Roxy Girl

My sincerest apologies for not updating this yesterday. I realize that many of you live to read my words of wisdom, and the fact that this went untouched yesterday must have been difficult. Unfortunately, I broke my computer at work and am lucky that I still have a job. As it is, right now I am typing on one of the attorney's computers, because mine is still down. Supposedly the tech will be in shortly to repair it. And hopefully he will not discover that my blogging or my surfing the net is what caused my computer to crash. Because if he does - well, I really don't even want to go there right now! Anyway.

I was trying to think of something good to write about today, and actually thought maybe I should start on Part III of my miniseries, but I'm not in the mood for Kevin stories right now. Instead I thought I would write about my daughter, who decided that she would like to remain anonymous on my blog. (She informed me of this mast night, and requested that I call her "Roxy," so who am I to argue?)

So Roxy and I went to dinner last night with my father. Since we didn't see him on father's day, Roxy gave him a homemade card and a handmade gift. (I, on the other hand, knew that just being with his daughter was present enough for him. In other words, I forgot to get him anything. Whoops.) Since Roxy is now almost 10 and oh-so-cool, her card was quite simple: Bubble letters on the front that said "Happy Father's Day" and on the inside, a simple "Love ya, Roxy." And her gidt, bless her little heart, was a tile from my friend's basement (apparently she had a ton left over from remodeling) that she painted blue and silver. Grandpa did the obligatory, "Wow! This is really nice!" but you could almost hear the confusion in his voice. I mean, really, what was he supposed to DO with it? Then again, as a mother, I have learned that no matter what, you fawn and ooooh and ahhhhh over your kid's (or grandkid's) artwork like it was the Mona Lisa and make sure if you stash it somewhere you are always ready to whip it out in case your angel says "Where's the present I made for you?" (Right here, honey! Under my bed! Because then every night when I go to sleep, I dream about you and your lovely gift!) So then after the big production, Roxy decides she need to change to go to dinner, and retreats to her room.

During this time, dad and I make small talk, and finally, I go to see what is taking so long. As I approach her room, I hear her on the phone with her friend, discussing her birthday party which is still over a month away. I knock and tell her we are waiting, and with a "GOD!" and a sigh, I hear her hang up. When her bedroom door opens, I stifle a laugh. There is my kid, wearing her capris, a tank top that is too small, but she must think is cool because it shows some skin, black clogs with high heels, and her blonde hair in a ponytail sticking out from the back of a designer baseball cap. "Ok," she says, "let's go."

When my dad sees her, he says not a word. But I can't help myself. "Why are you so dressed up?" I ask her. She looks at me with tween contempt. "I'm NOT!" she says, as she grabs the disconnected cell phone I let her have (since I see no reason for a kid her age to have a working cell phone) and pretends to talk on it. Boy, am I in trouble.

As we leave the house and watch my daughter, I remember the words my mother used to say to me hundreds of times in my youth - "I hope someday you have a daughter JUST LIKE YOU!!" Word of advice - if any women out there heard that from their mothers, or if any men out there have wives who have heard this, PRAY you don't have a daughter. Because I have come to find out that the curse comes true. Tenfold. I don't remember acting 15 when I was 10, but I do have a recollection of the attitute I get from Roxy - I thought I was the only one to master it. Apparently not. For now, we still have a good relationship though, since it is just she and I (don't even ASK about the so-called father) (LOSER!!) we tend to be pretty close. But from little things like going out to dinner last night, I am starting to be afraid. Be VERY afraid. God help me, I have a 5 foot tall leggy tan blonde daughter who is only going on 10 - I don't even want to consider life in 5 years!!!

Oh, well. Roxy will hopefully remain the sweet girl I am trying my best to raise right, and I'm sure we'll manage over the bumps in the road. I hope!! It's just strange for now seeing the lines between little girl and teenager so blurred - although I don't think I am quite ready for the full teenager just yet!