Some Days Are Expressive

No mother jumps for joy hearing a daughter say, "I hate you!" I know I did not feel all warm and cuddly the first time I heard this. But I was not exactly shocked or wounded. Actually, I was kind of expecting it. For two reasons.

First of all, I do not have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I have encouraged my daughter to "tell me how you feel" rather than slam doors or pout. Use Your Words! The ultimate parental mantra.  If we preach it, we best be prepared for times when freedom of expression lets loose with both barrels.

Then there is this: I hated my mom at times too. Did I just write that? Growing up, I could not even imagine saying this. In my generation and in my household, using your words was not on the top ten list of advice given to daughters.

I do remember the feeling though. My mom would say things like "wait and ask your father." Dear God, I hated that one. It made me furious.

So when my daughter lets out a "I hate you" I do not say, "Don't say that!"  I do not sweetly respond, "Well I love you." I think these responses are mildly ridiculous. I tell my daughter that I hated my mom at times too when I did not get what I wanted. And that what we really hate is that we can't have [fill-in-the-blank] and that is what is prompting the "I hate you."

This summer, at age fourteen, my daughter really wanted to pierce her lip. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: "No. Absolutely not. No way, no how. No. That is just crazy. You are fourteen! NO!"

She: "Why not?"

Me: "You may think it is just jewelry but some people will form negative perceptions of you based on piercings alone."

She: "Maybe you worry too much about other people's perceptions."

Busted. She knows me well. I do worry too much what other people think. So we compromised. She had her ear cartilage pierced.

Last night we were at a party and I talked with a woman I had recently met. We had a great time, talking about anything and everything. We seemed to be on the same wavelength. We laughed a lot. Then, in the middle of talking about God knows what, she said, "If I were younger, I think I would pierce my nose or my eyebrow, And my belly button, definitely my belly button. So darn cute."

So I just had to know, "Tell me how you were raised."

She gave me a wonderful description of her family of origin.  She described a raucous home with lots of noise, lots of banter, and lots of laughter. Good place to learn to express yourself, I would imagine.

My new friend and my daughter march to an amazing and different drummer. It seems to be a mix of nature facilitated by nurture. My daughter still absolutely cannot pierce her face, but after last night, I understand a little better why she might want to do this. And I would like to introduce my daughter to my new friend. I have a sneaky suspicion they are going to love each other.