Recently my husband reminded me why our daughter has the nickname of Demon Child.
Several years ago our family went to Costa Rica for two weeks over Christmas. The first week was a Signature Vacations tour spent with about sixteen other Canadians. Towards the end of the tour, we all stayed at an eco-friendly rainforest lodge in Tortuguero, a town on the Caribbean coast. (translation: no phone, no T.V., no air conditioning, showers that almost worked, no road, and VERY thin plywood walls between rooms)
We were fine with all of that, until one night the Mormon families in our group gathered after dinner in the Elder’s room, which was located right next to our kids’ room. The Mormons talked, they told stories, they played board games…all so loudly that our darling twelve year old daughter couldn’t sleep. Around midnight she decided that she’d finally had enough; she pounded on their wall, she banged on their door and she screeched at them, “SHUT UP!! Some people are trying to sleep!”
Somehow she woke up my husband (a miracle since he generally sleeps through crying babies, teenage parties, tornadoes, earthquakes etc….) so he ran outside to investigate. The Mormons were not at all impressed; in fact, they were so upset that they decided our daughter must be a Demon Child.
And the name stuck.
But a few more years have passed and that Demon Child grew up to become a very beautiful creative and charismatic young woman :
with multiple piercings in numerous locations
as well as a few bad-ass tattoos
and long black hair with bright blue end
who’s vegetarian, wanting to be vegan, even though she really doesn’t like vegetables so she eats lots of fruit and some nuts
From now on I shall call her my Hippie-Dippie Wildchild.