15, there's still time for you . . .

My 14-year-old daughter suddenly turned into my 15-year-old daughter.  

It literally happened overnight--last night, actually--and we spent the better part of the Fall break in jolly ole' St. George celebrating the occasion with her and Rue 21. 

My hub and I made it perfectly clear that it was her weekend and she could do whatever she wanted. 

She only wanted one thing--to eat pork salad at Costa Vida, so we took her to Bajios because, same dif, right? 

Wrong! Whatever you do, DON'T eat at Bajios in St. George whether or not it's your daughter's 15th birthday or not, unless you don't mind watching the workers blink and shrug at the missing pork and the missing trays and the burning quesadillas as they go through the swinging doors, in and out, back and forth, to do whatever it is they do back there thats make them blink and shrug themselves silly like that.

A better place to eat would be Brick Oven, especially if you want to see you daughter turn bright red when all the cute waiters keep checking her out and bringing her free chocolate mousse and singing and clapping at her in spirited birthday fashion. 

I wonder if having a 15-year-old daughter will be any different than having a 14-year-old daughter? 

Do 15-year-old daughter's laugh and point at their mom's when they go shopping and tell them their head looks hilarious in hats?  Do they tell their mom's that their cute jokes are so not funny and the southwest bean soup they are slaving over looks disgusting?

I hope not. 

Mom's are people too.

Do 15-year-old daughters roll their eyes when you say, "Hey, for your birthday, let's have a party or go get a pedicure, or your ears pierced, or a nose ring, or a tattoo that says smile and be happy?" 

Do they put pillows over their ears when you're listening to The Beatles at 95 mph on a Sunday afternoon, or say "This is a looooong song," after listening to The Beach Boys for twenty minutes?

I hope not.  

The Beach Boys are people too, too! 

Someone should totally write a song for my daughter about how when you're 15, you're caught in between 10 and 20.  

Never a wish better than this, right?

I would do it but I would probably get too sentimental and start singing about how being caught in between 10 and 15 is way easier than being caught in between labor and delivery.  

Then I would probably go off about the day I became a member of the big girlz club when my water broke at Kentucky Fried Chicken in White Plains New York and my hub shoved me into our Ford Escort and raced me to the hospital. 

"This isn't that bad," I told my mom, who was there to help us usher in our little princess.

"I definitely won't need the epidural. Especially now that I know how to breathe through the pain." 

I forgot to knock on wood, so shortly after that I began to feel like a Mack truck was tap dancing across my belly.  

Shortly after that I drop kicked my the Little Miss Mary Sunshine nurse every time she told me to Hee Hee Haw, and punched my silly goose mom every time she said "This too shall pass!" 

Shortly after that I told my doctor I would give him a million dollars if he would just PALEASE shove that ginormous, holy honkin' needle into my spine, PRONTO! 

He agreed, if I didn't mind holding off for 12 more hours until I was sufficiently dilated.  

If only I had been sufficiently dilated I would not have had to wake up so early this morning and stumble through the cold and the dark to start the fire and the music and the French toast for my fifteen-year-old daughter's birthday. I would have done all that yesterday, on the 18th.  But as it were, I wasn't sufficiently dilated until the 19th and had to labor all night long without the help of the holy honkin' needle, until finally my first born arrived into the world to make sure I never wear hats or make southwestern bean soup or listen to The Beatles at 95 mph. 

Do I really look THAT bad in a hat?


I look better than my son, right?

Or at least I did before we moved.



Moving really cramped my style.

Anyways, Happy Anniversary to me for getting through my first labor and delivery.  

Oh, and Happy Birthday to my daughter's hoity toity English teacher, Mariko.  Her mom got through labor and delivery on this day too.  Oh, and my x-door neighbor, Martha got through labor and delivery with her twins on this day too.  And my gigi got through labor with my aunt Carol on this day too.  

Happy Anniversary/Birthday to all!

But mostly to my one and only daughter--the apple in my pie.  



She will always be my little girl.

And she will always make me smile and be happy.

P.S.  Here's a link to her favorite song right now.