Wednesday, July 6, 2011


Before I became a mom, when I envisioned being enamored with my kids, I pictured a tableau where I gazed adoringly at my offspring and they gazed lovingly back. We would be gathered around the table, or a chair even, complete and whole and content.

In reality, my girls turn away from me faster than I can make eye contact sometimes. Life is so quick, so busy, so efficient and productive.

I don't sit in a chair in front of a fire while my kids bring me my slippers and then sit at my feet as I read them a story. We don't engage in any form of a staring contest where we communicate admiration with our eyes.

But they do come to me when they are sad, or hurting, or unsure of themselves. They reach out for me from their cribs, and they kick out of excitement when they see me enter their rooms. They ask me a million questions a day, imitate me, compliment me.

And I hug them, hold them, console them. I pick them up and play with them. I answer their questions, read them books, give them baths, make their meals.

There is no such thing as a tableau in real life; it is only in art that one sees those freeze-frames.

But I hope that if my life were a movie, anyone could press Pause and see a million versions of love between me and my girls. I know sometimes the movie would also reveal frustration and anger and exasperation, but the love is always there. Always.


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