1. Sigh. Astrology on her upper arm
That’s my girl. She’s always done things her way. We’ve been complimented on her growing up but actually it feels like we’ve had nothing to do with how she’s turned out. We’re just fortunate she’s made good choices and not gone into the meth business. In which she’d be CEO.
Over the weekend she adorned her upper arm with her astrology sign. HER UPPER ARM. ASTROLOGY SIGN.
On the one hand it was beautifully done and seen on someone else I could probably admire it. On THIS hand, the MAIN hand, the hand that COUNTS, she’s my baby.
Yes, she’s twenty-one and yes, technically she’s an adult. Surprisingly she had rejected our dramatic attempts at changing her mind (the level of emotional blackmail reached heights never before seen by the human eye) and I prepared myself for a new parenting stage.
One where I obviously have no power.
Anyway, I climbed the stairs to this life-changing event and there she was, friends sprawled out on the floor watching, tattooist smiling a bit too much behind his supposedly surgical mask. I prepared myself for seeing the skin of the child I had nurtured and cared for over the years (let’s not forget the dermatologist! the braces! the horse riding treks! getting off track!) being permanently marked but was thrown by yet another shocking discovery.
The kid who thinks she knows everything was sunburnt to a crisp. Did I mention the organic, non-toxic four million dollar sunscreens we’d also invested in? I was conflicted…
The sunburn or the tattoo, the TATTOO or the THIRD DEGREE BUBBLING SUNBURN. The kid knew her stuff.
Hey Mama, you look lovely! Have you had coffee?
2. Forever and ever
I want to do this miraculous practice of yoga for the rest of my life. I don’t ever want to lose this feeling I get of awakening, of being connected to my body.
That’s what I thought this morning as I flowed through a vinyasa class.
There might be many other aspects of wellness (hello, meditation I’m looking at you. Oh, and sauerkraut) that I dip in and out of despite knowing I ‘should’ be including them in my life or at least how much good it would do me. But, you know, sometimes … meh.
And it’s not about the rewards of social media. (If you follow me you can be sure that what you won’t see is all of me within one frame OR a beautifully curated ‘natural’ moment.) Thankfully it’s not the ideal I’m attached to as I’ve realised you can’t recreate someone else’s shape.
I’m inspired by the realisation this is a lifelong journey because that means there’s no end point and if there’s no end then I’ll never lose that feeling. It’s like a Netflix serial with no season finale.
Which I’m pretty sure is a healthy addiction.
3. Moving on
We’re moving again soon. And we have Stuff. We have so much Stuff and I don’t know how it happened.
Why do I have a sachet for a natural face wax that’s expired?
We moved three years ago and had a huge decluttering. Since then our daughter (she of the TATTOO. Sob.) has moved out and taken with her what she needed and wanted.
That didn’t include the many, many, oh so many, notes and drawings and cards and hug vouchers and school reports and musty baby clothes. (Don’t know why she wasn’t keen on storing those in her flat. My mother, who obviously doesn’t have the same degree of smothering helicopter love for me, made me take my art folders on her last move. I was forty-something and it still hurts.)
We have pieces of furniture that are of sentimental value (the downfall of any wannabe minimalist) and I have a husband who has picked things out of previous moving skips and brought them with us.
You can see my problem.
The answer is clear. I need staff, I need a new husband and I need to stay mad at my daughter.
Thank you and good night.
Any attachment issues you’d like to share?
Tattoos you haven’t told your mother about?
Photo by Alex Hockett
© The Yoga Connection 2017