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(Above: A dramatic scene from Horus’ birthday party–E., I have to give you a copy of this one., so great <3)

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Several years ago, I met a lovely acquaintance of mine while we were out and about one day in the city.  At the time, she had a teenaged daughter, and as we were exchanging pleasantries, her face crumpled a little bit as I asked her how things were going.  Awful, she said.  It’s Anya.  She is fourteen, and giving me *such* a hard time.  I just can’t handle her attitude, she won’t listen, she’s totally disrespectful.  We’re going through a really hard period.

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Gosh.  I had visions of drugs and alcohol, late-night parties.  Admittedly, I was a little bit curious, but also concerned.  So, what’s going on?  I asked.

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Well, said the mum, The biggest thing is her coat.  (Her coat??) She absolutely refuses to wear her coat to school.  We have fights every morning, and I have to force her to put her coat on, and threaten that I won’t drive her to school, unless she’s wearing her coat.  But I have a feeling that as soon as I drop her off, she takes off her coat and just walks through the cold in her t-shirt!

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I had mixed feelings.  On one hand I thought,  if this is all they have to fight about, good on them.  I also considered, kind of sadly, that maybe if she let go of the coat control, they wouldn’t have to fight at all.  Then it occurred to me that if this mother never had the urge to control or dominate her daughter in the realm of the petty, maybe the daughter really would be out doing idiotic things like sleeping with inappropriate people she doesn’t even like, and getting married to spite her mother. Then it crossed my mind that the source of the pain and confusion and strife in my early life really *wasn’t* my mother at all, but the combination of simply having a salty, smart and independent mother and the conflicting influence of having been institutionalized for 13 years straight, which had the effect of so thoroughly distancing me from my true self that I ended up committing several gross acts of self-sabotage that I will, sadly, never recover from.  Oh well.  We’ll never know.

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What I do know, however, is that my own children have working bodies, with sense organs that function perfectly.  They can see rain on the sidewalk, they can see snow, they can see frost.  They can hear storms.  They can smell that lovely just-before a spring-shower smell.  And they can definitely feel cold and warm on their skin.  Yay!  Their bodies work.

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