As you regular readers may recall, I have one daughter, Isabella.. and today is her birthday! She is my beautiful girl: tall and long-haired, smart, funny and fantastically ill-suited for team sports. Oh, and she writes. Like this, on the occasion of her 14th birthday:
My birthday, aka, the day I came shooting out of a dark, suspicious hole like a morbid bloody Slip-n-Slide.
That was during a rebellious phase.
Or this excerpt from the introductory post on her very own, short-lived blog, begun and ended last March:
If there is one thing that you should know about me, it’s that, on this social networking forum, I will attempt as best I can to express my outlook on the world as well as retain my natural prescription of dignity. That is my ultimate goal, but alas, like diets and New Year’s Resolutions, at some point I will fail.
[...] In all probability, this blog is like a underdeveloped non-vascular fungus lurking in the hard-to-reach crevice of the liquor cabinet. It’s always been there, but few people notice it. They’re more interested in the flashy bottles of Miller Light, (so to speak), than the suspicious growth in the corner that watches from afar. Only the more observant beings, the OCD, must-investigate-everything-to-make-sure-it’s-clean types with a bottle of Lysol in one overly-washed hand and a ball of steel wool in the other, will notice you.
I love that she has a prescription of dignity. And Miller Light in the liquor cabinet.
We progenitors of only children tend to think we’ve produced the Christ Child: the most accomplished, pure, fascinating, devastatingly talented and intelligent human ever. The embodiment of holy perfection itself. Any parent of an Only who tells you anything different is simply lying.
Did I mention that Isabella sometimes sings German opera?
I know. I’m totally bragging. But any of you who are familiar with Isabella’s tragi-dramatic entrance into this world , or who have witnessed over time my attentive navigation through her various & exotic health concerns, not to mention teen years, will agree: I’ve earned it.
So today, after 15 years of fun and challenge, humor and drama, music, art, trial & error, I would like to wish my little groundhog a Happy Birthday! I wouldn’t be nearly the
obnoxious stage mom loving soul that I am today were it not for you. You are my heart.