A couple days ago, my daughter and I found ourselves at home alone for the evening. My husband was working late hours, my older son was at choir rehearsal, my younger daughter was on an out-of-state trip with the grandparents, and my younger son was with my husband. We had just gotten back from town where we had attended the boys' informal choir concert. The air was thick with humidity and lightening flashed. A storm was brewing.
“How about ice cream cones for supper?” I asked.
Her answer was predictable. Cookies and cream for her, and chocolate peanut butter cup for me.
We took our cones to the deck where we could eat while keeping our eye on the storm. She sheepishly informed me that she had been wearing make-up all evening. “Really?” I said. I realized I didn't care and said so. “As long as I can't tell you're wearing it, it's okay with me.” And then—
Me: So, do you have a crush on anyone?
Her: Mom! If I did, I wouldn't tell you!
Me: Okay. But if you were going to have a crush on someone, who would it be?
And so went our bantering. The girl has a knack for making me belly laugh. It's one of the things I love about older children: when they are honest-to-goodness funny. It's gratifying.
The thunder grumbled louder and the lightening jagged. We better go inside, I said.
Claiming braces-induced chewing difficulties, she fed the tail end of her cone to the animals.
This same time, years previous: the trouble with Mother's Day, the quotidian (5.21.12), and the boring blues.