I've been finding it more difficult lately to spend time with my girls separately, and more and more I'm realizing how desperately we all need those moments. It's time for them to have my undivided attention, time for them to be the only child even for just an hour. For some reason, it's easier for my youngest to get that time with me. Maybe because my oldest has classes, maybe because the little one can be a bit more demanding with her needs. Whatever the reason, we seem to sneak a little time together here and there. But my oldest gets the shaft. Especially with the time change and schedule changes and missing out on some evening dog walks together. Plus, I think she just needs more sometimes. Something more grown up.
As promised, I took my nine year old with me to a local coffee shop this past weekend. It was our inaugural writing date. An ultra-sweet mocha treat for me, and a hot chocolate and muffin for her. We brought our notebooks and pens and sat outside at a little table for an hour of bliss. We didn't talk, we just worked side by side, wordlessly sharing our passion for storytelling.
It felt like we experienced a major shift in our relationship, or that I'm entering some new realm of parenthood. I'm excited about the possibilites associated with this new stage, but it also presents some fears and sadness. My baby, sharing this grown-up time with me. I'm a little teary thinking about it even now.
Later that evening, she told me on at least five occasions how much she enjoyed our writing date. I feel almost guilty, because I didn't really do anything. We sat. We shared a space in silence. And yet it meant just as much to her as it did to me.
I promised we will do that very same thing again soon, and we're both looking forward to our next "date."