I picked Sophie up from school and she said, "Mum, sometimes I miss you so much in the middle of the day I can hardly stand it."
And that made me so happysad I could hardly stand it, too.
We got together with my darling little cousin whom I haven't seen in years yet still found every bit as fun to tease.
There was a late night literary gathering wherein we hung out with Charles Portis and admired his brawny new physique.
In case you're wondering what kind of mother lets her child sprawl across the dining table, please recall she's of the same ilk who fails to monitor facial tattoos.
Is it beginning to add up yet?
On a related note, from here on out I'll expect a distinct decline in requests for parental advice.
Caroline participated in a music competition.
Nancy Drew came along to take the edge off.
Sadly, however, even the slim, titian haired sleuth could not prevent a last minute fraying of nerves and ensuing memory breakdown. It wasn't easy, watching Caroline run into trouble out there in the middle of that cavernous room, her fingers grappling for familiar ground, features hovering on the precipice.
But at the same time I'm at a stage in parenting where the agony of watching one's child falter on her own did not break over me like some looming, catastrophic wave. Rather, I silently rooted her on, knowing these tiny test runs of failure can lend themselves to an overall beautiful navigation, with greater possiblity than might have otherwise been.
She lugged her cello back to her chair, then buried her face in my chest and started to quake.
But she rallied, my plucky little half Canadian. She pulled herself together and braved the award ceremonies, that bitter confirmation of loss, walking stiffly and pale-faced back to the car.
Then we went off and had some fun.
I'm all for respecting the grieving process, dear reader, but I see no sense in prolonging it, either. Beyond that, I hope my girls learn there's no such thing as the end of the world unless we're talking the apocalypse, and I'm not.
Me and Izzy watched Rear Window, her first time ever, and now she can talk of nothing but Alfred Hitchcock.
And so it goes, and so it goes, with many moments in between.
I'm thankful for it all.