I have two children, both girls, and they are my reason. But they are so different and in every conceivable way. In fact, more than a decade apart in age, they have so little in common, other than being my children and female with brown hair, that you’d be hard pressed to guess they were sisters if you didn’t know it. But even though I find that sad sometimes, I also kind of like that about them. In fact, one of the things I enjoy most about their differences is seeing the opposing pieces of my own nature in reflection.
My eldest, CF, she’s a realist. That stick on the ground is just something you should avoid tripping over. That’s an integral part of who I am. A place for everything and everything in its place. *Course I never manage to avoid tripping; a trait she and I also share.*
My youngest, MM, she’s a dreamer. That stick she saw is a charmed sword that can shoot streams of defensive magic at the dragon chasing us away from the castle [her school] it’s protecting. *That actually happened and was when I realized that my her imagination worked just like mine.*
They each honor me in their own unique ways. I tell them being their mom makes me the luckiest woman in the world, I hope somebody they realize that it really does.