Two nights ago I had a hysterical, hour-long conversation with Olivia on a FaceTime chat.
I might as well just end the post there. Because what more could a mother ask for than her daughter calling in what is the middle-of-the-night-in-Amsterdam-time because she can't sleep and just felt like talking. For an hour. From six thousand miles away.
I can't tell you what we talked about. Privileged information. Mother-daughter confidence must be maintained.
But I can say that my daughter can make me laugh. LAUGH! She can literally make me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. She can tell a story with just the right amount of detail and exactly the right amount of sarcasm. Most of her stories involve sarcasm. Just know that going in. I have no idea where she gets that.
We talked about everything from soup to nuts (as my mother would say). We talked about important stuff and trivial crap. I tried to listen more than talk. Not hard to do as she's pretty interesting to listen to. (Just stop it, grammar police; I know what I did. Relax.)
Olivia and I get each other. We can sense each other's subtext. You hear her talking about memes and retweets. That's not what I hear. I can't tell you what I hear. But I hear what she's really talking about.
It's not like we solved the world's problems or anything during this conversation, but I'm ranking the chat up there among my top ten. My almost-twenty-one-year-old daughter called. Just to talk.
No comments:
Post a Comment