Last night I took a couple of hours to myself to decompress. It's been a long week for a few reasons, one being it's close to "GO TIME" for my hubby. He'll be wrapping up his project and heading off to Los Angeles with it, to officially finalize the movie. It's what he does every year, every August, leaves us for a few weeks. Which means, it's all me, all the time.
So when I can escape, I jumped at the opportunity to head out to see some live music and chitchat with my darling scottish, green card in wallet, friend. The music turned out to be a bit loud and not quite our scene. It was more of the 50-Something empty nesters rocking like no tomorrow. I was impressed, but was more thrilled with a cold Shandy in hand. I prefer my Shandy with 1/2 Bass and 1/2 Sprite. (miss you, BZ!!)
When I arrived home I was locking the door, I noticed a 4 year old hand written gentle reminder on the door. The back of our door, holds a clip for me to house all important reminders, with the theory being I'll see them before I leave and I won't forget whatever it was I was trying to remember.
This is what it said:
Written by none other than, Sj. I asked the background story to the note. My husband told me they were discussing that tomorrow is Friday, which is almost the weekend. Weekends are very celebrated around here, because we get daddy for 2 days in a row. I can guarantee something came up about pancakes which is the official Saturday breakfast of champions in our house. Then surprisingly talk moved to, trash day.
Where Sj said, "Dad, it would make mommy really happy if you could remember to take out the trash in the morning. Would you like me to write you a note so you can remember?"
Aaah, my daughter looking after her mom. Priceless.
Then I found this, wrapped up with a little hair tie around it, MOM scribbled on back. A portrait of our family. Well, almost our family. You see, we don't own a dog (bottom left corner) named OPREE. Wishful thinking on her part.
There's not a day that passes that I don't delight at the amazement and wonder that comes with being a few months shy of five years old. Or when I don't chuckle at the vocabulary that rolls gently off Sj's tongue, talking as if she were an adult. I just try to remember to seize the moment with her, every passing moment I can grab.