It was Amalia’s birthday today. We did the usual, she went to school with cake, I went to work. She came home while I was preparing everything for a little family celebration at night. We had a BBQ with salads and dessert, birthday cake of course too. It was already close to midnight (11h30) when the guests left and we cleaned everything up. When we were done, Amalia and me took a blanket and went back outside.

We spread out the blanket, laid in our backs and watched the stars and the moon. Out of the blue she said that I am special and that she loves me.

How and why? I answered teasingly.

Most moms don’t dance in the rain, most moms don’t teach their kids how to take pictures of lightning, and most moms don’t lie down on their back at midnight to watch the stars and the moon with their kids. That special, she said. And I smiled.

I know she is right, but I remember movies like Mermaids and there are snippets of a film that keep coming back to me, but I don’t remember the name. Maybe it was 28 days. Anyway… I remember these films and the mentally ill mothers depicted in those movies, doing crazy things the kids loved. I am afraid to be a mom like that. I am scared that one day, my mom-eccentricities aren’t funny anymore and she see me for the challenged person I am.

As it is, I love lying in the grass, looking at the sky. Tonight, we even had a surprise visit from a little hedgehog. It was on the other side of the fence but it scared the pants off us before we knew who and what it was…

I love being the weird mom, the special one. The one who may not do all the amazing stuff with the kids, but the one who creates memories… Like watching the stars, dancing in the rain, enjoying a thunderstorm outside, jumping into puddles… That’s me. How long until my expiration makes those things and me ridiculous and redundant?

We’ll see… We’ll see indeed…

Goodnight 🦔