Being Mama

This morning when I was going to get ready for work Sophia asked if we could do something together. I asked what she had in mind. "maybe, Mama, you could draw me another ballerina and I could paint her?" I love drawing for the girls and their friends. I've gotten proficient enough that if we all knew what it was I was supposed to draw we can all see the resemblance on the paper. But the girls make me feel like I'm a full blown artist. They are wowed by my ballerinas and horses and unicorns. I can also crank out a pretty serious sidewalk chalk dinosaur. The girls frequently bemoan their own drawings wondering why am I "so good" and they aren't. But, I love everything they draw. Everything. I love Sophia's people and I love Ava's three dimensional shapes. Our attic is packed with boxes of art, projects, hand prints, scratches of pencil on the notepad from the hotel, first signatures, and foot tracings. And it is gathering more all the time. I keep every sheet that comes home from school. Why? Because when they have a hard day somewhere down the line, I'm going to show them the attic and I'm going to tell them I read every word because in some way it had to do with them, I took in every detail of every piece of art because it came from inside their minds, I kept every finger print because someday I won't know if those are their fingers or mine but I can come back to these boxes and put my hand to their tiny hand and almost remember what that felt like. I keep everything because my girls are my world and they need to know they are important to someone. Regardless of age or size or title (I know Phia won't always want to be a horse). I want to show them these boxes and make them understand that I may have seemed to miss moments when I was sick and couldn't be there for first times on the beach or first times at a picnic. But in my soul, I was there and for every other moment I was there in person. They are important. Ava is fiercely independent, but when she asked me to eat lunch with her at school a week ago I knew it really meant a lot to her. I, of course, was just barely into what would be a week of relentless kidney pain. I took my meds and slept through almost three days. I cried at night because those days I wasn't a mom. I didn't play games or draw. I couldn't stay awake for one episode of anything. I told Ava, no. I couldn't join her for lunch because of my back. She said "ok. It's just that ever since I told you all that I wasn't afraid to eat hot lunch anymore, you all stopped coming". I hugged her, the bell rang, she went into the school stopping once to blow kisses to me. Before I'd made it home, I called my mom who immediately agreed I needed to go. Ava is seven years old and already, like I said, fiercely independent. How much longer will she ask me to eat lunch with her? So, I surprised her. I stood in the hall waiting for her class. When she saw me, it took a minute for her to react. She could not figure out why I'd come. I showed her my lunch and she smiled huge, her cheeks turned bright red, and she said "mama! You came!" The way she said it sounded like I'd been gone for years and had just now come home. She held my hand tightly as we walked. We sat side by side, but it didn't take her long to be under my arm and as much on my lap as she could get. I helped her get ready for recess and then we said goodbye. And that was all it took for her to be the happiest girl around. So, this morning when Sophia asked if we could do something, I hesitated at first and the realized that no one I work with is going to judge me for choosing time with my child over showering and dressing up. She asked if I would draw and then said, "no. How about this. How about if I hold the pencil in my little hand and you put your big hand over my little hand and we draw together?" So, we did. Best ballerina yet. And that one goes in the box that on my bad days reminds me I'm important to someone. It's a pretty great collection. I hope you have one too.