Dainty Hooves scrutinized her copy of Mares Home Journal, pouting imperceptibly as she leafed through its glossy pages emblazoned with images of the Canterlot elite. Articles crowded the page, declaring who was marrying who, what the Princesses were doing, and the latest scandal that everypony who was anypony was talking about. A full-page ad, which proudly professed “The Latest in Fashion: Caraway Crinoline's Canterlot Couture” above a gallery of sumptuous frocks, caught her eye. She licked her hoof, carefully flattened the page corner to mark it, and turned to the next page. Thank Celestia for the magazines, or I'd never be able to keep up with the latest styles. It's not like the old days: now the girls won't even talk to me anymore...
She sighed and shot a brief glance towards the kitchen. Her daughter was still sitting at her place at the table, hunched over a blank sheet of paper, staring at it intensely. She nodded her head. Good. She's focused tonight. Her eyes returned to her magazine.
ButDainty's ears twitched and pointed towards the dining room. Shouldn't I hear writing by now?
Derpy clambered awkwardly from the chair and trotted into the parlor, depositing herself in front of her mother's chaise.
“Mommy, would you write my homework?”
Dainty frowned and laid her magazine aside. She straightened up and, looking down at her daughter, forced a sliver of a smile.
“Now dear, I'm certain you can write it on your own.”
“Nuh-uh! My teacher says she can't read my writing 'cause its all wobbly and stuff, and that if she can't read it I'll get a bad grade.” The filly bit her lip and stared up at her mother.
The child was right, and all Dainty needed was another pointless parent teacher conference with somepony to rudely remind her what she already knew all too well. As if she didn't have enough trouble, dealing with her daughter.
Dainty shut her eyes and exhaled. She brought her forehoof to her daughter's face. “Well then dear, here's what we'll do. Why don't you write your homework, and I'll make a copy of it when you're done. That way, your teacher will be able to read it.”
“Okay Mommy.” Derpy turned to move her head away, but hesitated. “Will you help me if I get stuck on anything?”
“Of course. Now, back to work with you. Let mommy finish her reading.” Dainty retrieved the magazine from the coffee table and found her place halfway down the article. “I'll be with you soon.”
Her daughter went scampering off to the kitchen as she sank back into her chair. The magazine’s page was filled with neatly aligned rows of words, but for some reason they refused to be sentences. Dainty held her hoof to her temple.
“Mommy, are you coming?” Derpy paced around the her spot at the table.
Dainty's ear right ear twitched. “Yes, dear. I'll be there in a moment, dear.” Dainty laid the magazine aside and trudged into the kitchen.
Her daughter sat in a tall chair, bent over the low round kitchen table. It's polished wood gleamed in the dim glow of the electric lights hanging from the tin ceiling, as pencil in hoof she scribbled away at the top of the page.
Dainty perched on the edge of the chair across from her daughter, folding her forelegs across the table to support herself.
A sour taste filled her mouth. It would come any moment now. The bickering, the grumbling, the refusing to proceed, just as it happened every night. Her stomach rumbled and she turned her head to the wall, and its new flocked wallpaper. She could see herself tearing it down, tearing it all way. It would feel good, but yield nothing.
She shook her head to dispel the thought, then straightened. Poise and Posture makes a lady, she silently chided herself.
“Mommy?” The filly looked up from her work and cocked her head.
“Yes?”
“Is it okay to write a list in a letter?”
“Well, it depends...” Dainty brought her hoof to her chin and closed her eyes. “I was mainly taught how to write letters of introduction, but that is certainty not the case here, so...”
Derpy reversed her pencil and scratched furiously at the paper with her eraser.
“I suppose it's acceptable.”
“Aww, Mama!” Derpy crossed her forelegs and puffed her cheeks. “Now I have to start over.”
“No.” Dainty narrowed her eyes as the filly turned her head and slumped in her seat. Dainty laid her hoof on top of her daughters and in a half-whisper continued. “No, dear. I'm certain it's fine. Just keep writing, and you'll be...”
“Tsk! Oh, alright.” Derpy sighed and retrieved her pencil. She doodled out a series of letters, each lazily flowing into one another, wandering across the page. She fidgeted, and glanced up at the clock.
It was no wonder her letters were so poorly formed. Focus. Where was the child's focus? Whenever Dainty brought home a new necklace, she'd be entranced by it. When she blew a bubble, the filly would stare at it till it popped. But when there was work to be done, the child’s head was in the clouds. Infuriating? No, it was futile.
The sour taste was back in Dainty's mouth, worse than before. It made her tongue feel thick. She hovered to the other side of the kitchen, and retrieved the kettle from its perch atop a glass-door cabinet. With deliberate slowness, she opened the lid, ran the tap, and lit the stove.
“Mama!”
The kettle clanged against the stovetop. “Yes, honey.”
“How do spell lullabies?”
“L-U-L-L, A-B-I, E-S.” Dainty drifted across the room, watching as each letter was inscribed on the paper with ceremony. Her daughter stopped, and scrutinized her work. Then, she froze.
“Two Ls?”
“No dear three.”
“Three in a row?”
“No just one, then a U, then the other two in a row.”
“Silly Ls.” The filly muttered, grinding the eraser into the page. “Why are there so many of you?”
“Sometimes spelling is just silly, dear.”
“But why's it have to have so many Ls, mama?”
“Because it does.” Dainty shuddered as she inhaled, and forced her eyes shut. “Now hurry up and finish your letter young lady, it's almost bedtime.”
“Yes, mother.” Derpy pouted as she returned to her hectic scrawling. Her pencil wobbled it's way unsteadily across the paper, as her mother drifted back to the stove.
Dainty lifted the kettle and poured herself a glass of tea. Bending forward, she blew over the cup, sending clouds of vapor drifting through the air. Nights like this reminded her of them time the kitten had tried to climb the curtains in the old house in Baltimare. Its valiant efforts had resulted in little positive progress.
“Nearly done?” Dainty prodded her daughter's back with her hoof.
“Yep!” the filly looked up from her work, beaming.
Goodness, the filly's mane was a dreadful mess. Such uncouth appearance was unbefitting of a lady, even if she was a scholar. It had to be corrected. And anyhow, it would wrong for the child to overexert herself in the pursuit of learning.
“Why don't you take a break then, dear. Hold still, and I'll braid your mane. ”
Derpy raised her head from her paper, and closed her eyes. Dainty ran her hooves through her daughter's mane, gently separating out three strands and weaving them together. The child's beauty was one of her few saving graces. Her features, with of course a single exception, were very fine for a pony of her age. Nothing less could be expected of her. But it was a curse in disguise. Her careless manner spoiled her looks; she was perpetually soiled from head to tail. Dainty tied the finishing knot in the filly's mane, and retrieved her tea. “Alright now, back to work.”
“Yes mama.” Derpy's pencil carved out the final lines of the letter with painful slowness.
Dainty yawned, and glanced at the clock.
“Mom?”
The tea cup clattered against the saucer, its half drained state the only thing preventing it from splashing.
“What word comes before the name at the bottom of the letter?”
“I don't know what you mean. Show me.”
Derpy pointed. “Right here. Like everypony does. At the end before you put your name.”
“Sincerely.”
“I can't spell that mama! I don't even know what it means.” She folded her forelegs, and gave her mother a defiant stare.
Dainty drew a deep before speaking. Of course the child haven't learned such a complex word yet. She was far too young, naturally. Such things would come later. What was it fillies these days signed their letters with? Oh, yes. Of course.
“ 'Love' will do fine then, dearest.”
The filly scribbled the final words with aplomb. “Yay, done!”
“See, that wasn't so hard, was it.” Dainty slowly pulled her daughter's chair away from the table. “Now off to bed with you. I'll be up shortly.”
“ 'Kay. Night mama!” Derpy threw her hooves around her mother, then hopped down from her perch, and scampered up the long wooden staircase the servants had once used.
“Goodnight, darling. Sleep well.” Dainty slumped over her tea, inhaling its calming vapors. The night was almost over now, the child safely in bed. Just another one of those nights. Dainty's ears twitched. This time, there was something more to do. The transcription, that was it, one last little thing to spoil this moment of relief. Groaning, she slid the wrinkled piece of paper closer so she could read its gnarled hieroglyphs. She struggled to draw meaning from them, squinting to make out the crooked words.
Dear Mom, the first line read, We have to write a letter to our moms for Mothers Day, so I wrote you a letter. Dainty exhaled. The things I love the most about you are: 1. Your muffins. 2. That you are pretty.Dainty covered her face with her hoof, and shook her head. Typical behavior: even when she was concentrating, the child couldn't keep her focus. But at least she had made an effort this time.
- You love me. Even when I do things wrong. Love, Derpy ran the last line. Dainty paused, then scrutinized the letter once more. Gingerly, she returned the letter to the table, and whipped her eye with her hoof. The chi... her daughter. Had written that letter, and it was a very proper letter indeed.
Dainty's tea cup was empty, so she pushed it aside. Smoothing out the paper, she slowly swept the pencil through the elegant curves of the letter “D”.
