Always Wanting (Consumed)

Monday afternoon has me running around, picking things up off the floor and putting them in their right places. Screams, cries, and laughter fill the air around me, but I’d learned a long time ago how to filter out the noises I should be concerned with. I bend and scoop up several blocks and put them in the bin that’s up against the wall. I slip crayons back into their boxes, and close coloring books. Books go back on their shelves, and Barbie’s and GI Joe’s return to their toy boxes.

I feel a small tug on my shirt and look down. A pair of sweet brown eyes stare up at me.

“Miss Kade, I gotta use da bafroom,” little Lizzy says, dancing around on her toes, doing the pee pee dance.

You ask why I can control my addiction during the day? I deal with little munchkins from nine-to-five, five days a week at Kidz Korner Day Care Center. Kids are one thing that can wilt any sexual desire. They are also the reason I religiously use a condom. There’s no way I’m having any accidental babies. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids, you have to in my line of work, but being around them for forty hours a week gives you a new appreciation for the condom industry. It’s a dream of mine to have a house full of them one day, but I know that’s a dream that will probably never come true. Instead, I come to work every day and watch, along with three other ladies, thirteen kids, ranging from six months to five years old, and I love every single one of them.

Today is Lizzy’s first day at the center, and she’s one of the sweetest little girls I’ve ever met. She’s four years old, and according to Mrs. Morris, her grandmother recently took over custody, because her mother is in a drug rehab facility. Her father died before she was born. My heart broke for the beautiful little girl.

I smile and hold out my hand for her to take, which she does trustingly. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll take you.”

I bring her to the two stall bathroom that’s connected to the classroom. Standing outside the small stall, I wait for her to do her business, then we both wash our hands before walking out. I noticed that she didn’t talk much today, and wonder if it has anything to do with her living arrangements before she came to live with her grandmother. Or, it could simply be her being in a new place. I hope it’s the latter.

She keeps hold of my hand when I loosen my grip to let hers go. I tighten mine back and walk her over to a table out of the way of the many screaming and rambunctious kids. When we both take a seat, something that’s a little difficult for me with the tiny chairs and my not-so-tiny behind, her eyes dart around to all the kids running around. It’s coming up on five o’clock, so the kids know it’s about time to leave.

There’s a coloring book and a box of crayons that haven’t been put away yet. I push it across to Lizzy, and she immediately grabs them.

“How did you like your first day, Lizzy?” I ask, trying to draw her out.

She pulls a red crayon out of the box and starts coloring the only way a four-year-old can; way outside the lines.

Seconds later, she lifts her big brown eyes to me and says, “I wiked it.”

I smile, and she goes back to coloring. I lean over and watch as she does.

“You’re doing a great job, sweetie!” I praise, which earns me a beautiful smile.

She puts the red crayon on the table and pulls out an orange. Her tongue peeks out at the corner of her mouth as she concentrates and tries to color the dress of the little girl in the picture.

“Did you have fun?” I keep my eyes on the paper as she continues to color.

“Uh-huh,” she answers, now picking a blue from the box and starts coloring the boy’s face.

“Did you make any friends?”

She lifts her head and looks over at some of the kids that are being helped by their parents, slipping on their jackets.

“I wike Ashwey. She’s my fwiend.”

Ashley Michaels. She’s another one of my favorites. She’s five years old, and as cute as a button. She’s also one of the more outspoken kids, who’s not shy at all.

Just to prove my point, Ashley waves frantically and screeches across the room, “Bye-bye, Lizzy! We’ll play more tomowow!”

Lizzy smiles big and drops her blue crayon, waving back at Ashley. She watches her leave with her mom, then grabs the green out of the box and commences to scribble lines across the grass on the picture.

I sit silently, watching her color for a few more moments. Many of the kids have left with their parents, leaving only me, Lizzy, Mrs. Morris, and a handful of kids behind.

I’m just about to ask Lizzy what her favorite color is, when she says softly, “I miss my mommy.”

My heart cracks wide open with her sad words. She’s still looking down at her paper, but her hand has slowed down. The sorrow in her voice brings tears to my eyes. This precious four-year-old should never have to go through such grief. Her mom may still be alive, but to a child this young, being away from their parents for days, weeks, months at a time, seems like a lifetime to them.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

She looks up at me and the tears I see swimming in her eyes has me reaching forward to gather her in my arms. I can’t stand for a child to cry. They are so innocent, and should never be brought to tears.

I soothingly rub her back as she lays her head on my shoulder. She doesn’t cry loudly. She’s not screaming, or hiccupping, or crying uncontrollably. If it wasn’t for the quiet sniffles and the dampness on my shirt, I wouldn’t know she was crying. She’s doing it softly and delicately, which makes the pain in my chest worse. I want to cry with her, but I know I have to be strong.

I hold her until she lifts her head. I look at her to make sure she’s okay, but her eyes aren’t on me. She jumps from my lap and rushes away. I turn to see what’s captured her attention, and am stunned to find her being lifted into a pair of familiar strong arms.