Today my 6-year-old was in our living room drawing and coloring, and out of nowhere she thoughtfully looked up and said,
“When I grow up, I’m going to be an author.”
Today my 6-year-old was in our living room drawing and coloring, and out of nowhere she thoughtfully looked up and said,
“When I grow up, I’m going to be an author.”
I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. In high school I thought I wanted to be a Fashion Designer, but when this small town girl toured Brooklyn to attend Pratt Institute, my future debut on Project Runway was thwarted by 12-foot iron gates and the fear of being mugged for my faux 80′s leather purse.
Being a Mom has strengthened my defenses. Not in a “stop, block and drop ‘em” kind of way, but if tomorrow the beloved Mr. Miyagi commented about my weight or mental downfalls during an introductory lesson, I’d have to kick him in the tenders. Come to think of it, I wish I had that kind of gusto when I was a kid. In high school there would have been a lot of jocks that remembered my name today. Just sayin’.
I am one of those Moms that does not scrapbook. I know, *gasp*. I’m a photographer with tons of pictures and an armoire filled with paper, embellishments, stamps, trinkets and everything else imaginable. I try every now and then when I have free time (which isn’t often) to take some things out and work. And I just don’t feel it.