Five Years From Fourteen

Emma's new favorite way of torturing her mother is to tell me that over and over again. I think she finds joy in making me squirm.

What I can't tell is why fourteen is the magic number in her head. It is not the year she will get her drivers licence, or date, or enter high school. It's not even the beginning of being a teenager. It is, however, thee goal.

She often laments to me that she wishes she could stay young, and then the next moment want to be all grown up.

I just let her know that I have felt that way too, and how she will have the rest of her life to be an adult, but you are only a kid for a short time.

So, my dear Emma, enjoy being nine.

Happy birthday to the girl who made me a momma.