My daughters argue like most, but secretly adore each other which is actually quite precious. Today I am grateful for a particulary precious moment when Jem emerged dressed as Kate. Particularly precious because it was a delightful distraction from the boxes that needed to be filled. Not sure it will be a moment filled with sisterly adoration though when Kate finds out.
I am grateful for the dinner Kate cooked for Jem and I tonight. But not so much for the sulks and slammed doors that happened thereafter because Jem wasn’t hungry and Kate felt she should have been more appreciative. Nor for being disdainfully accused of having anger management problems after I raised my voice (a little) to try and restore calm in the house, as one does. Jeez Kate reminds me of me at that age. I remember thinking I was surrounded by idiots. I can see she thinks it too. Little shit. Yip, it all went down in the Cawood household tonight. I blame late nights and far too many hormones. Oh, but I am grateful for the spotless kitchen Kate left. My baby really is growing up.
1 September. I am grateful that life has gone back to Cawood normal so quickly. Kate and Jem had some loving sisterly chat which ended in Jem storming off to her room. After a while I went to check … and found her lying there having torn a toothpaste box into itty bitty little pieces and spelt out love with a heart, peace with a peace sign and happy with a smiley face. I’m not sure whether I was disturbed at the slight obsessive tendency emerging or grateful that clearly my bleating on about positive affirmations might have registered somewhere. I wish my sister was still at googa, I love, I choose peace, I am happy, this feels good, I love, I choose peace, I am happy, why am I in my room again, I love, I choose peace, I am happy, I know she loves me, I love, I choose peace, I am happy. Or something like that.
We never get our delivery of the Noosa News, so I am so very grateful I grabbed a copy from near my coffee spot this morning. And that I got to see my sweet angel’s face when I showed her what I discovered. Her name in print. She thought her offering in class had been chosen for the school newsletter, not for the local paper. Her delight was almost palpable and I am truly grateful to her teachers for her sweet sweet moment. Maybe next time she’ll listen in class too. And Kate was proud of her too, even though she is planning a career in journalism and damn if her baby sister hasn’t beaten her to it.
A friend recently mentioned how anxious she sometimes gets when she has to meet up with a whole bunch of women. Anxious about whether she’ll fit in, whether she’ll be suitably dressed, whether she’ll be accepted, whether she’ll be liked. And not because she is insecure about who she is, but because she is an individual, she is different because she is open, she is honest, she is a strong woman, who respects others choices but won’t make them her own. I so get my friend. What I don’t get often, is other women. Sadly, sometimes I just don’t trust women. I love my women friends, but I do have to say I don’t often love some women. Women are very often other women’s worst enemies. And I know it often stems from insecurities, a need to be better, be prettier, be wittier, be more popular. Often a fear that they won’t be accepted. That they aren’t good enough. And that by putting others down, they’ll feel better about themselves. Well they are good enough. We all are. But I truly do no longer have time, empathy yes, but time no, for those women who subtly (or not) via a look or a nasty comment disguised as not, or a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes, let their insecurity mask their human-ness. If there is such a word. My wish is that we can all live and let live, celebrate our differences and our strength and meet each other with warmth in our eyes. And our hearts. We are sisters, after all.