The Child went out to dancing and dinner Saturday night.
She is 13.
She wore a cute little shirtdress, navy blue, covered in tiny red hearts, and her hair was high on her head in a frisky ponytail.
She came home bubbly, bouncy, and excited, just around 11:30.
I stayed home and wrote.
This is not awful, and I sort of made my own bed by ignoring everything I needed to do this past week in favor of working on the tiny house and surfing the very interesting interwebs. Research. Totally. People should stop being so interesting and putting such intriguing stuff online.
But I digress.
I wrote five articles. Five excellent articles, I might add.
But I didn't go to bed bouncy and excited, with flushed cheeks and sparkly eyes and thoughts of watching boys and awkward salsa dancing.
Most of me wouldn't be 13 again for any amount of money; my middle school experience was so awful I became a middle school teacher to maybe make some else's a little better. And I think there is still much heartache to navigate, and teenagers can be so mean and hateful to each other.
It would be nice to be so light of an evening sometime. #2014