Every morning I take a picture of my daughter before school.
It’s a tradition we started last year on the first day of kindergarten. Some days she is really into it and other days she is a mini teenager giving me her best “Come on, Mom” looks. But, we still do it.
It was not something I planned on doing. It just sort of grew from that obligatory first-day-of-school picture. It was actually my daughter who kept it going with her requests for more in those early days. I’m so glad that she did.
A few weeks ago, I went to the eye doctor for an overdue check up. I needed a full eye exam, so there was no way I could bring my toddler with me. I couldn’t do that to the other people in the waiting room. Or to the office staff. Or the doctor. Or my sanity.
Anyway, I was lucky that my husband was able to go into work late so I could head to my appointment alone. I knew it would be a long one since I would be getting my eyes dilated and would have to do a lot of waiting. I was not looking forward to it.
“Change is the only constant.” I saw this quote on a sign along a trail I was running this morning in a state park. Deep thoughts from the forest, huh? After a quick Google search I saw this quote is credited to a Greek philosopher named Heraclitus, who I’ve never heard of before.
Anyway, I wish I took a picture of it because I love this quote. It’s so true, isn’t it? In all aspects of life, and especially in parenting. As soon as you “master” one stage, the next begins. You never know what tomorrow will bring. It’s always something new and different, and that’s a beautiful thing.
Kind of like this lone red leaf I saw. I found it beautiful, too. I did manage to get a picture of that. Happy Autumn, everyone.
Tonight I sat on the couch with my daughter watching the season finale of our favorite guilty pleasure reality television show. I was completely focused on the program in front of me, when I glanced momentarily away from the tv.
This is what I saw.
My daughter was carefully examining the position of my feet and trying to match her’s to mine. She had scooted herself to the edge of the couch so that her feet could rest on the coffee table. She had crossed her ankles like mine, and was busily making adjustments to get it just right.