Not Exactly Glamorous...

"Mama," says Kathleen, "You wear my hat?"

She holds the pink Mickey Mouse ears out in front of her, her face set in what she already knows to be a look of cute entreaty.

"Of course," I answer, indulging my sick child, "Of course."

No sooner do I don the ears than she informs me, "Mama, my hat for riding my car. Ride my car. Please." The please is an after thought, but it's there.

I dutifully perch upon the Winnie-the-Pooh push car.

"You want some tea, Mama?"

"Oh, Kathleen," I reply, "You make the best tea, darling. I definitely would like some tea. Please." (Even Mama needs to remember to say please.)

A cup is pressed into my hand, filled to the brim with imaginary tea.

"Mama, my wants to brush your hair," Kathleen announces, racing to fetch a comb from the bathroom. She returns with her comb and sets about beautifying, just as her father catches sight of us at play.

He captures the moment for posterity.



I traded in my heels and suits and a potentially high-powered career for this. It's not exactly glamorous, but I wouldn't have it any other way.