a true story about loss & repair
The Pinky Promise
One little pinky, up in the air, and I already knew I couldn't keep the thing I'd sworn to.
the realization
I quit trying to talk her out of it and just told the truth: I made a promise, and today I couldn't keep it, and that wasn't fair to her. Owning it beat explaining it away.
It started with one pinky in the air. She had it hooked around mine yesterday, park promised, sealed. And this morning I couldn't make it happen. So I did the tired-mom thing and reached for tomorrow. We'll go tomorrow, I said. Same park, be a big girl about it.
have you ever felt this way too?
Her pinky went higher, not lower. But you SAID. And she was right, I had. I kept talking, kept offering the replacement day like it was the same thing, and the more I tried to trade her out of it, the harder she held that finger up in the air.
A pinky promise is forever, she informed me. Dead serious. Not letting go. And honestly, she had a point, so I stopped arguing with a three-year-old about the laws of pinkies.
Phone down. I got on the floor right beside her. I told her I made a promise and today I couldn't keep it, and that wasn't fair to her. Today still didn't change. So I just hooked my pinky back around hers. Still mad. Just not by herself with it now.
what I found myself saying
"You said the park, and I said tomorrow like it was the same. It wasn't."
"I made a promise and I couldn't keep it today. That's not fair to you."
"I can't fix today. But I'm not letting go of this pinky."
