“Why can’t I run back in and say good bye to  my friends mommy?” my 5 year old asks as I am backing out of the daycare drive way. “Because we’re late dear, dance class is about to start” I replied. I cranked the wheel and pulled back out onto the busy street just as she was mumbling from the backseat “Yeah, well, we’re always late”. At that same moment the infant in the car seat began to cry, as it was about time for her evening bottle. My vivacious 3 year old is looking out the window yelling “Birds! Birds! Birds!” and refuses to stop until everyone in the vehicle acknowledges the sight of the same imaginary flock of birds that has passed by said window every evening this week. I took a deep breath while we pulled into the parking lot and mentally prepared myself for the harrowing hour I was about to endure with my two little ones as my eldest tap-tap-tapped her way towards 6 o’clock.

When the car doors opened, we stepped out into the blasting cold of winter and made our usual dash towards the studio doors. We rushed into the lobby where the typical moms and occasional dads were already settled into their seats (as usual). They were no more surprised to see us coming in 10 minutes late than I was to see the look on their faces, which ranged from looks of pity, to humor, and even smug for their own sense of personal accomplishment. Good for you, buddy. I flopped down in the little chair and began the process of removing coats, boots and getting the baby’s bottle ready. My daughter pulled on her ballet shoes and ran smiling into class. I watched her through the glass window for a few brief moments before the outline of my own reflection came into view. As I studied the image looking back at me harder, I realized one fascinating thing. Today, I feel the way my mother often looked.

I am one of four kids and grew up in a home that was always busy, often loud, and seldom without it’s chaos. Good chaos. The kind of chaos that meant everyone had somewhere to be, places to see or people to meet. My parents were both very successful sales people and had to balance their busy schedule around all of us kids, who all had our own activities after school. When my parents weren’t carting us around to school, dance, hockey, pageants, etc. they were typically on their phones, in the office or running off to meet with clients (evenings and weekends included). This meant that at times my mother would look hurried, out of time or sometimes unprepared. I’m sure my father had similar appearances, but I don’t seem to remember watching him the way I watched my mother growing up. Standing in the dance studio at this particular moment in my life, I certainly felt the way my mother seemed to look in those moments. This realization seemed to hit me hard and I pondered the thought that whole dreadful hour, as well as the entire drive home and subsequent evening. Yes, I felt the way my mother looked as she raced me off to dance class and made business calls in the lobby only to race me back home again to frantically make dinner before bedtime for myself and my siblings. However, this is not the only time I feel the way my mother looked.

I used to jump at the opportunity to sit in her large bathroom with her while she readied herself for work in the morning. I would sit alongside the ledge of the bathtub and watch her curl the top of her hair and apply her make-up. She would always have something professional and classy to wear and would sit on the edge of her bed while she pulled on her nylons. I thought nylons were strange, but noticed how nice her feet looked as she slid on her high heals. She wore beautiful jewelry that perfectly complimented her suits and usually had a similar looking jacket to complete her look. I was always (and still am) in such awe of her as she headed for the door. As a grown woman and working in sales now myself, I remember these moments as I ready myself in the morning. I try to think carefully as I reach into the closet, as to not be caught off card should a client stop into the office. My hair and makeup are part of my morning routine and finished with a pair of heels on most days. Do any of these things make me better at my job? Probably not. But I do it because I feel more prepared walking out the door. When these things are working for me, I feel the way I thought my mother looked all of those times I watched her leave for an appointment. To me, she looked confident, capable and beautiful.

On the RARE nights my husband and I are able to get a babysitter, I go through a similar process. I reach into the closet and choose something that will make me feel beautiful. I pick my jewelry and apply my make-up carefully. This is typically the only time I spritz perfume on my writs and neck and revel in the femininity of it all. She probably didn’t notice, but I watched my mother in these moments too and enjoyed the idea that she and my father would be out together that evening. I even remember the purple crystal bottle of perfume she seemed to only use on those nights. I didn’t much like having a babysitter or worse, being watched by my older siblings, but I was happy knowing that they would be out enjoying each other. As I prepare for an evening out with my husband, I feel the way she looked as she and my father left for the evening. She’d be excited to leave, sorry to go, and back soon enough to restore the needed order to the household.

As a mother (and a very busy one at that) she most likely never noticed the watchful eyes of the little girl as she prepared for the various events of the day, but watched she was none the less. I will try to remember this as my little ones linger around me as I get ready in the morning or in the evening for a rare night out. Rather than pushing them out of the room in an effort to seek space, I will let them watch me and enjoy wondering what they might be thinking as they sit on the edge of the bathtub. I also know that during the times we are rushing into the dance studio, my daughters may be frustrated with my inability to keep to a schedule and the way I seem to tumble into every place I go. I hope they will understand that my hagardness it is not for lack of care regarding the sport or instrument or activity they are involved in, but rather my extreme love for them that I desire their involvement in things they enjoy, even if it means we show up late and my personal comfort is sacrificed.

Yes, I oftentimes feel the way my mother looked while I was growing up. But if one day my daughters become women and look back at me the way I look at my mother now, I’ll be happy with that.