She has always done this thing. Even back when she was, like, two. I think it helps to keep the connection, as if we'll ever lose it, or maybe she wants to know that she has some sort of power over me, even though the power she has over me is way more than physical.

It all started that one day. I walked into Emily's house knowing full well that Claire was there. Maybe today she would fall asleep like she did yesterday. I smiled a little, remembering how cool it was to just watch her. Well, not cool in the usual sense of the word, but it felt right. As long as I was watching her, nothing could happen. It was what I was supposed to do.

I walked through the door and my ears were assaulted by the piercing sound of a two year old tantrum. Claire may have been cool asleep, but the world is tough for a two year old. There are naps to be had and juices to be tasted and just too many things to be explored.

Even in the middle of her hysterical crying, though, nothing could slow that girl down. She was tottering away behind a plastic lawn mower, clutching its handle in one hand and her "planket" in the other. The poor piece of cloth was dirty and tattered, but Claire Bear loved it, so it had found a special place in my heart as well.

My eyes followed her slow, and loud, progress across the living room floor. Emily and Sam had given up, and they, too, were just watching her march back and forth with that little blue scrap of cloth. Sam knew I was there without turning around.

"She's been like this for the past forty-five minutes." He glanced behind his shoulder and winced as the shrieking got worse. "Got any tricks up your sleeve?" just as he said this, Claire managed to wheel the little red lawnmower in the other direction, and caught sight of me. If possible, her sobs escalated even more. Her little planket covered hand reached up to me with clenched fingers, and her speed doubled as she tried to get to me.

I took a step forward and she ditched the little mower altogether, apparently deciding that it was too much work. Her feet were sure at first as the fought their way towards me, but the left one was soon caught on the right. I reached down and turned her fall into a rollercoaster, scooping her into my arms, planket and all. Her free hand reached down and clutched desperately at my wrist, which I gladly gave her.

Claire curled herself up onto my chest, not worried about falling, and buried her head into my shoulder. I could feel her hot tears and God knows what else trickle onto my shirt, but I didn't care. Her fingers fought to get a better hold on my wrist. Her sobs calmed into snuffles after a while, but I didn't care about the noise or the tears or the death grip on my wrist, this was Claire growing, and me growing with her.

It was odd, how sitting with a crying toddler in your arms centers you, but I guess it may be different with me and her. At that moment in time, I was her rock. She knew that it would be okay to curl up and sob, right there on my shoulder. Even after she was sleeping softly, I couldn't let her go. I still remember her little noises and movements. Every once in a while, her fingers would flex in my wrist, but they never once let go. I guess they never really did.

oOo

I guess from that point on, that was our thing. Her little fingers would reach up, not for my hand, but for that little bit of my arm that she had a direct claim on.

Like the time she was five, and some little first grader had pushed her off the swings. Her little eyes filled with tears. After she turned four, Claire never cried like a normal kid. Tears would well up in those pretty brown eyes and they would just fall.

Don't get me wrong, I mean if she really got going, she could sob and scream and pout with the best of 'em, but most of the time she just…kinda…leaked I guess is the best word. There were no sniffles or snuffles. Her voice would be steady, her body unshaken as she told me what had happened, or failed to happen, in her bite sized world.

Anyway, her eyes just started spilling, and I had jumped off the bench to give that kid a piece of my mind, but little Claire marched her way towards me. Her eyebrows were scrunched up in the middle and her lips were set in a concrete mold of anger. Her hand gripped my wrist.

"This is NOT a fun playground!" she informed me as she began pulling me to the car. Her free hand was planted firmly on her hip and her pigtails swung with every step she took. The tears continued to fall.

"Claire Bear, we should go tell that boy-"

"NO! I want to go home." Her fingers tightened on my wrist, "Some people just don't know how to be nice." Her little five year old voice changed into a serious reflection of what she would grow to be. I got little snippets like this from time to time. She would look at me, her eyes vastly profound and let loose a truth so simple that it was elegantly complex and endlessly meaningful.

This was one of those moments. When I could almost, almost, see what my life would be like in years to come. But now was not the future.

I scooped her up in my arms, plopping her on my shoulders to give her some height. Her chin lifted as she surveyed the "no fun" playground from her new, superior perch.

"Listen, Claire Bear, how about we go for ice cream instead. Parks are overrated anyway."

"Yeah. They're sooo overrated." I held in a smile as her voice copied my factual tone. She had no idea what she had just said, but she would probably figure it out and use the word soon. It was a little akward, walking back to the car with my arm stretched above my head for her to hold, but she didn't really notice, and I really didn't mind. I wiped the tears with my thumb as I put her in the car seat. Her hands gripped my wrist tightly for a moment before letting me go. I could hear her sigh as she looked one last time at the swings.

oOo

Like some Proud Parent, I'll always remember the day she went to Kindergarten. Her pigtails swung with her determined steps and her red plastic backpack was hiked up on her shoulders. Her parents and I took her picture, told her to be good, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and sent her on her way.

Watching her go through those doors, my heart wrenched a little. School would change her so much. What would she have for lunch? Would they give her a snack before or after her nap? Did they know that she only liked to be called Claire Bear, or that she only read stories about princesses?

Half of me wanted to march up to that school and have a serious chat with the teachers, or hell, just take her back home. The other half of me needed to let her go. I wanted so badly to see how she turned out.

I sat in that parking lot for the whole four hours she was in there. They let the kids go and Claire was so excited she almost bounced out of her car seat, an impressive feat since I insisted that she wear three seat belts in my car.

"…And then, this girl, Shirley, she told be that she didn't like her grape juice and I told her I didn't like my crackers, and so we switched and now we're friends and then this boy Thomas spilled his juice on my mat and told me that I should trade him 'cause I had a better spot but I told him that I liked my spot too much, and then he told me that if he didn't have the mat tomorrow that he would pour the whole juice on my mat and then I'd be begging him to switch but me and Shirley called him a sissy until he went away but then our teacher…"

On and on she went. Her fingers had captured my wrist as soon as I was done buckling her into the bench seat. Her hand was fluttering over my pulse, squeezing or shaking to emphasize a point in her story.

I listened to every word. I could recite it verbatim right now with her little gasping breaths perfectly placed. I knew everyone in her class and what they wore and what they ate for lunch. I can also tell you that the next day, when Thomas poured an entire cup of juice on her mat, Claire Bear punched him clean in the nose.

I came to pick her up when they sent her home early. Her lip was folded out and her arms were folded up and there was a note in her bag for her parents. I strapped her in, but her hand gripped my wrist before I could pull away.

"I didn't do anything wrong." She told me solemnly. "It was all stupid Thomas' fault." Her tone was so sad, so serious, that I couldn't help myself. I leaned in to plant a kiss on her head.

"I know Claire Bear, and don't tell anyone, but if it were me, I would have punched him, too." Her eyes met mine in surprise and I could feel her tiny fingernails in my arm she was gripping so tight. "But that doesn't mean we can just hit people whenever they upset us." Her brows furrowed.

"How 'bout this, Claire Bear, we'll both promise not to hit anyone who doesn't hurt us first, physically, I mean." Her brown eyes shifted to her still red knuckles. "We'll seal it with ice cream."

I knew I had made the deal. "And Sprinkles." Her eyes rose up to look at me. Of course I was going to let her have sprinkles. I nodded and she let me go.

The next day, Thomas was her boyfriend, and yeah, I let that one slide, cause it was over in a week the whole week long it was my wrist locked in her grip, and really, he was just a kindergartener…