I've been working on a special present for my daughter. She turned 18 this week and to commemorate I painted her portrait (in acrylics). It's something she'll have forever and I think it captures her inner beauty and cheeky smile. Having a daughter is a gift.
Tonight she was late home from work. It was pouring down with rain - a torrential Queensland 'shower'. When I rang her she was at the shops choosing a card for me. (It's my birthday tomorrow).
"Don't worry about the card," I said. "Just drive home slowly and safely because I love you."
"Love you too, Mum."
She aqua-planed the car on the way home, but made it safe - minus the card.
Who cares about the card? I already have my gift.