Happy Birthday Trista!
Twenty-two years and five hours ago a little girl made an entry into our lives. Her name was Trista, and now she is all grown up and a mother herself. Where has the time flown?
Trista was always crazy about babies. I remember how thrilled she was when each of her succeeding siblings was born. Whenever I had to scold them for something, they usually ran to Trista for comfort. If I went grocery shopping and she spotted a baby in another grocery cart, she would take off and follow the cart in order to look at the baby. I always thought she would make a good mother, and she has. It has been fun being a mother with her and keeping each other up to date on what our current babies are doing.
Watching Trista change from a young lady into a young woman, mother, and wife has been an interesting experience. She was always very capable and full of energy and whatever she puts her mind to, she usually achieves, including the man of her dreams.
Some of the happiest memories of my life was when I was a young mother and had just Patricia and Trista to look after. I think the home that I enjoyed the most was that little condo we owned in Maple Ridge. She was probably too little to remember walking to the library or the swim center or shopping with me at Zellers. I remember the first real scare I had with her when she fell and hit her head so hard at Zellars that she knocked herself out for several seconds. Those seconds felt like hours when I looked into eyes that were wide open, but unaware. In those days her prized possession was a little pink kitten someone had given her and which she named "Yowmeow."
Both Patricia and Trista bore the brunt of my fumbling, inexpert, and frustrating attempts to homeschool. Most of my regrets relate to how unfun those times were for the girls. I wish now I had tried harder and found better ways to accomplish the same tasks and not been so self-centered and immature. If any satisfaction can be felt about the whole experience, it is that I have learned from it and am attempting to make things better for her siblings. It is a hard thing to have to grow up alongside your children, and the sad part is that the first children suffer because of your own immaturity, youthful arrogance. I wish I could go back and give Trista the mother she deserves.
I'm not feeling all that eloquent this morning because of the weight of things that await doing, but it is easy to sum up what I think of Trista: I love her and I am proud of her. I'm glad she is my girl.