Clear with Sparkles

I'm wearing a nail color,

Once painted on a daughter by a mother.

But I can't recall the last time,

With my mother on the phone line.

Having a nice conversation,

Without being Iraq and Israel as nations.

Or eating a decent dinner,

Without seeing who would be this arguements winner.

What if we could just sit together,

Without discussing the newest political weather.

Why does it it seem so hard,

And when did we go this far?

So this is why I'm four once more,

Having my nails done on my bedroom floor.