No, my daughter and I are not having a fight. We have never had a fight. She, nor I, ever really fight with anybody. I am mulling over the role of daughter and the role of mother, trying and trying to compare the pluses and the minuses.
I have been a mother for 63 years; a daughter for 88. Right off the bat, that makes me an extremely lucky woman. Can I draw a comparison? Which role is better? Easier? More fun? Rewarding? Difficult? None of the above?
Of course, if you are born female, you have no choice; every girl child is somebody's daughter. Whether you want to be a mother is up to you, and Roe v. Wade, and Planned Parenthood.
Here is where I need to gather my thoughts and apply that old force-field analysis.
I began this blog yesterday afternoon, and wanted my brain to simmer over-night, to find a truly fascinating and logical answer to my own kind of dopey questions.
This day has been full of incredible kindness and love, tangible and personalized. Flowers and cards and Facebook messages from my real children and the children of my heart. (Yes, Hofheimers and Lazaruses that means you.) And Bob sent the most beautiful, big, matted, professioanal photograph of the Masters' tournament at Augusta, amen- corner with the azaleas in bloom, and glimpse of the Hogan bridge, that I wait each year to see again.
So why even try to frame the questions? Being the mother is the best job in the world. But that is a typo. I meant joY.
Mothers' Day. This is the day I can truly celebrate.