The Kind of Daughter I Am

Usually on this here blog, I talk about the kind of mother I am.

Or the kind of daughter I have.

But tonight, I'm going to talk about the kind of daughter I am.

I'm the kind of daughter that invites her mother down for a visit and puts her to work.

I'm the kind of daughter that forces that mother to go with her to The Home Depot (and Lowe's, then back to The Home Depot a few gazillion times) to buy a palette of 23-pound boulders to build a new retaining wall for the flower bed. 'Cause I have a small child and ten thousand loads of laundry to do on a daily basis, and nothing else to do with my time.

I'm the kind of daughter that decides it isn't enough to build a new retaining wall for the flower bed in the front when the flower beds in the back need some help, too. So I put my mother to work trimming holly bushes and pulling weeds to get those beds looking less like the depths of the jungle, while I continue hauling boulders until I have biceps the size of a professional female wrestler.

I'm the kind of daughter that decides it isn't enough to trim holly bushes and pull weeds when some weed-killer can be spread over and under the new soil--so I set my mother to work doing that, as well, while I continue building my damn retaining walls and spreading new soil and mulch.

I'm the kind of daughter that takes a break from the work to haul my adorable daughter (who jumped happily in the yard) back inside to feed her and take care of her, while my mother (who birthed me more than three decades ago) stays outside to continue toiling and soiling away.




















I'm the kind of daughter who repeats this whole process a second day in a row, and then decides it can't spill over into a third, miserable, ever-loving day. So I force my mother to help me spread soil and bag trimmed holly branches and tree trimmings at 9 p.m.--leading my neighbors to believe we're lugging big ole body bags into the backyard (not mulch) so we can bury our bad deeds in the dark of night.

I'm happy to report that I'm the kind of daughter who feeds my mother for her labor. (Cheap food.)

And now the walls are built, the soil and mulch is spread, the bushes and gnarly over-growth is trimmed, and I can rest a little easier.

And I promise to be the kind of mother who'll do the same for Baby Girl someday.

Assuming I can still walk by then.