Butterflies would be better in a cage...or a convent...

My 13 year old daughter, Patricia, has really blossomed this year.  It’s been a joy to watch, until today.  Now, I am thinking a convent might be an appropriate learning institution for her until she’s - oh let’s pick a number – 30 years old.  Thirty is good, a nice round number. She’ll still have a lot of good years left and I will have survived what every parent fears, your teenage daughter dating.

It hasn’t begun yet, mind you.  In fact, she lamented to me over the summer that “all the other girls in school have boys that like them, but not me.”  My heart broke for her.  I told her I didn’t have a boyfriend until late in high school, and that teenage boys are nothing to brag about anyway.  (Generally speaking they are a pile of braces, bad jokes, awkwardness, and Axe body spray.) I told her they were too stupid to realize how funny, beautiful, intelligent and amazing she is.  My words fell on deaf ears.  The summer went on, and somewhere between swim team and the end of August, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly.  She went to school with an incredible sense of herself, a boatload of confidence, and a totally hot new school wardrobe which left a gaping hole in my checking account.  I was proud of her, happy for her.  I looked back on my days in 8^th grade and shuddered.  She was definitely on track to a better 8^th grade year than mine had been.

So last night, when she bounced onto my bed during the Monday football game, she was all smiles. To anyone with a teenage daughter, smiles are always good because if they aren’t smiling then that usually means drama.  Anyway, apparently, some boy (who shall remain nameless) who she found to be cute, walked up to her in the hallway and told her “Wow, Patricia you really look great this year.”  She was elated.  Suddenly all her hard work getting healthy and happy over the summer had paid off.  She felt…HOT.  I was elated for her as well…until I started to think about it for a bit.  Then suddenly my overriding thought was how can I find this brazen little prick, who obviously had ill-conceived designs for my daughter, so I could punch him in the face and threaten him within an inch of his awkward, smelly life.  My father hated teenage boys.  Now I get it.  Dad was right.  I didn’t say anything to her.  I just smiled, and a little something inside me died. She wasn’t a kid anymore.  She’d always be my baby, but the kid was definitely out the door.  I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.  I wanted to lock her in her room for a VERY long time, but I didn’t.  I just sat there, feeling like nothing would ever be the same again.  I hate it when that shit happens.

I mentioned it to Bill this morning, who was quick to remind me that he does, in fact, own a pump action shotgun which he would be happy to clean at the dining room table on any evening when some Axe-laden teenage predator came by to see her.  I laughed, but knew he was only half kidding.  He told me that the sound of that pump action is something many teenage boys have nightmares about.  I considered making it my new doorbell sound.  Inside I promised myself I would pull the trigger myself if any of these miscreants touched my girl.  I knew it was hardly the case, but a mother can dream.

So one more milestone down and many more to go.  She turns fourteen in October.  Next year she will be a freshman, and not too far down the road, she will be getting her driver’s license.  There will be “boy/girl” parties, and dating, and proms. What happens when she falls in love and gets her heart broken?  What happens when she leaves for college?  Ok, not thinking about those moments, it makes me teary-eyed and pathetic.  I know she is a smart kid who is far beyond her years when it comes to maturity, but I’d still like to shield her from all those awful moments when you think your world is ending and nothing will ever be the same. 

I’m lucky in the fact that she talks to me without any reservations because she knows there is absolutely nothing she can tell me that will shock or surprise me.  My teens and twenties were filled with all those memorable moments, both good and bad.  I’m not THAT old. I still remember them all, some with great fondness, and some with a cringe.

Ahhhh, to be young again.  I know that I’m not. I am however, considering getting my concealed carry permit.  And you're never too old to learn how to clean a pump action shotgun.

Happy Mother's Day

Moms and daughters...it’s a relationship washed in tears, dried in understanding, and wrapped up in a love that defies explanation. In particular, I believe the love between a mother and daughter is not for the faint of heart. I look at my own mother, and realize that while I love her more than any other woman in my life, I caused her endless amounts of pain and grief, worry and anger. It was not something I intended to do, and I have spent many long hours trying to understand my actions and choices as I wandered through my life, sometimes zig-zagging around like a drunken fool. In the end, it all turned out just fine, but WOW, what a rollercoaster ride!

Mom and I have come to a point where, after all the struggle, we are left with a deep and abiding love for each other, a mutual respect for our differences, and a friendship that will carry us through for the rest of our lives. I am thankful for that more than anyone could ever imagine. Along with my sister, she is the person I trust implicitly to be supportive, and more importantly, be honest, even when it isn’t exactly what I want to hear.

Why is it that mothers and daughters have such tempestuous relationships? I can see the power struggle starting to evolve with my own daughter, which makes me cringe at what the next several years will bring. I don’t want to be a bitch, and I’m pretty sure she does not want to be a pain in my arse, but so often that is where we end up. Thankfully, both she and I are quick to forgive, and our arguments are short-lived. But they are becoming more frequent, and that part is hard. She wants to be a “teenager.” I want her to stay my “little girl” forever. It’s hard to reconcile the child with the “almost woman” that I can see just around the corner. She is a lot like me, and that right there, is good AND bad, all at the same time. All I can do is give her the tools to make intelligent and thoughtful decisions, and teach her that the greatest gift we can give others is our compassion. To that end, I am very thankful. I am blessed with a daughter whose heart is as big as the ocean, and who’s level of common sense is greater than many adults I come in contact with on a daily basis. She’s stronger than me when I was her age. She stands up for herself and what she believes in, and she doesn’t let the world push her around. Another thing to be grateful for, as it will serve her well in a world full of disappointment and hard knocks. I hope when Tricia is older, she will realize that all I ever wanted for her was the best of everything.

My own mother has made me a better mother, a better person. I have watched her all my life, with an immeasurable amount of admiration for all the adversity she has fought and overcome. I’m so proud of her and her accomplishments. Truly, she is one amazing broad. I just hope she knows that in her own heart. All I want for her now is to be happy, and make choices for herself that are what SHE wants. She has spent a lifetime as a caretaker for so many. Now it is time for her to take care of herself. I tell her that every time we talk.

To my daughter, even when you think I’m just your “mean old mom”, know that everything I say and do if for your well-being. I love you more than you could ever understand.

To my sister, I look at you with such love and respect for the mother that you are. Your selflessness and devotion to you children in nearly unparalleled. I am in awe of you. You are one of my very best friends, and I love you.

To my mother, well, you know how I feel. We’ve had the conversation many times recently. Ours is a bond rooted in something really extraordinary. You didn’t have to love and accept me when you married Dad. But you did, and it changed my life. You saved me, Mom. I love you.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the women in my life who inspire me in so many ways. We are all mothers in one way or another, and we are all deserving of beautiful things.