When I�m not infuriated, I feel sorry for her. (When I�m infuriated, I feel sorry for me.) A constant quest for perfection is hard to maintain----and when you have to rely on someone else to develop and carry out your ideas perfection you also have that lack-of-control feeling. Still, it would be nice, just once, to spend a lot of time and effort on her plans and feel that she was happy with the outcome. But she�s twelve. It�s as productive to bay at the moon as to talk to her on the subject.

Day-Hay had a fancy party tonight. She has glorious long shiny, ever-so-fashionable, straight hair. She wants curly hair. While my hair will hold a curl, curls in her hair are temporary, very temporary. But she wanted curls for the party tonight. I have Dep in the house (you remember, that styling goop some of our mothers used to use�but not mine because Day-Hay�s hair comes from somewhere). I�ve pin-curled her hair before but it�s not curly enough for her taste. So I spent part of yesterday after work (which I was not supposed to be at as it was my day off but that�s another story involving sick secretaries, vacationing secretaries, over-stressed secretaries and attorneys, and a vacationing boss) looking for some hair product short of a perm that might satisfy her.

I found it. It consists of pink rods that look a lot like perm rollers. I don�t remember the name of the product but it promises a perm for a day. I bought three boxes. Beauty doesn�t come cheap. I had Day-Hay wash her hair (without conditions because it holds curl better), I gelled it, and I rolled it. I dried it. I left it up. I removed the rollers and, using spray and a curling iron, I got some curl out of the hair from the two rods that didn�t take. She pulled it back with a headband and it was gorgeous if likely to straighten over the course of the evening. She was pleased�but within bounds.

Then came the shoe problem. I felt for her on the shoe problem. The poor kid sprained her ankle on her last day of Tae Kwan Do camp and she couldn�t wear her boots. We tried them. No go. I suggested her white sandals. I wrapped and re-wrapped her ankle a few times so the sandals would work. She didn�t like the way they looked. A whiff of disappointment seeped out of every pore. Eventually, she tried her denim and fake rhinestone flip-flops, the ones I got for $4 at Target, and she liked those better. They didn�t look any more comfortable to me but my feet were not involved.

I lost it on the sweater issue. It was getting very close to time to leave (because, of course, after having no troubles with contacts for weeks she had a problem with a contact and an eyelash tonight.) She had to be there on time because the party followed a joint bar/bat mitzvah during a havdalah service, a service held just before the sun goes down. Being late to services is a no-no. I looked at her dress and reminded her that the sanctuary tends to have too much air-conditioning and she probably should take a sweater. Naturally, she has no idea where her navy-blue sweater is. Of course not. That sweater fits, is in reasonably good condition, and goes with the dress. She tried her sparkle sweater but it is getting sad looking and is stained. I found her a jacket to another dress from her closet that went with the dress she was wearing and was in good condition. The sleeves are just slightly short. You would have thought I was killing her. I finally told her (not particularly nicely, I�m sorry to say) that I really didn�t care whether she took a sweater or not.

All that work and I couldn�t produce a perfect image for a twelve year old girl. Imagine that. I just wish this particular twelve year old girl would learn not to look at me with such disappointment and disapproval when I can almost but not quite get it right.

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