For Lucy

One of your cute friends brought over some new nail polish for your birthday, so last night I agreed to a manicure.  As you were about to drop an extra large glob of minty colored paint onto my pinky nail, I said something about maybe dabbing off the brush a little first, in favor of a lighter initial coat.

"Mom,"  you said to me quietly, but with a twang of teasing in your voice, "since when are you an expert on painted nails?"

You had me there.  I was forced to bite my tongue for the rest of the painting process.

Oh, little girl of mine, I love you so.

Your eleventh birthday was one for the books, in unusual ways.

Our morning was perfectly blissful.  Spencer was the first one up, rising around 5:45AM.  I heard him roll out of bed, and saw him dash to the living room as if it was Christmas morning, checking for anything out of the ordinary.  Then he ran into my room, whispering in dismay that you were still asleep.  I gave him permission to wake you.  Gently.  He climbed onto your bed and sang a relatively quiet "Happy Birthday to you!"  

You rolled over with a smile, but weren't exactly inspired to jump out of your covers.  After a few minutes, though, you made it to the living room to open a few gifts.  

You were pleased with an armful of new books, a jelly wrist watch, and the first season of Studio C on DVD.  

Then I sent you to get dressed for school and hurried you into the car.  "Wait!"  Spencer hollered a few minutes into our drive.  "We didn't have breakfast!"  

All part of the plan, Spence, all part of the plan.  Because on your eleventh birthday, you should definitely eat a Sausage McGriddle at the park on your way to school.   

The streaming sunshine was so beautiful that morning and it was so uncustomary and wonderful to be at the playground before school.

We savored every moment, and when we did finally load back into the car, you said with enthusiasm, "It's already been the best day and it isn't even 8 o'clock!!"  We drove to school and I happily waved you off with two boxes of orange dreamsicles to share with your class during recess. 

Preschool was a blur, soon it was time to dash back to school to pick you up.  I welcomed you warmly into the car, but you were a little sober in the back seat.  

"How was the day?" I asked.  

"Well...," you said with a sigh, "last night I forgot to do fluency, and you didn't sign my Learning Plan, and I guess I was supposed to do lesson #(something) for math, but I didn't know."  

Those three oversights had landed you with a "black" card on your class behavior chart...the lowest descension possible, and a totally unheard of occurrence for you.  From the safety of the driver's seat I rolled my eyes a little at the rigidity of our school.  But, rules are rules.  I guess.  So I just chuckled a little.  "Of all days!" I said.

"Right?" you chimed in.  

I felt proud of you for taking the disappointment in stride.  At least it would be a memorable day, we decided.  

"Your 'black card birthday,'" I teased with forced morbidity in my voice.  You laughed good-naturedly and we hurried to get homework out of the way before a few of your friends came over to play.  

You were so glad to see Rubie and Gracie and Somae.  They put lots of sparkle back into your day.  You busied yourselves painting pictures in the basement, which turned into painting Y's and cougar paws on each other's cheeks, which turned into choreographing corresponding BYU cheers.  

And then Grandpa came with a a few boxes of your Panda Express favorites.  You voted for a picnic on the patio.  

After dinner and candle blowing, you opened a few last gifts in anticipation of a belated birthday party that we'll have sometime this summer (which is so typical of me to procrastinate everything until it's convenient).

You had such a happy evening with Grandpa.  After saying goodbye to him at the curb, you flew black over the grass, and leaped up the porch steps, only to trip - hard - over the threshold of the front door.  Hard enough for tears. And for some awesome scraping and bruising (that has subsequently slowed you down to a limp the rest of the week).  When you had recovered enough to talk, you said (in the lingo of the "Wow-Pow-Chow" game Mr. Crippen taught you), "Today had lots of Wows.  And definitely a few Pows."  

We rehearsed both the "wow" and the "pow" moments together, and decided that maybe a day of highs and lows was appropriate.  Birthdays are a celebration of life, after all, and life, certainly, is a roller coster of ups and downs.  

But through it all there is so much love and lots of laughter.

I had a good chuckle in the car a few months ago.   You and Spencer were looking out the window, discussing the endlessness and enormity of the universe.  After a lengthy conversation, Spencer concluded, "So we [humans] must be pretty small!" 

You concurred, "Yes.  We're one of the smallest things.  But," you added after a thoughtful pause, and with a little sparkle in your voice, "We're very clever."  

You are very clever, to be sure.  

Remember your idea to have a Mad Hatter's tea party with Lizzie after we went to see the Alice in Wonderland ballet at BYU?  I wasn't sure I was up to hanging lanterns, but you insisted.  

And remember how you got up at the crack of dawn the next morning, extending the fun with a surprise breakfast (put together with the extremely meager contents of our fridge/pantry)? 

I know I've mentioned what a loyal little cougar fan you've become.  During football season last fall, you didn't want to miss a single game and cheered with all your heart and soul.  But you managed to maintain good perspective.  After the Y's disappointing loss to the U, I remember saying something like, "It's OK.  Besides those first few minutes, we played really well."  You nodded slowly, but finally corrected, "Well, they did.  We're the fans."  

We had a fun time at your mother/daughter Activity Days event which featured blindfolded makeovers.  I can't believe this will be your last year in primary!

Time truly flies.  But every year, I love seeing your pink birthday tulips bloom in Grandpa's backyard.

2016

2009

And every night I love to see you wrapped up in a book, just across the hall from me.

2016

2011

I love your companionship, Lucy,  and your goodness.  And in spite of the  o c c a s i o n a l  hair-flipping, eye-rolling moments, I'm not too opposed to this growing up business.  I truly love seeing the wonderful young woman you're becoming.