Watching out the kitchen window. Our 3:45 PM ritual. After a long day of playing with just me and Magda, Greta is ready for Noah to come home from school.
A year after one of my more notable parenting fails, my girl's hair is long and even enough again for real hairstyles. Like pigtails. Noah told her once a couple of weeks ago that he really liked her hair [in pigtails] and her dress. I overheard it from a room or two away, and I couldn't see her face. Mine was fully astounded. Noah not only noticed his sister's appearance, but even complimented her on it? Unheard of.
Greta has worn pigtails more days than not since the Day of the Compliment. She chooses dresses and leggings to wear every morning. I am delighted. My daughter is lovely and confident. Still, I admit that I'm a little hurt. I tell her she is beautiful and brilliant every day. My words clearly don't have the same significance as the brother's.
This is the day that I learn that kids don't hear their parents in this way. Not only do they not hear, Sit at the table and eat dinner with your family, and, Please put your shoes on and get in the car, but they learn to tune out You're one of the most amazing souls on this planet and Your face so perfect it makes me cry. I try not to flash forward to the days in middle school when some kid makes some off-handed comment that crushes her self confidence. Or backward to the days in middle school when some kid did the same thing to me. Who is that mean kid anyway? How many daughters do I have again?
I have a headache.
Mags, before you can't hear me anymore, you need to know something(s): you are smart, you are kind, you are full of joy, and you are so very, very loved.
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