So, yesterday, in a mad rush to get ready for church, (aka: Every Sunday) I had been telling Zariah to please get her shoes on repeatedly all morning long (translation: The 45 minutes we'd been awake.) I told her right after she got dressed, I told her before I did her hair, after I did her hair, before she ate cereal, after she ate cereal, ... you get the picture. She wasn't hearing me. Well, she was probably hearing me, but she sure as heck wasn't obeying me. Not really unusual for Zariah.
We were finally heading out the door. Well ... I was yelling at everybody to head out the door. "COME ON! Are you guys kiddding me?? This is ridiculous! We need to be there 5 MINUTES AGO! What is wrong with you people? Can't we just be on time to church just once? ONCE??!? PLEASE!!!" (I know my lines pretty well because we have a dress rehearsal every single Sunday.) In the midst of the mad dash, Zariah walks up to me calmly as can be and lifts her floor-length dress up so that I can see her shoes. She has one of two different kinds of shoe on each foot. "Which shoe, Mom?" she asks me.
Now you might think that this would be last straw, the end of the line, the point at which the swollen blood vessel in my forehead ACTUALLY explodes. Surprisingly enough, it was one of the best moments in my life to date. Let me tell you why.
Zariah and I are nothing alike. We are yin and yang, night and day, He-Man and Skeletor. I have been wondering since the day she came out of my body, how it was that this child was mine. She is left brained, I am right brained. She doesn't like soup (my favorite.) She loves peanut butter (yuck!) I am constantly exaggerating, and she is constantly and meticulously correcting me. If I say, "I've told you 25 times to clean your room." She disputes, "No, actually, you've only told me 7 times." If I say, "Wait in the car for just a minute." I return to, "Actually, Mommy, you were gone for 4 and a half minutes. You lied." You get the picture.
Zariah has never asked my opinion of anything. Do you know why? It's because she doesn't care what I think. No, I'm dead serious. Even when she was 2 and 3 years old I could not buy clothes for her without her being with me. She simply would not wear them. Ever. Fantasia, on the other hand, would gladly still let me pick out an outfit for her to wear to school on any given morning. Fan is always asks me if something looks good, or what shoes she should wear with her outfit. Zariah ... never.
Fan and I are always doing the shoe thing. (I consider myself to be quite the shoe connoisseur and she is my knowledgeable and learned apprentice.) You know the shoe thing I am talking about ... the hobbling through the house with two different shoes on to get someone else's opinion on which one looks best. That shoe thing. Zariah usually throws on any old shoe, whichever ones happen to be her raggedy faves of the week, and will not change them even if I beg, plead, and offer bribes.
Are you starting to understand the meaning of our very first "shoe" interaction?? It may be the start of a glorious new relationship! It could open the doorway into her actually letting me help her choose her clothes! Her hairstyles! It could mean ... so many wonderful things!! Of course, it could also mean nothing at all. That doesn't mean that I won't treasure those 3 little magical words that moms everywhere love to hear from their daughters, "Which shoe, Mom?"
I positively glowed as we walked together into sacrament meeting. 5 minutes late. Again.