I suppose if I was a great mother I'd separate my girls and share what I love best about each of them.
I'll settle for being a decent mother.
If you've ever parented sisters, you probably understand that this is nearly impossible anyway.
Besides, I can always share something and still act as if I haven't, because they will a) blame it on each other or b) I can claim to have been talking about the other one.
What can I say about girls? Sugar and spice and everything nice?
Obviously written by someone who didn't have a set. Nice is sometimes not an option.
Spice - well, that is rarely lacking.
Snuggle time seems to be a big issue at our house. As is what I label as LOUD time. Snuggle time is when one of the girls wants my undivided attention. This always results in a dog pile kind of event where I sometimes pass out from a stray foot to the temple, or at least see pretty light shows in my head from the lack of oxygen as they take turns wrestling me from each other.
Sometimes I feel like our home is a small cardboard box of puppies. The mother dog jumps in and is set upon like food at a picnic. Did I mention the mother dog's exhaustion? And headache?
Writhing warm bodies seeking something from me...all the time...must get fresh air.
Loud time. I believe the adolescent female voice, if honed, could cut glass. I know it's robbed me of acute hearing, and brought Rob to tears a time or two. My suggestion to anyone with girls - DO NOT EVER STAND in between two girls having any sort of fight, competion, conversation or attitude exchange. NOT. On the flip side - mumble time is used frequently to rest the voice - preparing it for the next loud session. There is no middle decibel.
But then just when I think my nervous tics will never go away, they do something so sweet, so special, I dare would call it sugar. There's just nothing like a dewy-eyed girl who's intent on sharing her heart.
My girls can bake brownies, too. This belongs in the plus category.
They often attract and bring home other nice girls who love chocolate and bring it along. Or the friends with terribly good taste and wonderful senses of humor may think of me as funny and begin calling me Mom B or some other sort of pet name.
Rob has learned to look both ways before darting down any hallways. One never knows if a friend has dropped by, or if a daughter is feeling a little on edge. If it's too quiet in house, he steps carefully and asks me questions with his eyes - whites showing. But the boy prepared him for sneak attacks and sudden lunges, so he's still pretty quick on his feet.
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.