Daughters: Glitter, Drama, and Absolutely No Conditioner Left

 Let me just say this: raising daughters is like living with tiny besties who might shank you for looking at them the wrong way during a hormonal thunderstorm. I’ve got two—ages 10 and 13—and while I love them with my whole heart, sometimes I swear I’m just a glorified chauffeur, therapist, and shampoo supplier.

You are my wildest hope, my fiercest pride, and the reason I believe in magic.

The Best Part? Built-in Girl Gang.

Honestly, having daughters means I always have a partner-in-crime for last minute Walmart runs, lunch dates, and spontaneous “let’s get our nails done because we survived another Monday” therapy sessions. They’re mini versions of emotional support humans—until they’re not.

Sisters or Frenemies? Yes.

They don’t argue with each other much—probably because they’re too busy tag-teaming arguments with their brother. Sometimes they’re BFFs, planning adventures and giggling over secret jokes. Other times, my oldest slips into full “mom mode” and starts scolding her younger sister like she’s collecting parenting points, making her little sister regret everything mid-plan.

The Worst Part? The Attitude.

You haven’t known fear until a tween girl sighs at you like you just canceled her entire existence. Was I like that at their age? (Don’t answer. My family is still recovering.) The sass is strong with these ones—and sometimes I feel like I’m raising lawyers based on how well they can argue that they did nothing wrong even when caught mid-crime.

Personalities? Polar Opposites.

My youngest is basically me—with 80% of my chaos, sarcasic humor, and daredevil spirit. She loves animals, rollercoasters, and lives in graphic tees. My oldest? Total princess. If it’s pink, gold, or sparkles like a unicorn’s sneeze, she wants it. I’m convinced she was supposed to be born in a castle, with a stylist, chefs, & maids at her beck and call.

The toddler era? Iconic chaos.

Once upon a time, my oldest dumped an entire bag of flour across the kitchen floor—while wearing a Band-Aid under her eye. It was like a rap music video--in my kitchen. She had a scratch and a flair for drama, so naturally, she leaned all the way in. Then theres the time my youngest once emptied a full bottle of conditioner into her hair. She looked like one of those oil spill ducklings from the Dawn commercials—just slick, guilty, and strangely proud.

How do I relate to other moms?

I’m here for the girl-mom breakdown club. I do not relate to the designer moms who have coordinating outfits and perfect braids. I relate to the ones who are just trying to remember where they put the brush and who’s crying over socks this time.

In Conclusion?

Girl moms, we are warriors. We don’t always have it together, but we’ve got glitter in our souls, sarcasm in our hearts, and a never-ending cart of stuff our daughters “absolutely need.”

Now go breathe, laugh, and restock your shampoo. Again.

If I made you laugh, cringe, or question your entire existence—consider tossing a tip my way.