She was mad. Not like sibling to sibling upset, like, child to parent mad! And now she wasn't speaking to me. Back turned, arms crossed, eyes squeezing back the tears. Seriously, all this over a forgotten hair elastic?? But I understood. I even sympathized. I even empathized! For, my darling, dear Tasha was born to a mother who forgets much these days. As she packed for the big dance competition in St. George (two days early!), she came to me with the box of hair elastics and asked which one she should bring. I, as usual, distractedly answered, "Don't worry about it...I'll take care of it." And I didn't. Like always. So, my exuberant, excited child plummeted to distress and despair in a matter of seconds. It was my call to Motherly Duty. I assured her over and over we would have plenty of time to run to the closest store (yes, I convince, they have stores in St. George) to buy the needed elastic. Yes, they will have brown, no, we will not be late, yes, I will get your makeup on in time, no, you won't get in trouble...and on and on as she cried. Thus, she began her competition morning (sigh).
Eight hours later, my beautiful dancer had competed in her four dances, stayed for the awards and walked away with another trophy in hand and a large smile on her face. With a proper ponytail and face caked in makeup, we headed for home. And I sighed.
