Blueberry Pie

So I decided to make a blueberry pie this morning. My youngest brother and his family are coming tonight. He swears they'll be here by dinner. I doubt it. But maybe. My mom and dad will be back here too. My dad loves blueberry pie. Okay ... my dad loves pie ... of any sort. Okay ... my dad loves food ... of any sort. Especially if I make it. I was in my early thirties before I realized that as the only daughter, I was the princess in our house ... my dad hid it really, really well. And I'm pretty oblivious. Of course, I was married by then and couldn't take advantage of the situation except in retrospect. Which was probably a good thing, because I tend to the devious. So, now when I'm with my dad I bake pies or cakes or something. He likes it and I enjoy his reaction.

I watch LightGirl and her father's relationship and enjoy it. It's been fun to watch it develop. It's hard tho to keep myself out of it. I don't do such a good job of that. One of the hardest things as a parent is to understand that your children are not you. Especially the children who are the same gender as you. That their relationships with their parents are different from yours with your parents ... because your children have different parents (you). In fact, everything is different. Which seems like it should be so obvious and it is ... and ... yet ... it isn't. And then you have to start to watch them make the same mistakes you did and cringe knowing how hard it will be to learn those lessons. Wishing you could just pass that knowledge to them, like a piece of blueberry pie.