It was Saturday when I gave the Middle Child money, real actual green crispy money, for the purpose of buying herself lunch and a movie ticket when the very nice family across the street invited her to attend said lunch and movie with them. I made it very clear the money was for lunch and the movie only only ONLY, even if the Nice Family insisted on paying (which was likely, which was why I risked placing my hard won book money into my daughter’s hands.)
She came home without the money but with a(nother) new Jack Skellington T-shirt (which she paid for how? How? Anyone? Anyone?) and this button, a gift to me.
I suppose this was supposed to be some kind of sop to my wounded sensibilities, which clearly, she anticipated the wounding of, and with that very same cunning mind which she claimed didn’t understand me when I made it clear the money was not to be spent on fripperies, but only to pay her way with the nice family across the street. At any rate, I figure, in light of the button and all, this qualifies as an excuse (and a downright justified one) to temporarily remove the moratorium against blogging about my daughter. In fact, one has to wonder if this very button could have been an invitation to do so. For which I am very grateful.
(In light of the upcoming holiday, I will be ending all of my posts this month with the phrase “for which I am very grateful”, a la the fortune cookie tradition of a different phrase.)
P.S. I want to say, “You go girl!” to Sue of Navel Gazing At Its Finest for writing a brilliant and entertaining (even if fake) blog and moonlighting as Cordy of My Super Hopeless Romance, and also for “‘fessing up” when she began to feel uncomfortable with what was happening. Please stop the hate mail, people! (not that any of my regular readers are the least bit hateful but if you are here simply because I have the words “Cordy” and “My Super Hopeless Romance” in my blog post, then it could be you of which I speak).
P.S.S. 8 libraries have ordered 13 copies of Miss D. Can you say Ka-ching?!?! No? Not yet? Still too few for dancing in the street? And here I am with my dancing shoes on . . .
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