Mothers and Daughters.

There are no relationships I can think of, more complex, than that between a mother and her daughter.

It is one, that is very much filled with both extreme love, and even, intense hate, at times.

The notion of a mother being seen as both a conspirator, and a corrector.

There is a fine line.

Sometimes, so diminutive, it becomes invisible.

One minute being a best friend, the next, your worst enemy.

The temperature changing faster than than the weather in Spearfish, ND.

Levity and love, turning to tempers and tantrums, in a matter of seconds.

Yet, at the very core of that connection, is a love so deep, it can not be measured.

Weighed.

Or accounted for.

It hides in plain site.

In the many hugs and kisses, yet, also, in the endless evaluations.

Underneath the accolades and insults, it resides.

Steadfast.

Unwavering.

The connection between a mother and her daughter fluidly traveling between confidante and caluminator.

One minute needing each other so terribly, and the very next cursing their existence.

It is complex.

This romp between a mother and her daughter.

The dance, a push and pull between, leading and lending.

It is a relationship unlike any other.

Now that mine is gone, and I am raising two daughters, I see this more clearly than ever, and long to bend my mother's ear for help.

The same girl who loathed her own mothers' very advice at times.

Knocked down her sage knowledge.

Pushed back against her, at every turn.

Rebelled with authority.

The same brat, whose mother went into that living room 30 odd years before to look for HER.

That very same jerk whose mother died TWICE, and was sent to a burn treatment center for 3rd degree burns, because that assholes' mother went looking for HER, when the apartment they lived in was on fire.

I can not believe I had the audacity to give her an attitude, when she laid her life down, to try to try and save mine.

Literally.

But it is with age, we are granted wisdom.

And sadly, more often than not, that prudence usually finds us, much too late.

And frequently, consistently, as mothers, we are always putting ourselves out in front, to prevent our children from being hurt.

Sometimes in a big way, and sometimes small.

Yet, we fight the battles.

Most of which they will never even know.

To protect them.

Love them.

There is a lack of respect that we as daughters, fail to share with our mothers, and yet we hand over to fathers without thought.

Seeing my very own daughters combat the same struggles I did, against me, a woman who has nothing but their best interest at heart, even if they fail to see it.

Someone who is protecting them fiercely.

As best I can.

Trying to be stern while smiling, while also being truthful and tough.

My mother always told me being a friend to your children is easy, being a mother, hard.

Man, was she right.

About so very much.

Xoxo,

C.