With Son At College, Daughter Becomes Focus For Parents
By Kris Radish2006 Kris Radish/Dist. By DBR Media, Inc.

Now that my son is away working hard to understand the social life of college students, how to schmooze professors you do not know, and understanding the ways of sharing a room with a boy who is messy, we get to pick on my daughter all of the time.

The Little Princess gets all of the attention these days, and just between us, she needs it.

My daughter is a fabulous student, excels in the drama department, has a great singing voice, dances, is a wonderful friend, is a soccer superstar and pretty much a daughter to die for, but she is such a slob.

If we are out and cannot remember what her schedule is, all we have to do is open the front door, take two steps and see the carnage.

"Rachel was here."

Here's a good example of what the house might look like if she has breezed in for just a few minutes. If she is here longer, just add about 16 more things to this list, and you will understand how we live.

First of all, the door will be open and unlocked. Then there will be a glass by the door that has coffee or tea in it, and it may be broken because she threw it there. Then we will find a pair of jeans, a soccer shirt, soccer shoes that have grass and hunks of dirt stuck to them and thus all over the nice wooden floors. When we keep walking, we will see that she was hungry. The milk jug will be on the counter, warming in the afternoon sun, a bag of cookies will be opened on the counter, candy bar wrappers will be on the floor, a piece of cheese will be stuck to the side of the refrigerator, and there will not be a plate or napkin in sight.

If she brought a friend home, there will be several other piles of food in the kitchen, and then we will follow a trail of bread crusts, a drop or three of peanut butter and some chips over to the television area. Here we might also find a stack of books - unopened - old notes that should have been brought home from school a very long time ago, several pairs of socks, none of them my daughter's, and crumbs everywhere.

Down the hall toward her bedroom, we will discover a sweater and maybe several pairs of underwear. We do not bother to look into the bathroom because that room was condemned when Rachel was 12 years old. Her bedroom will look as if it has been turned upside down by a robber. There will be clothes everywhere, newspapers, more clothes, and possibly one of her friends sleeping in the bed.

This is the delightful windstorm called my daughter who still disarms me when she realizes she is a pig by throwing her arms around me, kissing me, telling me that she loves me and not asking me for money for at least five minutes.

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