Sixteen

My little girl turned sweet sixteen the other day.  Three of us went on a massive shopping spree, bought far more books than clothes, had dinner at Red Lobster, looked at kitties (but didn't adopt any--five are more than enough, thank you!) at an adoption center, and spent the rest of the evening watching comedy.  Well, the kids did.  I crashed hard for a bit, then after everyone had gone to bed I worked on OryCon 31 programming stuff. 

This virus poopyheaded bug thingy, whatever it is, is still making me tired.  When I do sleep, I have unsettling dreams.  Anyway.

She's not any taller, or smarter, or more mature by stepping over this landmark birthday, and yet she is a little smarter, taller, and more mature every day.  She used to fit on her father's lap, head by his knees, feet at his belly, large, blue eyes staring up at him with her hands waving around randomly at first and then with slimy purpose.  She had a grip, this small thing, and a fascination with hair.  I got used to having slimy hair, having my hair pulled and yanked and tangled in moist, pink little fingers.  

She hid cat food under her pillow and in her closet.  It's important to have an emergency food stash in case of, well, an emergency.  She also hated clothes, like her mom.  She'd take them off at unexpected times and streak about.  

A lot of parents talk about their kids' independence.  Me too.  She decided she wanted to go home from kindergarten one day.  She snuck out, and if it hadn't been for a sharp-eyed secretary, she would have escaped to attempt to walk home.  Oh, I shudder ... we moms do that.  That was a decade ago and I still feel the same chill, and again when she almost drowned, and again when she fell asleep on the bus--that time the entire after-hours school system was hunting for her, and if it weren't for the bus driver hearing a small "can I go home now?" from the back of the bus just as he got off to leave the bus barn ...

But she's home, putting dishes in the dishwasher, enjoying her time to herself, talking to herself.  She's a private child, not quiet and subdued but she definitely prefers her own  rational, certain-of-the-future, inventive and determined companionship over that of any other being, human or animal.  When she seeks the rest of us out, it's good to know she does because she genuinely wants to be around us, not because she was lonely or bored.

There's not enough room in a blog post to share all the feelings I have, or paint even a fraction of the memories we share.  It's just good to travel through life with a daughter, this daughter, our daughter, a jewel amid the stardust in the universe.