Not a mother's dream

My son goes to gymnastics. Well, he walks and walks, he sports, physical development, and generally doctors suggest. And I have an hour of free time.

And let this hour in the locker room, smelling of dirty socks.

Let this hour on the wobbly bench.

Let this hour phone chatter too chatty moms.

Let.

But this is the hour of my freedom. Hour not occupied by work-studying-cleaning-cooking and not even occupied by the son.

Son busy with gymnastics, and I'm still me.





Last week a book I read (the art! there about love and other nonsense), and now writing a post. Someone is waiting for inspiration to write. My inspiration is waiting for a free moment to translate. And then the hour...

I started a completely different post to write — it has long been the subject came up and even the speed held in the head. And then closed. Today on the other.

Today about a little sachet.

Sasha is five years, maybe six. She goes to gymnastics, professionally able to do the splits and beautifully turns the Hoop. I'm Sasha and look admiringly into my eyes — never knew how to hula-Hoop. About twine — generally silent.

Sasha's tight braids. And Sasha mom.

Mom Sasha is diagnosis. This, you know, not fatal, but for life.

While mom Sasha braids tight braids, she braids her head and their complexes.

Slap her on the stomach, bitingly so, with the sound, even when the surrounding is clear that it hurts.

-Maaam, blaaaa... — Sasha confirms our impression.

-What are you belly out? Come pick it up!

Sasha pulls something out there and whimpers:

-Well I only pomeshala...

-And you always something to eat. Especially in the garden! And why are you so eaten by something, gospadi?

-And to eat useful — retorted Sasha.

-Look, there's Lena what thin. And you're in the costume will not fit! — threatens the mother. Loud, the whole locker room.

Lena hears, and Lenin's mother hears. She blushes, doesn't know how to help Sasha and for some reason suddenly feels guilty that her Lena is more thin.

-Take water and a March to the hall! — Sasha's mom is in a hurry. She is also a free hour. Hour important "thick" Sasha, who "eats everything" to spite her mother. In spite of quite a fad, in my non-critical such things look, mom.

Meanwhile, Sasha is not fat. And not even chubby. Sasha just sturdily built. She has big bones, strong arms and legs. And a healthy glow in the face. Just like mom's.

But that's just mom life looks in the mirror and sees himself as a fragile statue with pale skin. And as a child she dreamed of becoming a ballerina. With thin legs. And weightless in the pack.

Now fragile statuette should be Sasha. And it does not become.





She is in the mother and not in a dream.

Sasha is looking for a water bottle, until my mom pokes her nose in the right pocket of the backpack.

-And so it constantly, she explains Lena mother in full voice. Sounded to even on the street heard it and learned how it, poor, unlucky with the daughter.

Cheerful and Sasha runs into the room, snapping on the go:

-Very blunt...

I sit and watch as we jump her pigtails at every step.

You snap, Sasha, be sure to snap. With all his five powers. Because the statue you can't be. And my mother's dream become. Snap, to stay me. That's all you can today to oppose the mother. The rest of the world.

But I believe in you. You will definitely get. published
 

Author: Lelia Tarasevich

 



Source: www.nashideti.site/?p=6632