While I was driving home from work, my 15 year old, Thing 1, called me.
It seems that tomorrow is school picture day and she wants me to do her hair and makeup.
That one little request made my whole month. This is the girl who tells me how old and out of style I am. She’s the girl who can’t stand to be told that she looks like me. Who hates when someone says I look young, or when someone mistakes me for her sister. Thing 1 detests when anyone thinks I’m cool.
This day, this day, I will celebrate for years to come. For this day, I have won.
But, dammit, I also have to get up early and actually do her hair and makeup.