Good Days.

The best invitation I'd had in years came from my daughter last week. She lived under my roof yet remained resolutely out of reach while physically right in front of me. The more I requested her company, the more she would repel. She was the opposite pole to my magnet. This person I had yearned for and eaten, drank, and would die for, had become walking pain that moved about our home and surged as she seemed to flow through days and nights without feeling any of mine. I had convinced myself that this was what it meant to be a mother for the longest time. To give without taking or asking, become satisfied with so little and regard mere crumbs as bounty. I lived off crumbs – stale ones – for a decade, and I had become starved and weak. My cupboard was bare, and I no longer knew how to fill it. The situation was complex enough and heightened by the electronic ability to see friends and strangers' families, and others overflowing with joy and connectedness. There was no jealousy or envy, but my happiness withered as I consumed continuous heaping helpings of bitter confusion that I would reluctantly wash down with salty tears. I would eventually run out of those as well.?

There is a long road back from desolate places we've been. We were just visitors. And, like anywhere you've been that you've decided you'd never return, there is a healthy desire to move on and thankful relief that we can make that choice.?

My seventeen-year-old beauty is the apple of my eye, and that is the perfect metaphor as I can still remember her as the seed within that took root in my soul and gave birth to the garden that has become my life. Droughts and monsoons of abundant affection and emotional affliction gave way to such richness and resilience. Some of us work so hard. We toil at life and think – or have faith - there is something karmic about giving and getting. Trying to apply fairness to human relationships is a logical fallacy. Like baking the best pies for someone who hates dessert, you can spend hours trying to please and yet come nowhere near it. Continued effort only makes it worse. The more you give your good thing, the less appealing you become. Until, one day, someone tells you what they need. That is the sunniest day that reveals a budding flower you can now tend.

Our leggy blonde baby appears so womanly, five feet and eight inches of millennial with equal parts mother and dad. She is all at once and reminds us daily with her tangled thoughts that can reach the heights of NPR yet leave the house in zero degrees without a jacket. She has a range and reality all her own that I'm working hard to respect while trying to keep my sanity. We might share the physical space, but are we really in the same place? That's not even a rhetorical question. And as soon as I embraced that "no," – my cup began to fill up with "yes."?

As we drive the mercurial 95 from our shoreline town to New Haven, there is moodiness to match the traffic that constricts and relaxes for almost 20 miles. There is such freedom in letting go, and I can feel the sensation move through and take over as my hands, often clenched, wrap loosely in the chill zone of the wheel that is guiding my girl and me to our day. The day is like a destination – a place we've journeyed to enjoy. The simple plan is short and sweet, featuring whatever we want at Claire's Cornucopia and more delicious creativity at the Yale University Art Gallery. There was a time I would foretell a day like this together could likely end in disaster. Triggers – both invisible and not, and my mouth that, although governed closely by good intentions, invariably had a mind of its own. This day felt different. The ups and downs and unpredictable wildcards that would waft in our wind were replaced with steady calm and capability. We had both found the confidence and the courage to reach out and keep trying.?

Claire's Cornucopia is a restaurant heirloom. Since 1970-something they've been a warm and plentiful mecca of organic acceptance. Homemade and healthy food is almost secondary to the earthy vibe. To the eyes, it's a café, but to the spirit, it's so much more. The world outside can change and change again, but Claire's will remain a constant for conviviality and a beautiful mélange of humans. Yarmulkes and saris break bread together. Students, faculty, and perfect strangers snake cafeteria-style and slither through a showcase of the most challenging choices you'll ever have to make between a responsible repast or maybe opting for the mouthwatering dessert. You can be a vegetarian for the day without feeling the sacrifice with meatless burgers that hit the spot and clear your conscience. Lithuanian coffee cake is their signature, but you're tempted to ignore the invitation because the chocolate cupcakes, carrot cake, and cookies are daring you to look their way. Claire's is one of the most valuable gifts I have handed down to my daughter. We bond over the visible things and revel in the rest. Having a life before being her mom allows my girl to see that I am one. Claire's existed before my Isabel, and now she shares a sensory piece of my past. The white ceramic mugs hold hope with every warm beverage with the motto, "Be Kinder Than Necessary." Isabel loves this, and I love her for loving it. Anything we order is guaranteed to satisfy in one way or another.?

The art gallery is the perfect choice as a reminder that we are creatures of chronology. Giant steps forward and humbling retreats are a universal struggle that reassures even on the smallest scale. A museum requires us to look back at how we have moved forward. Humans are destined to serve time and try and make the most of it. Isabel and I enjoy how other cultures have thrived and survived and marvel at how the earliest civilizations can still seem relatable. Games of ball and stocky female athletes are nothing new, tales told on an elephant tusk carved with such detail on smooth ivory that clearly defines the links around the necks of the enslaved. These details we declare beyond vital to convey and remain so modernly vivid in their resonance are sadly more than symbolic. Isabel and I walk through rooms and centuries together. We step through time that feels like an exotic trip and takes us far from Connecticut. No matter the medium, I take in the works and breathe in the moments with my daughter that delivers an abundance of good feelings. We have been to many places together – Paris, Ireland, New Mexico, but this moment is made for the permanence of a museum. It is a memory to be revered, to exist so that I can go back and see it always. I listen to wisdom from my child as she interprets what she sees from her core. If she was lit up from the inside, I could see the pathways connecting her heart to her mind and the thoughts forming the words that I've waited her lifetime to hear. The brilliance and depth that I knew were there are emerging as she stands so close to me, and we talk of ancient women and children, race, and religion. There is visible proof that our children blossom before our eyes. All the pain to get to this place seemed to make sense. Here amongst the most treasured creations, I was with mine.??