Before we went in to see the Christmas show put on by my daughter’s musical theatre group, my mother and I stopped to look at candid shots taken the night before at the rehearsal. A picture of my daughter appeared and my mother said:
“She looks so much like you at that age.”
I felt weak when I heard that, with relief and gratitude.
There is always mention of how much my children remind my inlaws of my husband. Whether it is good or bad – say one is smart or one is stubborn – my inlaws often say: ”I wonder who they get that from” while smiling at my husband.
It is funny how this can make a person feel redundant.
My side of the family rarely mention similarities between my children and me.
So standing there with my mother and hearing that escape her lips – almost as if she was taken aback at the resemblance between my daughter and me – made me love her even more than I already do.
I have been working on the Noah Scalin-inspired Make Something 365 this past year. I started on January 14 2012. So today, January 13 2013 is officially my final day of finding the moment in the day.
Adelaide was home from school just before the holidays, in bed with a bad cough and headache. I went out on some errands, came home with one of her choice gossip magazines.
I gave it to her on the condition that she not read anything about Selena/Taylor/Demi etc to me. She said Okay.
Later, though, I sat on her bed with her and we started leafing through the pages together. I chose my favourite One Direction band member. No it’s not Harry.
Holidays over, I’m always a little down on this day.
I think back to an afternoon in December just before Christmas when my daughter was part of a magical Nutcracker/Dr. Seuss show.
I watch snow fall outside and I smile.
My kids wake up, get dressed, make their beds and head downstairs for breakfast before I have pulled my sorry rump out of bed.
They prepared schedules the night before.
From 715 until 230, they are booked.
I need to go grocery shopping. I am told, as they head downstairs, that if I plan to make their lunches, I need to be back by 1130.
It’s some weird Freaky Tuesday.
I get out of bed.
Anti bullying week and my daughter decides to wear pink every day.
I think she could have done another week. Maybe more.
My daughter has never liked milk on her cereal. She eats it, dry, milk in a glass beside.
Every morning, after the kids have left and I clean up or maybe later that day as I fix lunch or set the table for dinner, I spy a cheerio on the ground.
Sometimes, I find the day’s cheerio on the stairs or it makes it all the way up to her room.
The one that got away.
My attempt to catch my daughter’s dive.
My son does some most painful belly flops.
Already, this picture dates itself – taken a few weeks back, those red leaves are gone, the trees are bare. Sandy took care of that.
The kids in the morning as I stand with a sweater pulled around me, yawning. This year has been a different start for all of us. A walk to a bus stop with a friend for my daughter. A bike ride or scooter glide to school with buddies for my son.
And me on my own, making my way back home to an office and a cat, after I watch both kids disappear around the corner. If they were to look back and see, I think they’d think: Why is she still standing there? But they don’t look back.
It starts today. My son has been crazy with anticipation.
I saw the idea in a magazine years ago. I started with scary designed envelopes pinned on a bulletin board. Simple little gifts. Another year I painted 13 coffee jars white with black numbers counting down from the 19th to the 31st. There were clues as to where the presents were hidden.
This year I used 13 different cases/bags/boxes and drew a scary image with each number (scariest for me: purple Grimace).
I think my son was disappointed this morning. His gift was a shirt – but it had the Hulk on it
12 more days to go (insert scary laugh here) …
The kids start swimming lessons again, this time on Saturday mornings. My son must wait patiently (impossible) for his turn as my daughter’s class is first.
She is in a semi private with another girl. This girl is tiny.
She is some swimmer, too. Her little legs propel her forth, her little arms working like the paddle wheels on a steam boat.
My daughter towers over her.