Monday, November 28, 2011
On Saturday, the big kid scored a new pair of shoes. Even though she is not the kind of kid to care many hoots what she wears, she is utterly chuffed to the back teeth over these shoes.
On Sunday, I cleared time and headspace and me and my girl and my girl’s new shoes, spent the day in town.
We Markit-ed and we traversed the entire city grid in search of an elusive ukelele,
showed her shoes some sights,
hung out and drank hot chocolate.
When we’d finished doing all that we thought up some other things that her new shoes might like
As I type this, I’m wearing a broad grin on my face. Truthfully, I’m also blinking back a tear or two (bazillion).
Next week, my girl turns ten. I don’t think I’ve really mentioned how tough nine has been, for every one. A veritable baptism of parenting fire.
Yesterday, away from all the usual, I stepped back and I saw something different. I suspect she stepped back and saw me differently too. Yesterday was a magic balm, soothing our battle scars.
In the train, on the way home, her and her new shoes insisted on standing. She wanted to see if she could stay on her feet for the whole journey without holding on once.
Of course she did.
Look at her there, standing on her own two feet. Doing just fine, Mum.