The Look I Never Want My Daughter to Give Me, And, Our Totally Useless Garden
She wasn't supposed to be standing on the toilet to reach the sink. She wasn't quiiiiite tall enough to comfortably reach the sink and not risk falling off. She'd fallen a time or two before, and despite my telling her no from the other room, I still heard water running.
I had to go investigate. But when I peeped in the room, she didn't hear me and seemed to have solid footing. So I grabbed my camera because she was having such a good time.
And then this.
Her I've been discovered face.
I know it's a blurry picture, but it caught the moment right when it happened - and her face says everything she's wondering:
Time to stop?
What do you think?
Is this OK?
Isn't this cool?
Do you want to join?
Am I in trouble?
Can you lift me down?
Are you lifting me down now?
Can I stay longer?
Are you sure?
Her expression says many things, but it does not say, "I'm afraid because you're here."
I never, ever want to see my daughter look afraid of me. Even if she's done something wrong. Because I know that means distrust.
This face is perfect.
It morphs into this one.
Followed by the confident one.
She's growing more confident. Usually this is good. But sometimes, letting her try things can be like walking on a tightrope. I'm pretty laid back, and so is Geoff, so we let our kids try a lot of things. But sometimes they slip.
C slipped and fell off the toilet washing his hands when he was 22 months old. I was standing *right* there, nothing in my hands. Hit his forehead on the sink, the back of his head on the toilet lid, and his forehead again on the floor. Smack. He was OK, but he didn't climb as much after that. Which was, honestly, a blessing. He could climb chain link fences at that point, and it was getting dangerous. Fortunately, he kept his habit of climbing from the parking lot directly into a grocery cart, which was quite handy once G was born.
I want her to always trust me, even when she slips. Especially when she slips. I can't always catch her, but I can always be there, even if it's just over the phone.
I am grateful every day for an undamaged, fresh relationship with my daughter, full of trust and wonder. I thank God for this, and pray that my relationship with Him will be the same.
Anyway, before I get sappy, I promised embarrassing pictures of my garden.
This blog is, after all, called "The Not-So-Bloggable Life" of Emily M. Boy is that ever true.
It seems like every blog I visit, some awesome mom had figured out how to basically have like a farm in their back yard complete with chickens and kale and Tibetan flags and kitchy cute colorful chairs and accents and whatnot around to make it inviting and bloggable.
That is so not our yard.
That is not our garden.
Ours is literally the opposite, where the garden is nothing but dirt, and everything beautiful and useful grows in the wild. (Wait, why am I gardening again? Wild blackberries surround us along the edge of the backyard in the summer and blueberries pop out of the ground everywhere you go.) Augh, this is pointless.
Well, I will hereafter refer to the garden as the dirt pit.
Seriously, dead things in our
garden dirt pit. Every thing I touch turns black. I am so horrible at growing plants.