Don't stop 'til you get enough

Since my own child has vehemently insisted that I never, ever, under any circumstances, put photos of her on my blog (because, oh god, Mom, I would DIE of embarrassment"), I have opted for the moment to respect her wish and dote some more on the baby in my life. Here she is once more with her birthday cupcake, which was quickly devoured, and after that, was metabolized in the form of hyperactive dancing (she swings her arms wildly and bounces when you sing or hum to her, giggling all the while).


Jamison (the hubby) arrived to the party a little late and sat on the stairs, where Natalie quickly greeted him: Hello, friend, she would say (if she could talk):


Here, she would say "hey, I don't have to wear this party hat to be the birthday girl!"


This child is so cute it actually causes me physical pain. Look how tiny she is, especially compared to J-mo, who is a rather large fella, but still. She's still just a little boo-boo, even for a one-year-old.


Babies are amazing things - I know I've expounded upon my wonder on this topic many times, but it's still mind-blowing to look across the living room at my daughter and think, "you came out of my body? Really? How is this possible?" How is it conceivable that she is now taller than I am, has bigger feet, and a mind and self that I cannot know - a space completely outside and away from me. She pretends that she has no interest in anything I like, but we share a love of Disneyland, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings and dozens of other things even in her teenage, eye-rolling, hand-on-hip, and tongue-clucking phase. When she came home with a D in English, I asked her "how can you shame me this way?" in jest, of course, but I know that this is her own form of independence - to reject what is important to me and excel in areas that are not. She gets A's in science for example, when I learned nothing I can now recall in any of those classes.

But here's a great story: I drive the morning carpool of my daughter and her two friends each day, and last spring the Shakespeare Festival folks from Boulder performed scenes from various plays for the students in an assembly; exasperated drama queen #1 (henceforth EDQ1), whom Sami has known since kindergarten, plopped into the back seat with EDQ2 and complained: "what was that stupid assembly about yesterday. It was so dumb and boring [imagine a whiny 13-year-old girl voice, exaggerated by pre-coffee annoyance of this parent]. What was the thing about witches?"

My daughter turns around to the back seat, and in a matched super-snotty 13-year-old retort says, "Uh, you mean MACBETH? Duh." I could reveal nothing at this moment, of course; if Sami knew that I thought her gleaning of anything Shakespeare potentially came from living with me, or that I applaud her defense of the theatre, or that she was willing to look smart in front of her friends, or... you get the idea. I just did a little happy dance in my head. That's my girl.