At 2:00 yesterday afternoon, Liv sent me a text asking if I could pick her (and Mariam) up from school.  There was just no way.  Monday’s are my standard nutso days at work and yesterday was no different.  So I instructed her to take the bus home and call me.

When she called, she had the usual “plans” all mapped out. 

“What do you want to do, sweets?” I ask. 

“Mariam’s brother might pick me up and bring me over to their house, or maybe her uncle, or she might come over here, or maybe you could come home and get us and go back to work and then we could eat, go to the Y, or…”

I love that she thinks that I don’t have a life.  I’m sure it may have something to do with her deductive reasoning skills and equating my social calendar with my work calendar. 

After I left the office at 4:30, sped home, picked her up, dropped her off at Mariam’s, it was after 5:00.  Liv’s “plan” was for me to pick her back up at 6:00 so she and I could go to the Y.  Yeah, I knew that wasn’t happening.  Being the cool Mom that I am, I called her about ten till six.

“I’m tired, honey, want to skip the Y tonight?”

“YES!  Good!  I can run at home later.”  (To which I silently repeated the exact same response.)

The girl has been running.  Nightly.  She’s up to 3 miles.  I find it only slightly intolerable and ironic that I have a Dr. appointment this Thursday at FWO.  I’m 90% sure I have a stress fracture.  I’m also 90% sure they call it such for non-ironic reasons as well.

“How about I pick you up at 7:00?”

At 6:45, my phone rings.  I could tell by the hesitation, tone, and pretend stuttering what she was about to ask.

“Um, I feel badly that you’ve been running me around all day, but do you think…”

“What boy, Liv?”

“HOW did you KNOW, Mom?!”

While I might not know a damn thing about it personally, I do get it.  I have gotten it at one point or another in my life.  I’m not living with the Tibetan Monks yet.  Oh wait…could you imagine?  Never mind, I still don’t get it.

She wanted me to take her to meet him at the Whispering Meadows park.  “A park?  Liv, girls don’t meet boys at the park.”

“We’re going to play basketball and throw the football around.”

Man this child knows how to work me.

“Fine, but I’m going to meet him and he better have two balls in his hands when he arrives or I’ll make sure he does when he leaves.”

She actually laughed.  Appreciation and excitment abounded.

And wouldn’t you know.  As he walked across the field (which was swarming with at least a hundred kids and parents for a practice, btw), his stupid teenage face was lighting up.  The glare off the football and basketball which he carried made him look slightly angelic. 

I look over at Liv in the passenger’s seat, wearing jeans and some scrubby T-shirt.  She is also beaming, except I know with every ounce of my being that she is an angel.  My angel.

Great.

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