Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Brave. It's not genetic.

My 11 year old daughter, a.k.a my sweet buttered biscuit (whom I don't seem to talk about enough in this blog, because she is just too damn near perfect) flew out from SeaTac on Tuesday to Utah.
By. Her. Self.
Rewind to last year when my,(13 years old at the time), oldest daughter flew By. Her. Self. To Utah.
There were nerves, anxiety and open tears on both of our parts.
It was extra hard for me because she was so nervous.
Fast forward to last Tuesday, where there were very little nerves, minuscule amounts of anxiety, and only a few carefully camouflaged Mom tears.
It was (not easy in any form) easier for me because she was so mellow about the whole ordeal.
She just kissed me and got on the plane?
She is going to a summer camp in southern Utah for 10 days.
Nine days longer than we have ever been apart.
(Go easy on me, my sisters best friend is running the camp)
The girl is smooooooooth.
The girl gets annoyed when I call her cell phone, (I try to limit it to 943 times a minute) because, like, Mom, like, I'm totally too busy having my personal camping experience.
I am in awe of this person.
I am completely amazed at the her spark and ease in the way in which she takes on the world.
She didn't get it from me, because I haven't pooped since she left.
I gotta go make a phone call...

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