The Mirror

Last week was quite special. For one, the girls spent the week at their grandma's. Two, I slept until I was done sleeping and went to yoga every day - absolutely decadent. And third, my mom sounded like me after the second day. The happy exhaustion, the monotony of serving broccoli for the eighth time and the measured frustration and fatigue all came across in her tired voice on the phone.

My mom and I talk nearly every day, not by design but out of some intimate connection that I can't quite describe. We always call when things strike us as cute, funny or profound. Topics and insights range from Obama gushing to Rosie's rendition of the "poop song", which I absolutely must record and share. Sure, everyone would love that. A big spectrum of interesting things, some small and personal, some larger that we can't even hope to influence, but bare discussion. One thing is always the same though - the kids are with me; they're on this side providing the narrative, interrupting the calls with endless requests for food or fighting over toys. But not so this week. My Mom had the girls for five, almost six days and she was the one telling me all the mundane details of the day, all the funny things and firsts. And it was a surprising twist to our everyday conversation.

My Mom became me, juggling, tired, delighted and full of news and I called expectantly, hoping for little scraps in between screams and calls for more popsicles. As the week wore on and the tenor of my mom's voice changed from the delighted to tired, I suggested I come get the crew a day early. The week had been a first for me, a break to end all breaks, especially with the best laid plans having gone so so awry. We came home, got back into our routine, laughed and giggled a bunch. And my Mom slept until she was done sleeping. Thanks Ma.