At the end of the month, Chloe will celebrate her 14th birthday. She remains relatively amiable and hasn’t yet entirely forsaken the family unit in search of greener pastures with her friends. I count myself lucky that she still wants to spend time with us, even if she has taken to spending more solitary hours in her girl-woman cave, aka her bedroom.
I’ve started to notice other subtle changes in our interactions, too. We still talk, but not as often as we used to. She’ll arrive home from school and spend five minutes answering my questions and ingesting a second lunch before retiring to her lair until her stomach tells her it’s almost dinner time and she yells, “Mom, when are we eating? What are we having?”
Call me Curmudgeon. (Along with ‘serendipity,’ ‘curmudgeon’ happens to be one of my favorite words in the English language. I adore the word’s peculiar blend of letters.) You’d think that with a December birthday and the upcoming holidays, I’d be full of good cheer. Well, bah humbug…
Chloe and Sophie are almost five years apart. This was not an intentional spread, but I don’t regret it. Between the difference in their ages and the differences in their personalities, there’s never a dull moment, which is by turns often amusing and occasionally appalling.
I miss the days of the simple incandescent light bulb. Especially now that we’ve changed the clocks and have to endure darkened skies at 4:30 pm.
The photo above is a view of our dining room chandelier. As we sat down to dinner last night, my husband looked up at the light fixture hanging above us and exclaimed, “All of the bulbs are different!” Then he laughed maniacally.
I scanned the clothes in my closet and realized that I had nothing to wear. A friend had invited me to an event she organized for her new employer – one of those corporate breakfasts that purportedly allows you to enjoy the best of two worlds: network with a great group of people and absorb words of wisdom from an esteemed group of panelists, and still get to your desk job at a decent hour.
Which is all well and good when you normally wake up at the crack of dawn to go to work, but challenging when you no longer need to wake up at the crack of dawn to go to work. Happy that my friend thought of me and grateful for the invitation, I convinced myself that the event would be good for me – you never know who might require freelance writing services. The girls were off from school and I enlisted Chloe to babysit Sophie. I rolled out of bed and hustled to get ready because I was already running late. And that’s when I opened my closet doors and froze.
Sophie’s bedroom is overrun by stuffed animals. At last count, approximately 95 inanimate creatures graced her bed, her floor and her shelves. When Sophie goes to sleep, she scrunches herself into a ball so she can fit into a corner on her bed. She doesn’t want to disturb the furry friends that surround her.
Our family had a lovely summer. We traveled, we took entertaining day trips, saw friends and spent quality time with relatives. You’d think it would have been hard to leave August in the rearview mirror. But was I mournful when the clock struck 12:01 am on September 1?
I came to this realization the other day when I was combing through the photos I took during our recent travels to England and France. It turns out I’ve amassed an eclectic collection of gargoyle portraits . I think the old art history major in me – the one who was obsessed with medieval art and architecture – is feeling nostalgic.
I am creating a monster, methinks. Actually, I’ve already created a monster. I have successfully managed – for the 252nd time this year – to turn Chloe into a stressed-out teenager. The reason for this particular episode of stress: her indecision about participating in a team sport this fall and my insistence that she make a decision already, for crying out loud!
I know Chloe and Sophie love me. Yet my girls are no different from the millions of other kids around the world who treat their parents like chopped liver.
I’m Mom. My devotion to my daughters’ well-being sometimes feels all-consuming. I’m laser-focused on their happiness (except when I’m not). In case the girls ever harbor any doubts about my love for them, the following list should allay their concerns about where my loyalty lies.
