Excellence in human living...

Last night was Annie's graduation from high school. (PAUSE). That short sentence holds inside of it 18 years of WOW.

I sat in the Hilbert Circle Theatre waiting for her to appear at the top of the stairs, ready to make her entrance as "Pomp & Circumstance" trailed from the quartet on stage. Why didn't I think to ask her what side she was walking in on?

And then, there she was. It was the first glimpse I'd had of her in cap and gown. She had a rose in her hand and smile on her face. Time stood still.

As tears streamed down my face, I captured her frozen in my gaze. A sudden panic rose up inside of me. How did we get here already? Have I taught her everything she needs to know for life? I think I need more time...

I watched her move down the stairs toward her seat with the rest of the Class of 2015. She was confident and happy.

When her name was called...Anna Michelle Magan (prounounced correctly, thank you very much)...she glided triumphantly across the stage. She graduated with honors, but even better, I think she graduated with Excellence in Human Living. She is both passionate and compassionate. She seeks to be a righter of wrongs, still unjaded by life. She is stubborn and sometimes maddeningly insistent. She is creative and inquisitive and determined.

As she crossed the stage, there was no hesitation, no panic on my part. Oh, there were a few tears. It was as if I could physically feel the separation happening as my firstborn child, my only daughter, stepped into her own life. It's a life where she will need me still. Heck, I'm almost 45 and I still need my mom.

But it is her own life and as she came down the stairs, diploma in hand and something bigger than a simple smile on her face, I thought to myself, "She's got this."

11 is still little

My daughter Annie is 11 and is teetering on that pre-teen edge of life. The one where she has 8 toes into "big girl" activities and interests (pop music, fashion and boys) and 2 toes in the "little girl" life (Littlest Pet Shop, Webkinz and American Girl dolls). She's incredibly helpful when it comes to tending to her brothers (9 and 5) and doing chores around the house. She can cook and does laundry. Often, Mike and I forget that in the grand scheme of life, 11 is still little.

Annie had her tonsils and adenoids removed yesterday. She was uncharacteristically brave as the surgery approached. She confessed some nervousness as the time came to head to the hospital. But when she was offered some medicine to help her calm down before the surgery, she declined. When it was time to go, she gave Mike and I each a hug and a kiss, the walked with the nurse down the hallway to the OR, not looking back once. "Our big girl," I thought.

And then the surgery was over and we were reminded that 11 is still indeed little. She was in pain and looked to us to resolve that for her. When she was ready (by today's crazy hospital standards) to come home, she looked so vulnerable in the wheelchair. Probably in part because she was still pretty loopy from the anesthesia and pain meds.

We came home and got her set up on the couch. And over the next 24 hours, I was reminded that she is definitely my little girl. The tears because her throat hurt. The frustration that she just felt rotten and exhausted in general. The request that I sit with her on the couch, so she could lay her head in my lap while we watched a movie together.

I am very free with hugs and cuddles for the 5-year-old and the 9-year-old when I can catch him. It seems as they get older, they like their own personal space a bit more. But today was a good reminder that even though she is about 1/2 inch shy of my own height, Annie is still my little girl. And truthfully, always will be.