Pictures Of You, Or, Saturday Morning At 10:27am
I texted to ask where they were sitting, thinking maybe I could spy them, up high in the stands. That's the perspective of a mother, right there. Yes there's a world-renowned sporting event, yeah the world's #1 player is thwonking a little ball with a racquet, sure celebrities abound.
Just show me my kids.
As you can imagine, since they sat all the way up by the big live action screens, cameras might have scanned them, once. Not even my daughter's red hair stood out.
This is how it's supposed to be. They are too far away, in a crowd, but I know exactly what they look like. I can see my daughter's ponytail, her fair skin, her big smile. She usually tilts her head up to laugh. My son's newly broad shoulders, bent over to place his elbows on those bony knees, his blue eyes. A growing capacity for witticisms. Smooches to you both, my original punkins.
They will be glad to hear that I am fine. In all honesty, I don't need them to be here. Nor on TV. This is how it's supposed to be. The day is lovely, the birds are noisy, and I think I might go shopping.
Have a wonderful weekend, everyone. To anyone who may have lost someone on 9/11/2001, we will all be thinking of you