I love my Daughter.

She gets up in the morning, and comes out in her “Chaos, panic and disorder” shirt to, pull out a journal and write. She writes in a pretty journal, a pretty peony pink journal, with a gel pen. Because. It’s. Pretty. None of this “saving it for good” stuff for her. Good is Now, because she deserves it. And Easy is Better. That lesson was a long time coming for me.

She has been messing around with her clock-radio, because she wants to get up at the same time every day but she doesn’t want commercials, or news. I gave her the words, “People talking at her,” for the problem of dealing with the commercial world, and news on the hour. She kept trying, and she’s found a good station, and gets up less fuzzy.

And because it’s Sunday, and she asked for those Pillsbury orange sweet rolls for our “I love you and it’s Sunday” breakfast routine.

She is who she is. She doesn’t respond when I get nuts, stays steady, just goes in her room. And because she is my Daughter and I don’t want to make her go hide, I’m learning to back down, to recognize that I’ve drunk too much coffee or that I’m sliding into a worry circle, to take a time out and get steady again.

Because she is very good at and about holding the skein of yarn while I wind it into a ball. Because I can say “I’m going out in the back yard to monkey around,” and there aren’t any repercussions or recriminations or even questions.

Because everything is normal.