change

Last week I was painting our new laundry room.  (The wrong color, by the way.  I can never, ever do things right the first time- it's like my banner in life.  As I write this, I realize how funny this is, because I am daily, hourly, it seems, telling the girls, "If you're going to do a job, then do it right the first time."  Or, another personal favorite, "If you don't have time to do a job right the first time, then you definitely don't have time to do it a second."  Do the job right the first time is my slave-working mantra.  So why, why for goodness sake, can't I ever pick the right paint color the FIRST time around?)

Anyway. . .

I was painting along, when I looked over and saw Emmy leaning over the plywood barrier I had set out to keep the Claire-nado out of my mess.  Just as I glanced over, Emmy got a disappointed look on her face as she looked around and said, "Awwwww.. . ."

"Don't you like it?" I asked.

Without hesitation, she replied, "Yes!  I do."  And then, "It's just that I already miss the old way but I don't even remember what it looked like."

I had to laugh.  I've decided lately that change is hard for me.  This realization mostly came as a result of the emotional crises I've had over Ryenne moving from elementary school to intermediate school and the ensuing understanding that she really, really is going to grow up despite my best efforts otherwise.  I don't even know what upsets me so much, other than it's a new phase.  New challenges, new ideas, new independence. 

I want my girls to grow up, I do.  They're good girls, so I'm even pretty sure I will like it.  Most days, I will probably even like them.  After all, there is much to be said about the fun-ness of a teenager, right?  So many adventures await. 

I do like growing up, I do. 

It's just that I already miss the old way, and I don't even remember what it looked like.