. . . from my flu bed. Enjoy the swimming.
I actually sent David and the peeps down to his sister’s tonight for Sarah’s 15th birthday, so I could lay in bed, moaning.
Nancy informed me that missing your daughter’s birthday party is inappropriate behavior for a mother, but the swimming was planned yesterday, and I can’t exactly waltz in with my flu. So, here’s my attempt to make it up.
[btw: chances of my children reading this are, exactly, zero. That would be the equivalent of volunteering for a lecture.]
So, here’s my girl.
I like this picture, because you can see that there’s a lot more going on than her pretty face. This girl is complicated. Her fourth grade teacher tipped us off to this complexity during our first parent-teacher conference: “All these kids are 4th graders, and then there’s Sarah over there bantering with this dry wit that no other 4th grader even gets.” Then he raved about her artwork and advanced essay writing.
Do I sound like her mother, or what?!
David and I left that conference soaring like the parenting gods had smiled down on us and hoping that we hadn’t used up all our good-kid-tickets. (Those conferences don’t always go so well.)
This is exactly the look she had once when I was ranting about something and slipped out a “dadgummit.” She held that look without cracking a smile and asked, “Is ‘dadgummit’ a compound word?” (That was 5th grade.)
Which brings me to another interesting tidbit about her . . . She never dominates a conversation but can strangely control the direction it takes—unusual diplomacy for a 15 year old. She’s obscenely helpful with the little girls and is the only one in the family who can do hair. (Heaven help us when she leaves for college.)
This pict shows her more playful side. She has these amazing eyebrows that can dance around independent of one another and everything else. Eat your heart out, Sherlock Holmes.
So there you have it: happy birthday, Sarah. I can’t believe you’re 15, and I can’t believe you’re only 15!
You’re amazing, and we love you.
Mom & Dad