Mary brought up the conversation of the theatre again today. I tried to downplay it at first, but she was insistent. After all, I'm so mean to her as you know, not taking her into the movie theatres, restaurants etc. etc. etc. So she asked me today, Mom how often does the theatre have plays on? About once a month, I said. Are you going to the next one? I don't know, I said. I said this, because I did actually enjoy the last one, and was considering going again. Hopefully the DLS would join me for the next, not sure if L's friend is in whatever is on next time. But Mary? Yeah, don't think so.
"Mom, I want to come too if you go. I might even be the next star! I can be very dramatic." I laughed. Yes, you can Mary, yes you can. So I tried to explain to her that I didn't actually know when the next one was on, and whether I'd be going or not, and besides I don't know if they'd let her in. So she asked me, but why not Mom? They let you in and everyone else who has a ticket in. Hmm, how do I put this?
Mary, you're... nevermind. You're my daughter, and I love you, and I will temper my frustration with love. Mary, you're probably a bit young to understand. Nope, that didn't work at all. Try the straightshooter approach, Livi. Mary, I don't think they could fit you in. But Mom, there's a month before the next session, we could book in early!
That's not what I meant.
Urrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh. Dear readers, M and D, Dear Abbey of random newspaper columns, random bystanders who have the sudden urge to invite me over for tea and biscuits, please write me, call to me, telepathically communicate with me, send me a telegram, tie a sticky note to a rock and throw it through my window, someone please tell me how to raise my daughter. Because my clue count is currently at ZERO, and I shall never solve the mystery.