bees when I was little. (Not the ones that go with birds, just the bees. The bumbling kind.) I don't remember much (blocked it out since I was terrorized by the close-up shots of yellow and black fur, enormous eyes and blurry wings, hovering over some innocent flower...or child...) but I do remember that they are always busy, busy, busy.
I think Peanut was a bee in a previous life. She reads while she eats. She sings while she cleans. (Let me re-phrase that...she sings while she pretends to clean.) She's constantly
The topic of my birthday came up. Which always means, I get to hear what she wants for her next birthday, mingled with a barely audible, “momyeaIforgottogetyouapresent". She spent the next hour in her room singing, fumbling with papers and running in and out for more supplies.
Later, she emerged in the hallway, eyes lit up with pride. In her hands laid a few papers wrapped in tissue paper. On the cover, “Mom you freaking rock”.
I looked in her room. Piles of who knows what. A few drawing that didn't make the cut . . .covered the floor.
"Mom, don't worry, I'll clean it up.", she said.Not even close to what I was thinking.
What I was thinking . . . . I am blessed. My kid rocks.
And . . . .Ohhhhhhhh, this is what my mom meant when she said “I just want a card for my birthday” . . . this time I actually believe her. The Pita would be more than happy to take her out “shopping” for my gift. But I’m guessing this is a gift I’ll actually remember getting . . . Like next year & the year after that.
I’ve got everything I need. Love. Encouragement. Appreciation.
And understanding . . . . . well unless I do something SUPER silly like this on my birthday:
And that’s freaking huge.
Best. birthday. ever.