An Ode To My Daughter
Once in a while, things happen and they make you think…hey, I’m doing something right! 🙂
I got to experience this feeling first hand recently.
Now, my darling favourite (and only) daughter Madison is eleven years old. She is currently experiencing the hormonal shake down like we all did before entering the sacred door to puberty. As such, she likes to pretend she can’t hear you but if she wants you to hear HER than she is like a most annoying fly in your ear.
Sometimes cleans up after herself, sometimes she forgets. Selective hearing, selective chores, selective family involvement because there is so much happening on Instagram right now! I said, Madi tell me about this instagram thing I am thinking about starting to use it. She said, mum it’s like Facebook but for kids! Lolz!
She plays with her siblings when she feels like it and she is great when she does; she ignores them when she feels like it too. Not one day is the same as the next. There are dramas with friends at school, there are loom bead things to make things with, my make up bag to go through when I’m not looking etc etc
To give credit where credit is due, she is a most excellent student and has a heart of gold and values which are becoming stronger and clearer by the second.
My little girl is growing up 🙂
So, back to my recent experience.
I had an extremely sore knee. It was so sore that I had spent an entire day trying to lie on the couch and keep the twins from jumping on it. I couldn’t do anything, it was complete agony and I just felt so helpless. Now this is huge for me because I am always the one “getting on with it” whilst wearing my big girl panties.
All I could do was hang out until 3.17pm when I knew my Mad would be home, I could not think of anything past that.
So as soon as my poor child walked in the door, I burst into tears and said “thank god you’re home”!!!
Like a true trooper, she went into rescue mode. She took control.
That afternoon, Madison brought me painkillers and water; and a hot water bottle. She made scones for everyone (herself, me, her brothers); she cleaned up the kitchen; she cooked dinner for everyone; she cleaned the kitchen again; she changed dirty nappies; she made sure Rahn did his homework; she sorted out the boys’ arguments and made sure they didn’t jump on me.
All this while I lay helpless on the couch, fighting back tears.
The pride I felt for my daughter was so overwhelming and so joyful.I now know that I have done a good job and she will be fine and that she is a fighter.
A few days later she said to me: “Mum, there is nothing worse in life than seeing your mother cry.”