My oldest daughter turned 12 today. So I'm flipping though some old pictures on the computer and sipping Scotch poured from the bottle I got for Father's Day.
Twelve years ago, she fit in a basket. She's taller than a lot of adults now.
Look at those itty bitty toes. That foot fits into a cleats and plays softball now. She made some really good plays this season.
Over the past few months, there have been two occasions centered around Allison that made me overcome with emotion. The first was was a red hot rage that I didn't know I was capable of feeling - and none of it wasn't her fault. I had a whole post written about it but decided to let it go. Mostly let it go. Let's just say I wanted something done for my kid who was in orthodontic pain, was flatly told "NO" and then I almost completely lost my shit. I felt my pulse go up, my cheeks got hot, that forehead vein was probably throbbing and I was rapidly blinking in disbelief. I don't remember if I clenched a fist but I was a single deep breath away from throwing a lengthy F-bomb laden tantrum. I knew there was a parental "you mess with my kid, you mess with me" protective instinct in me, I just had no idea how quickly, and possibly out of control, it could wash over me. I still get worked up thinking about that morning.
The second, much happier emotion, was how proud I was of Allison. At the elementary school graduation ceremony last week, a few awards were given out to the 6th graders. My daughter was presented with one of the awards. No one was told about the awards before the ceremony so it was a complete surprise. There was a 6th grade picnic after graduation and other parents congratulated me on her award. I thanked them, but it was all her.
Alright, I've gone on enough. Time to go make some pizza dough for a sleepover party she's hosting.