All three daughters laughed hysterically at me on Monday night. Actually they laughed at me and another fine mother, Lisa Wheat. If we weren’t at a school function, they all three probably would have dropped to the floor with their belly guffaws and rolled around in a high state of amused delirium.
Lisa’s daughter, Cassidy, and my youngest, Phoebe, have spent the last four years cementing a friendship through swim and tennis meets and practices. I conservatively estimated that these two young ladies have endured over 1,344 hours of sweating during tennis practice and exchanging out-of-breath glances after a set of one hundred 100s — that doesn’t even account for the actual swim meets and tennis matches. I’ve listened to them encourage, console, give advice and giggle with one another.
On Monday after the swim banquet, as Lisa and I talked about gardening, my eldest daughter blurted out, “Oh my goodness, it’s like looking into a mirror.” Cassidy and Phoebe had both rolled their eyes in repugnance of the conversation that brought memories of their hours of being recruited for their mothers’ love of all things horticulture.