A 13-year-old's Meltdown

My hair is green to top all off.  So I'm trying to turn my day around a little, my 13-year-old daughter is calmer and a little better today, and I'm starting that turnaround with ketchup in my hair.

It removes the green, but the smell is overpowering when it is used in such large amounts, rubbed around in the hands like conditioner or shaving cream for smoothing onto the hair.  But the process of rubbing it in the hands releases more oils and odor and causes the condiment to soak into the hands, like moisturizer.  I cannot escape the overwhelming, slightly acidic, odour-de-catsup all around me. 

I may barf.  

Since it doesn't happen in EVERY chlorinated pool, the theory is, copper pipes in chlorinated water turns blond hair green.  Not just processed blond, either.  I've degreened both my girls' hair.

I swam a lot yesterday.  It was 104 here and I ran at high noon, in the shade, and got it done.  Then I was whooped.  I swam a few hours and then went out, this town is CRAZY with All Star 2012 Fever, I may have mentioned, but got the emergency call from my meltdown kid.  I could tell in her voice what was happening.  It was the same thing that happened to me two weeks ago.  I could HEAR it in her voice. 

My friend could see on my face.  I had to go and right then.  It was a frightening thing to watch my baby have a real nervous breakdown in front of me.  I hope she didn't see much of ME like that two weeks ago.  It was really fucking scary.

She's a regular kid today.  On the outside, looking like nothing much happened last night.  On the inside, churning still with the knowledge that she reached out for help last night during a really vulnerable time.  She is wondering inside now if things will be different between me and her, if they ARE different right now, and what I will make her do that hurts her more, because she asked for it.

She's regretting it right now, but also knows I will make it okay.  Somehow.  She'll know in her heart before bed that mom doesn't stab her with her vulnerabilities and somehow this will all be okay.  Mom will make her go outside and play more, she knows already, but also might talk to her more, find out about that inner churning and help her sort through some of that muck.

She doesn't know that, even if I didn't hit the mark on my assessment right here, that I can't make it right for her.  This is the hand she is dealt and all I can do is help her play her hand, and find it in herself to make the best choices with that hand, to economize every move, avail oneself of all resources until the most you can get from that hand has been squeezed, without tearing or ripping through others. And then you pass it on.  All of the best of it you can, you give it to the next.

This is what I have, Babygirl.  I wished for better for you, I swear.  But I'll make the most of what I have to give you.  That's not the same as doing the best with what I have.  It's knowing what you have to give and giving it freely, without regard to self.  It's all I know, Baby.  I'll give you all of it.  Don't give up on us yet.