Uncertified

 I found my daughter crying in our bathroom last night. It was 1:30 am. Her arms curled around her knees between broken sobs she said she hated living at home, and was a loser. Earlier today she had received yet another rejection to a coveted film editing internship she was seeking.

   Somehow,  with our family dog at my ankles, I convinced her to return to her room. I sat on her bed as between crying jags we talked about the pitfalls of film editing, and everything else that she perceived was "wrong" with her. (I can't wholly attest to the content -as it was, after all, 3:30 by then. . . )

    I paused at the door quietly, and watched her roll over with our family dog, Lucie nestled in her arms.  My eyes glazed,  I  randomly remembered a debate between my husband and I as to the "pros and cons" to investing funds in Lucie's emotional support dog training.  We had eventually decided against it.  I smiled tiredly. She had definitely earned that "blue vest," tonight.