Another teenager in the house.

It doesn't seem at all possible, but my daughter turned 13 today. Where did the years go? And why do I seem to be asking myself that question so much more lately? I just want the days to slow down. To crawl instead of run. I want the minutes to trudge along, not skip. I want each second to last years. Some days I think I can control time in such ways. Other days I know it's no use even contemplating the notion. I have no power over time. Some days I refuse to even believe in time. Other days, time refuses to believe in me. I've never been someone who's terribly big on birthdays. I'm definitely not a sour-puss who believes "a birthday is just another day," but I'm also aware that a birthday doesn't always turn out special just because it's a birthday. Shouldn't each day be as equally special? Probably. But I'm smart enough to know that doesn't always work out, either. Anyway, I'm grateful for my daughter's birth and for celebrating it. It means I'm around for another day in her life, and so is she. It means that she's in my life, and I'm in hers. It means another opportunity to tell her that she is someone special to me, and I'm grateful for her presence. I wish she was turning three instead of 13, but I'm happy she's in a good place, surrounded by good people, and experiencing good things. Happy Birthday, kid, and many more.