Walking in My Daughter’s Shoes

Still reveling in the Mother’s Day high, I feel the aching urge to write a post through the eyes of my daughter.  In my opinion, this is the world as she sees it…

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My mom? I must say that she has an incredibly thick skull.  I don’t know if she’s just plain stubborn or she simply refuses to understand these things:

–      That it’s okay for me to sometimes stumble and fall, because I can always pick myself up and learn from the experience.  Scraped knees are the sign of wisdom gained from experience.

–      That I just have to master the art of coloring inside the lines, even if she says it’s alright not to.

–      That no matter what she thinks, I will always be a die-hard fan of Disney Princesses and Phineas and Ferb.

–      That I will grow up, and fall in love, and get hurt but rise above it.

And then, there are things about her which I just don’t understand:

–      Why- when I’m away at my dad’s and she’s left home alone- she has to spend hours playing on online bingo sites (knowing the perfectionist that she is, they have to be only the best bingo sites!).  Well, I’ve heard her say a couple of times that playing bingo is a no-brainer.

–      Why she dances like nobody’s watching whenever she plays old Janet Jackson mp3s.

–      Why she sometimes cries when she’s on the phone with someone I don’t know.

–      Why she acts as if she just hit a blank wall when I ask her the reason she and my dad separated.

I’m all of six summers old, and there are huge life mysteries hanging over my head.  My mom says, I will understand in time.  But, why can’t I understand them now?  There goes another mystery…

 

The Case of the Missing Sense of Humor

When I was 10, I was a huge Nancy Drew fan.  If anything, those books were probably the only ones I really read.  I remember being curled up by the window, reading for long stretches, unmindful of the hunger pangs creeping in.  These mystery stories always kept me on my toes, ready to dash out my bedroom door if I can no longer stand the suspense.

Now, I feel there’s a mystery I must solve.  The clues to solving it continue to elude me, though.  It’s the case of the missing sense of humor- mine, to be exact!  For some reason, I feel that I’m not as witty as I used to be.  The torch of humor I used to carry now ceases to burn as brightly.  Over time, I have grown to take things a little too seriously, consequently failing to find the funnies in the smallest of things.

Is it motherhood?  I’d like to think not.  Although my priorities have shifted tremendously because of the huge responsibility of raising a kid, I don’t think this is the primary reason I’ve lost my sense of humor.

Probably, it’s because of the people I hang out with these days.  Years ago, I used to work in a company where my co-workers were my closest friends.  Day in, day out, we’d have so much fun, even if it meant simply goofing around at our office desks.  We seemed to all be on the same wavelength, that’s why we’d all get each other’s jokes.

I guess I just have to dig deep inside me.  I should still be able to unearth that foot-stomping, snorting kind of humor.  I miss it…