A few years ago I joked about putting “Chauffeur” on my résumé. Now I am thinking about adding “Hairdresser” – maybe with an added note: “specializing in African hair and styles”. Last weekend I spent 7 hours learning how to braid in extensions. Today it was the younger daughter’s turn and she decided on twists. That was a relief because they only take about 3 hours, whereas braids can mean anywhere from 8 to 12 hours of work.
As always, we began by negotiating about which series on Netflix we would watch – she vetoed Star Trek Voyager and I vetoed Orange is the New Black. We both know enough by now not to even bother suggesting Pride and Prejudice or Vampire Diaries. We decided on Gilmore Girls. That was a nice mother/daughter thing to do.
And it was like looking in the mirror!
Except that I didn’t give birth to my daughter at 16, I adopted her at age 40. And that our conversations aren’t all fast-paced, witty and sparkly – we tend to have quiet, serious talks interspersed with a lot of not uncomfortable silences. And we don’t talk about boys or dating or my relationship with my own mother – which by the way, is not at all complicated. And we don’t act like girlfriends or lend each other clothes and jewelry . . but sometimes I do catch her wearing my socks.
And sometimes I give up a whole weekend just to see how she smiles at herself in the mirror when we are done.