A few Saturdays ago, my eight year-old daughter—let’s call her Dervish because she whirls—came huffing up to me as I sat with my morning coffee catching up on emails and paperwork that had risen on my desk like an angry blemish.
A client reports: my son (he is sixteen) was offered alcohol by his friend’s parents at their house, last weekend. He told me he felt it would have been rude to decline – ha-ha. The friend’s parents believe that since kids are going to drink anyway, they are happy to have their kid and his friends drink in their home where the boys are safe. I guess that makes sense . . . “
We were packed into the car on our way to a long awaited holiday at Mt. Tremblant. It was my turn to drive and at about the halfway point, I was struck by the peacefulness in the car. In fact, it had been forty-five minutes since anyone had uttered a word. Something was wrong with this picture.
Pixie Girl is sixteen, confident, responsible, an easy child to parent. And so, I felt like a piano dropped on my head when she informed me that she wanted to get a stud in her perfect little nose.