Send In The Clowns

I’m not sure this picture does us credit. It’s too small and you can’t properly see how absolutely stupid we all look. Eli with her orange hair, me with that shirt and bright red (thin) lips, Mom…well look at her expression! and Martina wondering WTF? The garden looked really good at least.

When my daughter, Eli, was ~14 she lost her mind. I mean it. She went shit-house-rat crazy. It was not all her fault, or at all her fault, really. I mean, I was living hard and way too quick to introduce my latest boy toy to my kids over the 10 years I was a single mom. Her dad had almost died. He had also been to prison. Twice. So, *really*, it wasn’t her fault but she really was crazy.

Let me add that in addition to our previous stellar parenting both my ex-husband and I got married within a few months of each other and a year later? I brought forth another daughter. Joyous occasions all around but not ones made to settle the mind of a hormonal, stressed out, angst-ridden, teenaged girl. Eli was in the delivery room with me when Martina was born and that was good…well, except for the crazy, pushy pediatric nurse who forced my 12 yo daughter to stand at the foot of the bed so she’d have a really good view of the proceedings despite the fact that we had discussed all of this in-depth and Eli knew that she should be by my shoulder where she could see what was happening without seeing the inside of my uterus. Other than that may that obnoxious nurse rot in hell it was all wonderful during the birth of little sister. I could not be expected to defend my poor tween since I was in the midst of pushing out an eight and a half pound human at that particular moment in time. I’m sure Eli has forgiven that one lapse of parental protectiveness.
So fast forward to the following year when Eli was 13 and climbing out her window at all hours of the night to walk the streets of suburbia with her skanky boyfriend, her cousin and myriad other charming young ladies. They thought: They were cool; They knew it all; They were unbreakable. Only, they were wrong. And then? Eli died her hair. Blaze orange. Enter one of my most fabulous parenting moments ever… the kid made every effort to sneak past with a hoodie on but I caught her and then I had the good grace to say, “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?” Yes. Well.
It was obvious what had happened to her hair and to this day I’m not positive it was an accident. Billinda? Are you listening? Heh.
On the day the photo above was taken the rest of us were sure that Eli was the only one who looked ridiculous. In retrospect? We all did. Send in the clowns.
*Apologies for the disjointed nature of this post. I started it a long time ago and while I’m anxious to share the picture, I don’t have the energy for editing the text just now.
Advertisements

About Blue Eagle Dreamer

Shamanic High Priestess and facilitator of empowerment and healing circles for girls and women, including a monthly Red Tent Temple. BA in English, minor in anthropology. Waldorf homeschool mom. Reiki master, cranial sacral therapist, herbalist, menstruvist, feminist, epicurian.
This entry was posted in children, Elizabeth, family, gardening-organic biodynamic natural, Martina, parenting, personal. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s