My afternoon was spent with this sweet girl and her illustrious hair. No doubt that her hair represents my most unique hobby and most time-consuming, but also one of my favorites.
A highlight of my life came from a compliment given by our sweet neighbor in Tennessee. Ms. Joe Ann, an elegant African-American woman, asked me where I had "[my] girl's" hair done. When I told her that I did Belle's hair, Ms. Joe Ann was stunned. I was beaming. I wish I could remember the exact colloquial Southern-speak she used. Sweet and priceless.
I love my girl's hair. I want her to love her hair too. It doesn't hurt to have a brother who loves her natural hair. He picked out this hair-do.
Yes, this is a bucket...in a bathroom. To be more exact, we call it the throw-up bucket. The day started one way and ended another and my poor girl retched for hours. She couldn't leave the bathroom she was so miserably sick. I have these weird moments when I really feel that I'm a grown-up mom. And for whatever reason cleaning up vomit and taking care of them when they are very sick is one of those moments. That probably doesn't make sense but anyway, it was one of those days.
[Just to be perfectly honest, if at all possible, I don't deal with vomit. I'm one of those people that "sympathy vomits" and I have to tread lightly when I'm around it. My husband has taken most of these bullets, but not today.]
So, why is today beautiful? I was forced to stop my agenda to take care of my girl. It's a good thing. Taking care of her when she is immobile and crying and miserable spurs compassion and mercy in my mama heart. It doesn't matter what has been irritating me or what has been challenging in our relationship...there is a softening that happens when I remember what really matters. I can be thankful for so many abundant days of health. We can rest and drink mint tea and binge-watch new episodes of When Calls the Heart on Netflix.
I also get moments like this:
Belle: Do you know what good sisters do?
Cece: What? (through tears and extreme nausea--it was lucky we made it home...)
Belle: Good sisters take care of their sisters when they are sick and I'm going to take care of you.
Yeah, I know, melted my heart too!
And man, my bathroom is so clean you could eat off of the floor. But that would be gross...on principle.
My husband snapped this picture without my knowledge as we were weaving our way through Saturday crowds in Chinatown, during our time in New York City. I liked the candid shot and I liked that my husband wanted to capture the moment. He's not a picture-taker. I have often said that if I die, they won't remember what I look like. In spite of my joking, I don't mind being the one behind the camera. I love it and I love to capture the world around me. To some it feels like clutter, to me it feels refreshing and stress-relieving.
I don't think I realized how much it mattered to me that the people I'm with were enjoying the moments and adventure with me. Taking photos is not the only way to communicate that time spent is valuable, but for this photo, that is what it spoke to me. It was a non-verbal message to my heart that communicated, "I enjoy being here with you. This time, this moment is valuable."
The other aspect of beauty in this picture is my sweet daughter looking up at me. I don't know what she was thinking, what made her look up toward my face, but this frozen moment felt profound. She is growing up and yet still very young. While her younger sister had to be forcibly convinced to hold our hands at times, Cece would silently sidle up next to us and slip her hand into ours, just like in this snapshot. It first happened in busy Chinatown, then at night in Little Italy after polishing off an exorbitant amount of rice pudding. At other times it was maneuvering through the subway stations, walking through Times Square, through Rockefeller Center, and down Fifth Avenue.
In New York City, I never worried about her wondering off, running ahead, falling in the subway tracks, or not listening to our instructions. I wouldn't have required her to hold my hand. But in the silent action that communicates more than hundreds of words, I heard her. She needed to hold my hand. She is not the girl who asks and pushes her way into whatever she wants. She is reserved and hangs back and is often uncertain of how to approach the world around her. But she was brave enough to be the little girl that she is. She felt safe with us and safer when she held my hand or her daddy's hand.
I have three kids and three very different personalities. They are complex and beautiful and unique. I want to see them, truly see their hearts. I want to hear them, whether they communicate with words or non-verbal gestures. I was surprised at first when she took my hand. I was touched and thankful that she did not feel above it. I'm treasure the memory it imprinted on my heart. And I'm thankful that I could hear her, without a single word.
