It’s love, baby

You may be aware that my oldest daughter is a teacher and lives in another state (sniff). When she graduated from college, she was all like, peace out girl scout, I’m moving south to the sun.

She recently moved in with a friend to conserve costs, and sent me her new address today (so I could send her a book she needs for grad school…). Anyway, the street she now lives on contains the word “HIDDEN.”

I promptly texted her back and was all OMG are you in a hidden meadow??? HOW WILL I FIND YOU???

Her response (to her loving mother..) You’re fucking retarded.

I pointed out that she wasn’t supposed to swear at me. And I said that she should get her book this Friday although I REMAINED VERY CONCERNED THAT SHE WAS HIDDEN FROM VIEW.

Her response–You’re retarded.

I asked how will I find you if I ever come to visit you? Will I need a tracking dog?? ARE YOU IN THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM?????

And then I said this is why I shouldn’t text after drinking. One glass…ok a glass and a half of wine…and it was complete chaos.

She replied that I was dumb.

This is how I know that she loves me. We can have this kind of conversation.

I miss her face, her tattoos, and her (now) dark purple hair.

Our children are always our children, no matter their age. And I suppose I will always tease my kids…and get sarcasm in return. It’s our family language. It’s our love language.

And that’s cool with me.

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