A Recipe For a Wayward Daughter

I reference Derek the Younger and Derek the Elder for all needful explanations on this bit of memoir.

Ingredients:

  • Have nail polish, beautiful barrettes and some lip gloss. Some garish, some not. It provides for all moods.
  • Don’t forget the hiking boots and she needs her own work gloves.
  • Make sure there’s plenty of happy pictures of her because it makes her feel loved and included.
  • Never expect her to admit that.
  • Holes in the knees of her jeans never need fixing. (She may like girly girl things, but she’s a Tom-boy at heart)
  • Remember not to be too vigilant (Girls like privacy)
  • Talk girl talk and take her to have a coming of age ceremony. She’ll feel loved.
  • Don’t forget to ask how she is (She’ll tell you to butt out, but she needs to be asked anyway)
  • Give her choices (If you don’t she’ll rebel worse)
  • Repetition until it’s a mantra in my sleep “Time out!”
  • Impatience (Hers or mine?)
  • Crumbs on the table instead of under it (I didn’t make her, but we’re like two peas in a pod)
  • Off tune singing must be ignored and smiled at
  • Frustration “Jeez! If she snarls at me one more time someone’s gonna be bald!”
  • Too snug clothes
  • Books everywhere
  • Biting my tongue (It’s now too short)
  • In company of few (I worry she’s too solitary)
  • In company of the scary (I worry she’s not solitary enough when comes to the boys)
  • Considerable variety (Use my imagination as often as possible to inspire her to do the right things)
  • Counter productive distractions never work on her so what’s plan b? Oh yeah, give her a book.
  • Show her a video of herself and she’ll wander off on you. Take her to the beach instead. You’ll both be happy.
  • Yodeling inspires eye rolling and sullen glaring.
  • Chocolate wins smiles every time. (Oh yeah! She’s a girl.)
  • Get art (All the pottery a mother could want and every bit of it is dear.)
  • Bragging “My daughter is smart and beautiful!”

Mix liberally with as many hugs as she’ll tolerate. Miss her terribly when she’s gone. Put everything she ever made me in a place of prominence and wonder often if she’s happy. Don’t tell anyone about her really. It saves answering painful questions. Gladly remember I still have my boys. Yearn for my grandson and ogle all pictures I get to see on Facebook. Make friends with my sons’ girl-friends and remember. Whenever I celebrate my boys, say a silent mantra too that Kara will someday come home.

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