I love my daughter
I love my daughter, I love my daughter. I have to love my daughter.
I really do. We are speaking of the youngest. She is funny, cheerful and normally a pleasure to have around. Remember that we skipped over the pink hair, the trashy room and the occasional tears to focus on the really good things. She, along with her next two older sibs head back to school tomorrow.
As the designated Ogre in the family, Mean Mom made them pack up their stuff today. We survived the screams about whose turn it is at the washer and dryer. The suitcase falling closed to smash an ear, and the excavating of the backpacks. I just kept smiling (they don’t like it when you smile) and hunting for the missing textbooks.
This is the youngest, colourful would you not say?
DO YOU SEE WHAT SHE HAS IN HER HANDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Her school backpack was the one she took to China. She has not had it opened since she exiting China Air Flight 931 from Beijing to Frankfurt.
She heard me upset for the first week after we got home about losing things on the plane. I have never in my life before lost anything a plane (well, we don’t count cross-stitch needles) much less left things behind. And said nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I am really sure that she wasn’t thinking about anything at all. She is 14, and it is vacation. All her effort goes to sleeping, computer, and avoiding household tasks.
She walks upstairs and says, “Did you want your knitting and MP3 player back from the trip?”
She is still alive.