So I'm into the Fall Semester, Five Classes, Five Preps, one of them a new class, which I just got handed and am thus designing as I teach it, and you won't have forgotten that I am concurrently writing the third novel of my SF trilogy as well -- as you can imagine, this leaves little time on the ground for raising a seven year old.
In any case, as we're driving home from school (I picked her up, as Tuesday is mr. delagar's day up the hill in graduate school) she asks what we're going to do that evening. "Well," I said, "you're going to read your Hank books, Daddy's going to teach his engineers, and I thought I'd write."
She begins to wail. "Oh, please, Mama, oh, please, can't you spend just a little time with me?"
Ai, these kids and their guilt.
So I took last night off, and spent some time with her. We did some laundry together, we made a pizza, we ate dinner together and talked about her childhood (yes, that's how she put it, talking about her childhood, all those vast years ago when she was little) and mine, we made a pudding for dessert, we retired to the TV room to watch House together. It was a Girl's Night at Home.
I did have to stay up until midnight, after House, prepping for my classes, but c'est la vie, this parenthood, it's a bitch, you know.
4 hours ago
1 comment:
My daughter still tells me I have no time for her, she is 28. When it is just the two of us or the two of us plus my grandchildren, she wants me to talk about when she was little. She doesn't ask, but the conversation always comes around to when you were that age or when you were about six or seven and she just glows. I wonder why that is, this human need to connect to our past and hear it through our mothers' mouths. My daughter's favorite story is when she and I made the volcano birthday cake for her brother. She tells that one to her seven-year-old son. He wants me to make one with him but I tried, you can only make that huge mistake one time. So, he and I make the earthquake cake, with huge faults and cracks and all of that. Trust me, your little one will always remember the laundry and the pizza and the talking about when she was little. Those are the precious moments that last through generations and by taking the time, you immortalize yourself. There will be great great grandchildren talking about the woman who did laundry and told stories and made pizza. HOw about that?
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