Before we left Philadelphia for NYC, we packed everything we would need for our days in the city into backpacks so we wouldn't have to haul suitcases in the subway and on the sidewalks. My husband reminded me that we would want dressy clothes to wear to a Broadway show. So I packed the girls' and my dresses and fancy shoes. After a few days in the city, the night that we planned to go to Phantom of the Opera arrived. By that time I realized that we would not want to wear fancy shoes to walk across the city from our hotel to the Majestic Theater.
I started making plans for us to wear our flip flops with our dresses. "OK, if I wear Kali's and Kali wears Sierra's and Sierra wears Kali's (Arwen can wear her own fancy shoes because they are already flip flops), then we will all kind of match our dresses." But Sierra didn't want to do that.
Her grandma had just bought her new shoes that matched her new dress. I didn't push the issue. The shoes were canvas wedges, so it didn't seem like they would be too uncomfortable. A block and a half into our journey, it became clear that I was wrong.
Sierra was wobbling down the sidewalk because of the height of the wedges and the backs were rubbing her heels. Another block and I was wearing her shoes. For 6 long blocks and 6 short blocks, I wore those shoes. Those who have lived in or spent time walking around NYC know what I am talking about. For 6 long blocks and 6 short blocks those seemingly innocent canvas wedges pinched my toes and rubbed blisters into my heels.
And that my friends is a mother's love.
Did I mention that I also walked back to the hotel in my daughter's shoes? Love, I tell you, true love.
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| Me, wearing my daughter's shoes and her next to me in flip flops |
4 comments:
My mommy taught me this at a very young age. Flying across the ocean to go visit family in the UK, we had our choice of shish kabob or chicken cordon bleu. Well, you guess which one I wanted. I had to have the shish kabob in spite of the fact that I hated spice and was not an adventurous eater...picky might be the word. Mom begged me to get the chicken cordon bleu. Nope. So, she got the chicken, which she wanted. I got the kabob which I hated. Damn, that chicken was good! ; ) Poor mama got stuck with the kabob which was not good. Gotta love selfless mamas.
I recently heard that we don't remember our experiences that go as planned. We remember the experiences that go mostly well but that have a snafu or two. And, I now know when something goes wrong, that it's creating a memory. Your dd will always remember the time you took one for the team and someday, she'll take one for her babes.
Awesome mommy moment. truly. :0)
I love this story. I mean really, really love it! I have just started a blog of my own. Not a personal blog, exactly, kinda... I'm trying to appeal to the masses. Since the beginning I knew I wanted to do an occasional guest. I would love it if you would let me use this as the 1st in that series. You can change the kids names and/or your's if you would like to be anonymous. Let me know on Facebook what you think. Aunt Kim
I'm so dumb! I didn't leave the URL for my blog on the previous comment!
Aunt Kim
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