You are the cheese to my macaroni
You are the horizon to my sky
You are the bacon to my eggs
You are the laces to my sneakers
You are the jelly to my peanut butter
You are the smile to my face
You are the gravy to my mashed potatoes
You are the bubbles to my bath
You are the milk to my cookie
You are the ink to my pen
You are the ketchup to my French fries
You are the water to my ocean
You are the icing on my cupcake!
Author Unknown
For two weeks, I was beset with teary eyes, a runny nose, a high temperature, chills, a stubborn fever, an achy throat, an overdose of medicinal recipes that didn’t work, quilts, blankets, soups and stews, persistent coughs, and frequent headaches.
Tragically, during the height of my illness, there were several parents in Connecticut who were also beset with teary eyes, a runny nose, and persistent coughs, accompanied with migraine headaches, and an achy heart.
Fighting off this winter’s flu bug and brooding over the prospects that my holiday season would probably merit ho-hum status due to my illness, I quickly reminded myself of others whose holiday merriment would likely be muted forever because they were challenged with the dire decision of selecting the color of their tiny tot’s coffin!
I would rather be sick with the flu!
Has this massacre changed you or given you a new perspective?
It certainly had me thinking about my relationship with my daughter and making her suggested adjustments!
For instance, this massacre has tempered my dogged “domestic diva” diatribes and shouting matches as it pertains to the cleanliness, or lack thereof, of her bedroom and bathroom.
To her, I am a neat freak!
This massacre has stopped me from nitpicking and obsessing over details that may be considered miniscule.
To her, I worry, nag, and fret too much!
This massacre has “softened” my dictatorial edits.
To her, my high expectations are way over the top!
This massacre has forced me to “relax” my laundry list of demands and commands.
To her, I am the quintessential Drill Sergeant!
With my daughter in tow, I plan to make some drastic lifestyle changes.
We are going to attempt to smell the roses, laugh more often, let the wind blow through our hair, feel the sand between our toes, yell less, overlook the accumulated dust in her room, go to more movies, act silly, and play.
As my newly-minted 13-year old daughter journeys towards womanhood, I am mentally preparing myself for five more years of mother-to-daughter dynamics and challenges with excitement and lots of trepidation.
Then, I’m going to introduce her to another adjustment—–I’m emptying my damn house!
