Friday, September 12, 2014

FMF: Ready

I haven't done a Five Minute Friday in, like, forever, and while I don't want to do one every Friday, I do miss it occasionally. So! Today it is!


{insert horns blowing and cheering and applause}

You can participate in FMF, too, even if you don't have a blog. Just write your thoughts in the comments section. Or write them on a piece of paper and fold it up and keep it somewhere safe, where you can discover it after you've forgotten that you ever wrote a FMF post, only to reread your thoughts and feelings and think to yourself, Hey. I'm not too bad at this writing thing!


"Can I wear make-up to school today?"

"Can I wear one of your dresses?"

"Can I wear high heels?"

"Can I go to the game tonight with some friends?"

"Mom? Mom!"

She used to call me mommy, sometimes mama. Mom is like a curse word, a fracas in my ear. I want to reject the word mom. I want her to call me mommy. I want to tell her to go back upstairs to her room and take off her lipgloss and get out her My Little Ponys (which we still haven't given away) and play. I want to grab her and wrap my arms around her so tight, to squeeze her so she can't get away, so she can't grow up.

She's my baby, caught between becoming a teenager and staying a little girl, ready to trade that toothless little girl grin in for a more mature, polished, sophisticated version.

I'm not ready for this.

I'm caught with her, stuck in the wanting and push and the pull of life, of growing up. Of leaving.

Because I know. One day it's lipgloss and mascara, the next it's college and a house of her own.

One day she'll leave my house, and my house will be missing the messes and the My Little Ponys and the American Girl Dolls and the Littlest Pet Shops, the things that say a little girl must live here. That's what she's supposed to do. Right?

But what if it breaks my heart into a million little pieces, scattered across the floor, mixed in with my tears and my ache and my reflections of yesterday.

That's not a question. More introspection than anything.

She's standing here, almost as tall as me, ready to take on the world, as only a pre-teen can.

She's ready.

Spread your wings, my little butterfly...
Cause wings were made to fly.
{wings, little mix}


  1. You put me right back in the "My Little Pony" days of the 80s. Remembering those days so well. Treasure each moment because they are gone so fast.