Today the chiropractor asked me if anything new and unusual happened to me over the weekend. My answer: I became the mother of a teenager.
On the morn of her birthday, with her present in hand, I crawled into bed with #1. I brutally hugged her awake and proclaimed, "Happy Birthday!" She rolled over and said, "Oh yeah. Oh yeah! It IS my birthday." I'd always thought my memory started declining when sleepless nights with this same child as a newborn started sucking away my brain cells. Now I know: teenage brains really aren't all there from the get-go. It's going to be a long road until she gets her pink slip on life as an adult; I'm sure the time will fly by.
Her Aunt Carolyn brought Grandpa Al's old guitar--I mean, "The Carlos"--down to Provo yesterday and presented it with her gifts. #1 has been wanting to take guitar lessons for quite some time, so maybe now that can become a reality. (Anyone want to teach her in exchange for piano lessons from yours truly?) She had #2 take these pictures of her with her cool new instrument. (I hope The Carlos survives our family of five curious kids. It--he?--almost didn't make it through today as one small pair of hands repeatedly grabbed it from another.)
Happy birthday sweetie!