Sometimes I forget that, as a grown-up, I may be a complete mystery to my daughter. I run around going to work, making dinner, folding laundry, and doing those million and one things a mom feels she needs to do. I forget that, to S., I am an adult, and that she might wonder what I am like as a person. That there is more to a person than the day-to-day. I was reminded, rahter sweetly, about that last night when I finished a call to my own mom, and found a typed message on an old computer that C. is working on. He'd let her play around with it, and she'd typed some questions for me. Here goes:
How many books have you read?
What music do you like?
Do you like having a reader for a daughter?
It made me cry a little bit - that I had never answered these questions for her. So, as I was putting her to bed, I tried to answer them. And I resolved that she should know me better. I'm not just that grouchy woman who does laundry and makes meals. I am a person, too. With real interests. Sometimes it takes a child to bring you back down to earth, or maybe, in this case, lift you off of it.
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