Friday, May 4, 2012
a day with my girl
It's official. My little girl is twelve. TWELVE!
That's a big deal, you know. Twelve means no more primary. Twelve means my "little" girl is off to young women's (or as her dad calls it, "Young Females") on Sunday, activities every weeknight, and going away to camp. It means one year closer to being a real, live teenager. Being twelve (in our house) means mascara and lip gloss and piercing your ears (if she wanted, which in this girl's case- she doesn't). Twelve means we wear almost the same shoe size.
I remember the day Ryenne left nursery and went into big kid primary as a cute little sunbeam. I was lamenting to my friend all those first mom feelings, such as "I can't believe she's big enough to go into real primary!" At the time it seemed like a monumental change, watching my little baby girl sitting up straight amongst all those BIG kids. When I told all of this to my friend, whose children are mostly grown now, she laughed at me and said, "It's really not that big of a deal". I vividly remember telling myself she was probably right, and I was just being silly. After all, it wasn't like my little girl was graduating from high school- she was only a little sunbeam.
Well. The week Ryenne graduated Primary and moved into Young Women's, I marched up to my friend and announced, "You lied!"
I can see it now. It WAS a big deal. Because do you know what happened next? Before I knew it, she was sitting on the back row of junior primary, not the front. In a blink, she was baptized. Next, she appeared in the senior primary, with all of those really, really big kids. Right before my eyes, she got bigger, and bigger, and now, here we were watching her leave primary (and childhood, really) behind. All because she left the nursery as a wee little three year old.
I was right to panic. That day was a really big deal, after all.
For Ryenne's big day (and because she is growing a mile an minute and had nary a thing to wear), we decided that the two of us would have a girl's day out to go shopping. She got to sluff school, even!
We had a perfect day. It was glorious having her all to myself. We talked the whole way to Salt Lake and back, had fun splashing our fingers in the fountains, and admiring the beautiful landscaping. We laughed when after only an hour, we were both pooped, and decided that the only choice we had was to get regular doses of chocolate (it was quite necessary, you see). Seems she inherited my shopping genes! And it wasn't long into our day before she kindly let on, "we don't really have the same style, do we mom?". At that moment, I realized I had arrived. I was officially that mom who (not realizing how ancient I am) holds up a piece of clothing, only to have her daughter crinkle up her nose and shudder. Just yesterday, it was me dying at what my mom thought I should wear. Wasn't it?
I love you Ryenne. Even if you are growing up on me. I love your fun personality. I love how confident you have become this year. I love your friends. I love that boys are still "just boys" to you. I am oh so proud of how you've been so responsible this year, and have taken so much on while I've been sick. Sure, we have our share of drama, but that's part of the experience, I hear. You get yourself up every morning, and much of the time head into your baby brother's room to gather him up and give him a bottle, too. You get yourself ready and have been so good at not making me feel guilty that I'm not the early morning, make-everyone-breakfast mom that I used to be. Just this morning, you came into my room before you left, asked me how I was feeling, and tucked the blanket under my chin in hopes I could sleep just a little bit longer. You are a good, good girl. In so many ways, you have really blossomed this year and I am so very thankful for the person you are becoming. Even if that means you are growing up.
Lucky me to have a daughter like you. You are growing up in the most marvelous way.