Will that be us in six years?
Yesterday, weather-wise, was a wonderful pre-cursor to spring. The snow thawed mostly, leaving a few crunchy patches for BabyGirl to “ice-skate” on in her sneakers. Mini-Me and I sat cuddled up on the porch marveling at BabyGirl’s prowess, talking about this and that, people-watching as neighbors walked dogs and made it home from work.
We waved to one neighbor who parked out front. She smiled and waved back. Her teenaged daughter slammed the car door and grimaced at no one in particular. I recognized that particular grimace-face because many moons ago, I wore it myself. It was the “I-can’t-stand-my-mother” face.
Not surprising then, as mother and daughter approached their front door, a tussle ensued over something. A cell phone, I think, based on the words being hissed back and forth. And then the mother put The Snatch on the girl, and I swear her frustration just grew legs, walked over to my porch, and said, “Can you believe this? All I do for her, and this is how she treats me?”
They stalked into the house. I heard the front door slam, and then some additional slamming, followed by, “…and stay up there!”
Mini-Me and I looked at each other. “Is that going to be us in a few years?” I asked her.
“I sure hope not!” she replied. And then in true 9-year-old-still-blissfully-in-love-with-and-wanting-to-please-her- parents fashion, she added, “Parents are great. They make you feel special. Just sitting here with you like this doing nothing makes me feel special.”
My sweet, hopeful girl.
I’m bracing myself, but hopeful too.
