them. 

I turned around and left.  I cried in the car a little, wondering if I should've called their attention to her loopy lines, telling them what she'd said as she wrote them.  In the end, I decided I have to let their relationship evolve on its own. 

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