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There is so much I love about this photo (especially, especially the nose picking). This is Peach at the fourth birthday party of one of her oldest friends. In fact, while I was taking this photo I realised that Peach has been to each and every one of Scarlet’s four birthday parties, how awesome is that? It’s strange to think they’ve gone from babies to little girls in but the blink of an eye.
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This morning I introduced Priya to Joan Jett. It’s important to me to present Peach with a variety of women to admire; from incredible dancers with grace and poise to women who kiss other women and rock out in leather. Lately our daughter has been struggling with the idea that little girls can wear anything other than dresses.
When Joan played she wasn’t quite sure, concluding slowly that Joan Jett was ‘badass’. I concurred. I showed her a video of Joan singing and when it ended Peach decided it would be okay for her to wear her jeans again if we got to yell a lot. So we did.
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On a long drive home I glanced in the rear vision mirror and saw my sweet pair dozing in the back. I could watch them sleep all day. My boys lips, my girls hair. The soft curves and rich tones. Their stillness for me to just admire for a moment. Delightful.
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I was cooking and these two wandered in behind me. I could hear them whispering and giggling in the way that they do. I knew that if I turned they’d stop and the moment would be lost so I waited as long as I could withstand the cute before turning around. They stopped talking and smiled, cheekily.
Then, without saying anything, their hands found each other – as if to reassure the other that they were united in their refusal to continue the cute chatter in front of me. Little did they know I found this equally delightful.
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Sometimes Peach, as your mother, I sit there and try to remind myself it’s my job to instruct you on table manners and eating ettiquette.
It’s just when you’re doing stuff like this I am secretly impressed and envious I don’t get to eat like that too! So I say nothing and take photos.
