"Oh, yeah," she said. "My mom is just like that, too. I can only catch her by email. I understand." Now, record scratch: did that girl just compare me to her mom? Okay, wait: I'm technically old enough to be her mom. Hmm.
[She's an excellent writer, even if she thinks I'm ancient. Repeat: she's an excellent writer, even if...]
School lets out this week for my kindergartner and my second grader, soon never to be called by those descriptions again. The treasures have been trickling home all week, decorations from their lockers and their math workbooks and art portfolios, first day photos and writing samples cleverly mounted by teachers next to photos and writing assignments from this week. Those girls, they've grown.
I look at these things and those faces and I think how old they look, how grown, how much they've learned and tried and risked and stumbled and accomplished to get where they are. And 'old,' framed that way, sits quite nicely.