As much as I complain about Jeff and me being polar opposites (he’s manic, I’m depressive), a lot of times it actually works out alright.

Especially when it comes to Raven.

Our differences, I feel, somehow make her more balanced as she learns to appreciate — and imbibe — both sides of the spectrum.

Her love for reading, she definitely got from me. Jeff hates books as much as I love them. I’m guilty of buying her too many. More than she can manage in a month, with all her other budding interests fighting for her time and attention.

I can’t wait to read to her the complete set of A Series of Unfortunate Events that I got for her as early as last year when she could barely make out the alphabet, let alone read the entire freakin’ series. (I got it secondhand for a bit cheaper, that’s why.) I fantasize about reading it to her aloud at bedtime when she’s a bit older; the way Barrack Obama used to read Harry Potter to his daughters when they were young. That would be nice.

But if she prefers to read it on her own, that would be cool, too. I won’t mind. I’d still be there beside her reading my own book and quietly geeking it out with her because chances are, that’s probably how we’d roll as far as mother-daughter bonding is concerned.

For everything I lack, Jeff makes up for it and I’m glad. Because while I understand the value of solitude and introspection, I reckon it’s good for her to go out and socialize too while engaging in a less sedentary activity that would somehow decrease her chances of obesity.

Jeff is the best teacher for that. And already she’s proving to be a very promising student.

*Raven at 2 and 3 years old