At the Village Inn in Bentonville, Ark., the waitress laid a plate of breakfast crepes topped with strawberries and whipped cream in front of Daisy. For Birdie, she set down a dish of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and hash-browns. For me, it was scrambled eggs, bacon and pancakes.
At that moment--on the Sunday of Mom's Weekend at the University of Arkansas--I unwisely turned the conversation to the small hole Daisy has punched into her right nostril. It has been there for two years. And I still have a hard time accepting that my daughter paid good money to add a hole to her face.
That's when my two sweet daughters morphed into one bundle of adult independence:
"I could get my eyebrow pierced. Both eyebrows if I wanted. And I could pierce them really close to my nose, and you couldn't stop me.
"I could get the middle of my nose pierced. I could get my cheek pierced. Or my tongue pierced and wiggle the stud at you. I could get my lip pierced. "
I could even get my tongue forked," declared The Birdaisy.
"Forked?" I said.
"Yeah, forked--split in two at the tip," confirmed Birdaisy. "And tattoos--I could get as many tattoos as I want. I could get tattoos on my face and you can't stop me."
"Have you added another tattoo?" I asked Birdie.
"I don't know," she replied, with a shrug.
"Seems to me like you should know if you have another tattoo," I said. "And should either of you get your tongue forked, I want to watch."
With our independence and detachment firmly stated, we dove back into breakfast.
"Did you bring me a case of Dr. Pepper?" asked Birdie.
"No. They sell Dr. Pepper in Fayetteville and you have a car to go get it," I answered.
"And, if I put breakfast on my credit card, you'll pay me back?" asked Birdie.
"Yes, I'll pay you back," I say.
I am still mom. I will buy breakfast, but not sugary soda. And I reserve the right to say "I told you so." If there's a future family photo featuring a forked tongue, a pierced cheek or a cat permanently etched into a forehead, I won't be the one wishing for a re-do.
