My baby, her eleventh birthday, jury of all seeing eyes attached to not quite all comprehending mind, but eyes most certainly aware of discrepancies, with the liberty of a mouth and tongue that speaks freely at any given time.
We arrived at the skating rink in Alpharetta, little mouths a chatter. The girlies linked arms and walked off leaving their mom to trail behind. I ran after them iPhone in hand, to snap some happy shots of this monumental day. I had had an uncomfortable morning, full of all of the anxiety of the burden that I carry, personally, as a now single parent, as a daughter as an employee and as a full time student, throwing an impromptu party for my eldest daughter. All signs pointed to today being a glorious day. I parallel parked in street parking close to the valet, the car slid itself in between a Merc and a Volvo like it was meant to be there.
Stace arrived, and her with her silken tongue smoothed over my rough edges. She donned on her skates and took off across the ice, and I fulfilled my contract with terra firma and held onto the bags and kept our coats safe.
Before I knew it, I looked over the ice and there S was, skating freely! I kept my eyes on her, she made the large oval of the rink seem like it was miniscule, she was a bit wobbly and she did fall, but she even learnt to fall in a way that wouldn't hurt, and she got up faster and with more confidence each time.
In fact, the faces of all of the girls were different than on the drive there. Em's bright blue eyes were sparkling, as she gained her confidence, and she teamed up with Addie who soon had them pirouetting on their skates in tandem. K followed Stace, and A and F gave their skating a good go, although I think the Dunkin Donuts that I had bought before hand had more of an allure to the little girls. C was like a professional, just a turquoise blur on the white ice.
The Avalon, with its granite floored bathrooms, its strands of faerie lights, its water fountains, its upmarket stores and its inviting cafes is a safe haven in a buzzing metropolis. The moms wear their skinny jeans tucked into their Uggs, their MK purses under their arms, their BOB and Bugaboo strollers holding their little urchins, the dads wearing CK beanies and Ralph Lauren sweaters, cuffs folded over their Tags and Rolex's.
The atmosphere and the activities must have overwhelmed me. I felt this elation, a sort of transcendence beyond where I began that day in the morning, so full of trepidation and fear.
In the car on the way home, my daughter turned to me. She said "You look like you are married, Mom, you look like you were happy". And I asked her "I looked like I was married?" (this description delighted me, because I thought how clever). She said "yes" and I asked her to explain it more. She said she didn't know exactly. But that I looked like I was complete, not missing anything, that my clothes, my everything, I just looked like a normal mom there, and that I was fine.
Here I was trying to give her what she deserves, what she needs, to feel good about herself. To give her happy childhood memories, and foundation blocks from which she can grow. I am trying to give her the world. But she just keeps giving back to me.
She gives me what I need so I can go on. I am whole. I am content. I am happy. Sure I get tired. But its only because I am actually doing all those things that I dreamt of doing for so long.
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