Running for the lemons
If you have been reading here for any length of time you will know that a grey day is sure to send me running for the lemons.
Today has been downright deep grey, the sort of rain that surely should not come on a warm July day. So I reached for the lemons and baked a cake.
This grey wet day my scrumptious eight year old Tilly had her perfect skin painted in blue eye-shadow, pink blusher, lips where painted red. She has so been looking forward to that part, so pleased to see it written in black white - "make-up must be worn". Her unruly long curls were scraped back and constructed in a bun, lacquered into sticky rigidity.
The weekend of the ballet show.
She looked in the mirror when I finished. Was silent for a moment. Then said "I don't think children should wear make-up". We smiled and laughed and hugged.
We watched her dance. So glad that we could pick her out, so happy that she could seem us too. We had inappropriate fits of the giggles too, the Technical Advisor and I, the sort of silent, stomach aching, eye-watering laughter that make you think you might die if you have to hold them in any longer. The row of seats shook with our convulsions.
And I wept a little. When they all came back for the encore and I saw her shining face. She is so very tired, it has been such work and there are several more shows to go but I saw her eyes shine out and I remembered how good it is to be a part of something and I cried with happiness.
If you have been reading here for any length of time you will know that a grey day is sure to send me running for the lemons.
Today has been downright deep grey, the sort of rain that surely should not come on a warm July day. So I reached for the lemons and baked a cake.
This grey wet day my scrumptious eight year old Tilly had her perfect skin painted in blue eye-shadow, pink blusher, lips where painted red. She has so been looking forward to that part, so pleased to see it written in black white - "make-up must be worn". Her unruly long curls were scraped back and constructed in a bun, lacquered into sticky rigidity.
The weekend of the ballet show.
She looked in the mirror when I finished. Was silent for a moment. Then said "I don't think children should wear make-up". We smiled and laughed and hugged.
We watched her dance. So glad that we could pick her out, so happy that she could seem us too. We had inappropriate fits of the giggles too, the Technical Advisor and I, the sort of silent, stomach aching, eye-watering laughter that make you think you might die if you have to hold them in any longer. The row of seats shook with our convulsions.
And I wept a little. When they all came back for the encore and I saw her shining face. She is so very tired, it has been such work and there are several more shows to go but I saw her eyes shine out and I remembered how good it is to be a part of something and I cried with happiness.
Comments
Next weekend I will be feeling all that you did this weekend.
Enjoy the rest of it,
Nina x
K x
I hope your little miss enjoys herself as much as my two did :D
You have made me want lemon cake now, but I know that I won't make one.
We've had so many grey, rainy days here this summer, too. Sigh. It just doesn't seem right, does it?
I'll send you some heat-wave if you send some rain.
I adore lemon drizzle cake although I end up eating most of it in my family so that goes against the osteopath's advice ;-)
I had tears in my eyes reading about your daughter's radiant face on stage. I know how you felt.
Finally I totally agree with Vanessa's comment about girls and make-up. On stage it's different, right?
I hope we all get some sun soon...