Rabbit Mother, Tiger Daughter. [Journal entry 6.9.14]

I am not going to fight.

I am going to vastly improve my argument (and it’s pretty damned good already).

I am not going to point out the obvious (at least not obviously), and I am not going to name-call.

What I AM going to do is be there. Be present, and supportive, and listen and focus on what is important: She is. My daughter, my child, the pine cone to my fir.

I am a Rabbit raising a Tiger. It is not always easy.
I am a Scale raising a Ram; she butts her head, hard, into every.single.thing.

She will learn tact and compassion, and how humor is our lifeboat during difficult times, and how it is my primary way of coping *any* time – to see the humor in every situation.

She teaches me what it is like to be enraged, fully, and to express myself – as she does – with no filter, with passion and heat and language and every venomous bit of vocabulary when provoked or frustrated (or tired). Her anger is pure and without apology or shame; mine is always “polite”.

She teaches me how to let go quickly and move on, and that there are, in fact, people who just do not deserve to know you. This is a new concept for me, for I have given myself away in pieces my entire life. You wanna piece? Here.

She teaches me that to love someone is to also be in love with how you feel about yourself when you are together. This is new to me, too; I thought loving someone was always about exhausting yourself just to make the other person feel they were loved without any doubt; it never really mattered I received less than I gave.

So many lessons we share, together.

DJDawson 2014

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14 November 2012. (Diary)

14. The age of my only child.

Tonight at dinner, at a table adjacent to ours, an upset pre-toddler cried most of the time. Basically, through his family’s dinner and ours. I asked Loinfruit to run to the car for my phone, and while she was away, I got up and went over to the cryer’s mother.

She started apologizing immediately but stopped when I said her child’s crying had moved to me to tears.  (Which it had.)

I said her baby was lovely, the crying was not upsetting at all, and, that I was bittersweetly envying her ability to pick up and comfort her child. It is really wonderful, when they are so little, you can just pick them up and solve a world of discomfort and ills.

Then I told her that my “baby” is 14 and she barely speaks whole sentences to me let alone lets me give her a hug. “Lady, you are so lucky!”

We had a good laugh as did the other adults at their table. Loinfruit came back then as if on cue, stopped and said, “Oh, geez, mom…are you telling her how much you like her baby?”

Yes, and how much I love my own who is 14.

DJD 2012