It all started last week, when I showed my daughter a house I discovered on one of my walks. To be honest, I expected her to hate it. As you can see, it’s old, run down, and needs work. It also just happens to be for sale. She wants it!
I do, too, and although the $710,000 asking price might sound like a lot in some parts of the country, for Los Angeles and this neighborhood in particular, it’s dirt cheap. Not that I have that kind of money, but I choose to believe I will, and this makes my daughter crazy. She is disappointed that I can’t get this for her, but it makes her even more upset that I say one day I will have a house like this.
She says it is better not to get your hopes up because then you won’t be so disappointed in life. I say I would rather be optimistic and occasionally disappointed, then to walk around like Eeyore, expecting the worst. Round and round we have gone all weekend, with her alternating between moaning that she wants the house, and groaning that I never should have shown it to her because we are never going to have anything close to it. Then she gives me this for Mother’s day.
I love it. Especially what she has written at the top.
Yesterday, she decided she wanted to go see if they were having an open house, so we drove up to the house to look at it in person. “I want it!” she continued to say, but once back home she became frustrated again. I finally told her we have to agree to disagree because while I am hopeful things will get better, she is not. All I can do is live by example and she will have to take from it what she will, but as I told her, I can’t argue with her over this. It’s too depressing to have her constantly telling me, in essence anyway, that I am a fool. I can’t wait for the day when I can say I told you so, but in the meantime, we have to co-exist in an admittedly small apartment, and I will choose happy over her teenaged angst every time.