We call her The Lioness. My daughter. Not my mother. Her blond hair is so wildly curly it often defies gravity even on a good day. It’s like a white girl fro. Most days I have to apply conditioner and detangler to get a comb through her waves and curls. However, I have figured out how to manage it. I figure it took so long for my bald-until-two baby to grow those locks. It’s my job to take good care of it.
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My husband’s parents divorced when he was three. Mine split up when I was ten. When my daughter’s teacher helped the kindergartens write five-line biographies about themselves, one little boy wrote at the bottom of his page: “My daddy doesn’t live with us anymore, and I want to go to his house.”
“Whaddya doing Max?” a father shouted at his 5-year-old when his son stood looking longingly at the snack bar. “We came here to go on the water slides! We’re going on the water slides! C’mon!”
The little boy reluctantly but obediently turned to follow his father.
I watched them get in line. It was a hot summer day but the waterslides at Emigrant Lake were not too crowded. This was the first time we had been to them and I couldn’t help thinking we had found the perfect activity for a Friday afternoon.
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