Happy Birthday

I am a terrible mother. No birthday post for Mariah, although she turned sixteen (gasp!) almost a week ago. Last Wednesday, to be precise. In my defense, we had six girls over to spend the night, and the following day in-laws arrived. So we had stuff to do.

Anyway, here's to Mariah, age sixteen. Smart, funny, talented, beautiful. We like her friends, we talk about books with her over dinner (tonight: "Should I read The Fountainhead?"), we like a lot of the same movies. She wears my clothes and doesn't return them. She advises me on what to wear (often, things she'd like to borrow...)

I was going to do Becca's five weird things about her, but after booby-trapping the doors every night (she keeps us safe) I couldn't come up with four more. She claims she and her friends are all weird kids who couldn't make it in "regular" high school, but they go to an art school and they all seem fine to me.

I called her "sweetie" the moment she was born, and endearments have come easily to me ever since, though never before. So, though it's belated, happy birthday, sweetie!