As a waitress, I know everyone’s usual orders. I know what they want to eat, how they want it, and what substitutes they want instead of greasy bacon or soggy tomatoes. But the one thing I don’t seem to know is how to fix my daughter’s attitude.

I’m a mom of an almost fourteen-year-old girl, Kiara. She was a sweet little girl until adolescence kicked in, and the teenage attitude hit her like a freight train. Now, my job as a waitress and my husband, Joe’s, job as an electrician is embarrassing for her.

She wants us to be the hip and happening parents who do not need to struggle to make ends meet and give her everything her little heart desires, including lavish and ridiculous presents.

You see, Kiara isn’t exactly the most grateful child for the gifts we gave her — for her birthdays or Christmas. Tantrums are common, usually followed by threats and the lovely “I don’t want to see you!” before slamming her bedroom door.

Naturally, this behavior hurt us because giving Kiara everything we could was second nature to Joe and I. We tried our best to keep up with her demands.

But the truth is, we missed the little girl who used to make us breakfast, spilling flour or toast crumbs all over the kitchen. It was the most endearing thing for us.

“Sorry, Mommy,” she would say, her lower lip quivering when I found the mess after.

I would lift her up, kiss her cheeks, and love everything about her.

But then, she grew up, and everything changed.

Kiara’s birthday was last week, and during dinner one evening, she dropped a bomb.

“Mom,” she said. “I really want a handbag. A fancy one that Sophie’s parents bought for her on her birthday. All the girls are asking their parents for it. It’s going to be our thing.”

When she said handbag, this girl meant an outrageously expensive one. I’m talking about the designer stuff that costs more than our monthly rent and probably our groceries. I knew that Joe and I couldn’t afford it.

Kiara approached me a few days before her birthday when I baked scones for Joe.

“Mom,” she said, picking at the sultanas I was folding into the mixture. “How’s the birthday present coming along? The handbag, right?”

“Honey, you know we can’t afford that. We just don’t have that kind of money lying around. Isn’t there something else you’d like?”

“No! You promised!” Kiara exclaimed. “You said you would help me fit in with the girls at school. It’s not my fault that you chose this life for us! Come on, Ellen.”

She had gotten into this annoying habit of calling Joe and I by our names when she wanted to rile us up.

“Kia,” I said. “Life’s circumstances have led to this. Your father and I try our best, so you must be grateful for everything we do.”

She stared me down and then turned and left. A moment later, her bedroom door slammed shut.

I couldn’t take it any longer. The disrespect was too much for me now. So, I hatched a plan. A lesson — in learning how to appreciate what you have.

On Kiara’s birthday, I set up her birthday cake and gift on the coffee table. Joe had to work anyway, and I pretended that I took on another shift at the diner. The truth was that I wanted to see Kiara’s reaction to her gifts while being hidden.

Joe and I had agreed that we would do whatever we needed to do to teach her a lesson. We bought the bag, which considerably cut our savings, but we considered it a learning lesson.

When I heard her shuffling around in her bedroom, I put on my uniform and ran to the door.

“Kiara, I’m leaving! See you later!” I called out and closed the front door behind me.

Then, I went to the other side of the house. We had a bench beneath the living room window, and I planned on waiting there until she went to see her presents.

I didn’t have to wait long because I heard her heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards a few minutes later. I peeped through the window, knowing I was as hidden as possible.

As she walked into the living room, Kiara’s eyes lit up. But when she read the note, her face dropped and turned red.

Happy Birthday, Kia. We love you, and we’re sorry that we couldn’t be there to celebrate with you. Your birthday present meant we had to work extra hours to pay for it. Love, Mom and Dad.

Then, I left her alone for the rest of the day — heading over to our neighbor’s house to have some tea and tell her all about what I was trying to do with Kiara.

Later that evening, when we all reunited for dinner, I could see a change in Kiara’s demeanor. Yes, she had gotten what she wanted, but at what cost? She had spent her birthday all alone.

I handed her plate to her, and she smiled at me when the reminiscence of the child we had known upon her face.

“Mom,” she said, digging into her chicken. “You can return the handbag.”

“Why would we do that?” Joe asked her, winking at me.

“Because as much as I love it, and I do. I really do. But it’s not worth being alone on my birthday because you have to work to pay it off. It’s not fair to you both, and I’m sorry.”

The lesson worked even better than I had planned.

In the end, we ended up talking about the cost of things and how life was very different from when Kiara was younger. We taught her that there were just more expenses now and that as much as we wanted to give her everything we could, we had to be realistic.

She even helped me with the dishes.

Joe told her to keep the handbag and that we would stick to our word and work to pay it off, but that she needed to remember that if she wanted lavish things, she needed to save up.

Now, we’re eating the birthday cake while Kiara writes down a list of part-time jobs she could potentially have during the holidays. The lesson of learning to appreciate what she has has been learned.

If it were your daughter, what would you have done?

Here’s another story for you: Eleanor is grieving the loss of her husband, the estrangement from the son, and the loneliness that just seems to keep up on her. One day, she meets Gabriella, a waitress at Eleanor’s favorite coffee shop – who changes everything, by helping heal Eleanor. But can Gabi change her?