According to plan, my daughter went to school yesterday committed to a new kind of behavior count.  She resolved to expect and to record every smile, laugh, greeting, high-five, comment, kind look, and miscellaneous, positive, social gesture.

I can’t measure how much hope actually filled her heart, but she was willing to play the believing game.

I drove into the pick-up line with her day on my heart like body armor.

The Boy walked up to the car and says, “The Girl’s not coming.”

“What do you mean she’s not coming,” I challenged him like a field medic in triage mode, “What happened to her?”

“Uh,” he hesitated, catching the peril in the air, “She’s going home with B?”

“I thought she said last night she didn’t want to go home with B,” I pressed.

“Dunno,” The Boy grunted in adolescent dismissal.

I pulled the car out of line so I could walk over to my daughter.

She was like one, big, chillaxed grin.

“Mamma!” she gushed, “My day in MATH was great!. I really, really want to go home with B.”

That girl has always been quick, quick, quick with math.

My heart soars to hope that new Math won’t trip her up like it did me.

Her path will undoubtedly be uneven as her teenage years ahead call like a Siren.

She will fall again, but she will also rise and lift her own voice in Hallelujah.

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Halleluja
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