Being Zoe’s mom has always brought me great delight. The little things she does that crack me up have shifted and changed as she and I have aged, but each new stage has had its sweetness.
Every now and then, Mark and I notice our own traits coming out in Zoe. She and Mark can listen to and decode music in a way that is completely foreign to me. Zoe’s “alone time” is so valuable to her she eschews play-dates for it (huh?). Mark completely understands.
This weekend it was my turn to find a bit of myself in Zoe. A defining characteristic. A true stamp of my maternity (as if our running gait were not enough).
I am a maker of lists. I make them with glee. I put little boxes beside each task and put an “x” in the box to mark my accomplishment. This gives me a sense of superiority over the day. I’ll even add things to my lists that I have already done, just so I get “credit” for them (I never said my list-making was healthy!).
On Sunday, Mark and I were cleaning up paper in the dining room that had accumulated over Zoe’s day of being sequestered with a cough. She had been a bit bored, but had eventually found outlets for her energy. Going through the mess, Mark found this…
I was so delighted with this daughter of mine that I hung her list on the fridge. Zoe, sensing my enthusiasm, quickly removed it from the fridge and threw it in the kitchen trash.
Pish. Silly girl. She should know me well enough to know that not only am I a maker of lists, I am also a shameless picker of trash.