Big Sister Reporting . . .

My older daughter is back from an exciting and adventurous trip to South America and happier than I’ve ever seen her. She’s matured in magnificent ways and has such interesting stories to tell. I wish I had been keeping a blog about her all these years. I wish she’d keep a blog of her own.

Because of her joy, I was surprised that she would want to deal with her sister so quickly. In fact, she’s only been home for three days and she made plans with her usually contrary sister. They grew up close and I raised them the same way, with the same rules, and the same values. Little sister just had (has) a rebellious nature and went down a different road.

I was nervous about their meeting. I had ten conversations in three days trying to protect my older daughter from disappointment, frustration, and even disgust. I was also afraid that she would discover things were way worse than either of us imagined.

Remember the symptoms: extreme weight loss, alienation, intense attachment to the new guy, untruthfulness about working and living conditions, fighting with her father, more tattoos and piercings . . .

I pretty much tried to talk my daughter out of going, then modifying my objection to asking her to limit the number of hours—all in an effort to protect her from anything unpleasant. Big sister is pretty tough and has seen a lot, especially because of where she lives now, but she lives by a different code. She goes to school, has a variety of friends, doesn’t waste her time on loser boyfriends, works, gets involved, and is connected to her family. Her sister is very different and it can be upsetting and depressing.

Goodbye . . . Again

My formerly troubled daughter is moving out again. This time, she’s not in trouble, she’s not moving in with a boyfriend, and she’s not angry. She’s simply ready to move out and be out from under my iron fist.

Ha. Iron fist. Since she moved home in the summer, I’ve barely seen her and she chooses not to make time for me. Sure, we’ve had a lunch or two, but she seldom comes home before four in the morning. She’s living a pretty secret life. I truly don’t know what she does with her time and space and I’ve given up trying to figure it out or be part of her world. She is pleasant and we don’t fight ever. I give myself credit for that. I’ve learned to simply reduce the number of questions I ask: #1 because I don’t want to hear the true answers, #2 because I don’t want to fight, and #3 because she’ll just lie anyway.

Here’s what I know—she lost weight, she may or may not be going to school, she pierced her nipples (and showed me), she sleeps all day (if she’s home), and she’s spent a boatload of money on new clothes, makeup, manicures, pedicures, and lingerie. She’s paying for her car, she’s taken some road trips, she broke up with the deadbeat boyfriend, and has rekindled friendships with old coworkers and high school classmates.

She rekindles in an interesting way. One morning I came home from an overnight, and she was in bed sleeping with a guy friend from work, whom she said she didn’t like anymore. He’s too needy and has a strange temper she once told me. Apparently, she couldn’t sleep and he was happy to come over in the middle of the night and talk to her (while spooning) until they fell asleep. How sweet. Plausible? Ridiculous? This was two days after she brought the boy she knew in high school to Thanksgiving dinner—a boy who clearly lusts after her. She went camping with this boy (while still dating the loser boyfriend) and has slept over his house on many occasions. She became reacquainted with this boy, by the way, by frequenting a strip mall liquor store. Nice, huh? It’s not like we live in a hick town and that’s the only place for young people to hang out. This is a big city with fascinating cultural events and activities of all kinds to pique one’s interest. My daughter, since about 16 it turns out, thinks the lowlife liquor store is the place she belongs (when she’s not at her piercing/tattooing “salon”).

So, her lifestyle once again disgusts me, embarrasses me, and makes me sad. I still don’t believe that she’s working at the great job she had for two  years. I’ve offered to bring lunch to her and she talks her way out of it. Sometimes I’ve caught her home at times that she’d normally be at work, and she has an excuse for that too (like, “It was slow and I didn’t want to mess up my great stats, so they let me leave early”). She’s been spending money, paying bills, and fixing her credit problems, so I know she’s making a living somehow, I just don’t think I’m sure how. Lingerie, odd hours, down about 10 pounds, pampering…what’s going on?

If we have to talk bottom line(s), I’m glad she’s moving out. I’m a nervous wreck with her lifestyle and since she’s almost 19, there’s little that I can do about anything. I only have a say in what I’ll tolerate in my home, so it’s appropriate for her not to live under my roof—with my stodgy rules. She can go be on her own, be gross, pierce and tattoo whatever she wants, and leave me out of it. She can smoke and be a slob, clog up her toilet, and fill her fridge with Red Bulls and it won’t affect me. She says she’s got everything under control, doesn’t need any help with decisions, counseling, medical needs, money, school, moving . . . nothing. So good for her.

Here’s what’s going to come of it . . . we’ll have no relationship. Picture an old car being towed, fastened to the truck by a frayed rope. The rope snaps and the disabled vehicle is left behind on the freeway, in the way, more useless than before. That’s where our connection will stand within a few months.

I truly believe that she won’t go to school, she’ll hook up with one useless boyfriend after another—maybe some useless girlfriends—and the distance will grow until I hear that she’s moved to Milwaukee or Long Beach some other strange place and wanted to say hi and send me a picture of her newest tattoo or cat.

I’m sad and I miss the little girl that could’ve been an outstanding young woman. She won’t let me in, won’t let me help. So I’m out and I’m helpless.

 

 

New Thing -- Nose Ring

A weekend that wasn’t too bad—possibly even good. I was busy with my friends all day Saturday and my daughter had the day off from me (and from any responsibilities). So it was a win-win situation. I went skiing and she watched TV and dyed her hair black.

We had our usual Sunday together, which started off with me being the grumpy one for a change. Her cats scratched at my door and jumped on the doorknob to try to break into my room. Naturally, this happened at 5, 6, and 6:30 a.m. I finally went downstairs to see if they were hungry, then went to the fridge to get some OJ. My daughter was in charge of buying it for me the day before (was even allowed to keep the change), but she got orange “beverage” instead. Obviously, she wasn’t paying attention and just wanted to buy the cheapest item so she could keep the maximum change. I complained loudly, and she got out of bed and ran to the store for me. Either she felt badly or she didn’t want to hear me complain.

Fast forward to a few hours later. We got over the grump hump and snuggled a bit with her cats and made some jokes, talked to her sister on the phone, and finally got dressed to go out. I was quite dismayed at her choice of outfits and that fact that she wears a loop in her nose, not a post. It’s gross and, to make matters worse, the hole is swollen and possibly infected. She also had dye stains on her face, neck, and hands. She is so beautiful, but looked a bit unkempt. But I never want to destroy the confidence she’s gained or the relationship we’ve build by voicing my criticisms, so I keep my mouth shut and strategically pick my battles. My mind loops loudly, though.

We ended up at a Paradise Bakery where we could use the free wi-fi and set her up with her work benefits. She was so excited and felt very proud to be able to provide her own medical insurance. Her company covers her 100%, which saves me $300 a month. That makes me smile just thinking about it. Then, I don’t know what came over me, I bought us tickets to see one of the Cirque du Soleil shows in Las Vegas and we planned a trip right then and there.

We were so excited, but that wasn’t the highlight. Oh, no. One of the teenage boys working there and my daughter kept giving each other the eye. Obvious, big, bold flirting. He kept passing by our table and looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and she gave him her big pretty smile with those dreamy eyes of hers…When we got up to leave, he put a little cookie package on table and said, “Here’s an extra cookie for the road.” She picked it up and it had his number on it!! OMG, right in front of her mother. I don’t know if it was because she looked like a sweetheart or looked like she was easy. I’m so afraid because the nose and tongue piercings might make her appear to be something she’s not (or maybe she is?).

I still see her as my baby-child and I want to protect her, but she’s so tough on the outside that I wonder if she needs my protection. I’m drawn to nurture her and really never want her out of my sight, just off my nerves!

We took a long and actually wonderful walk through the tourist section of town where the shops were all buzzing, live musicians were playing, and an arts festival was going on. We chatted about her new position at work, the meaning of bankruptcy, why she considers her best friend her best friend…we shopped in some of the boutiques for fun, shared a huge ice cream sundae, and just had a nice time. Then we did some food shopping and bought some fun snacks for her for the office and some other things she needed, and just had a nice day together. I like days that end with the word NICE.