I had a little guest over for dinner last night. Of course she came with parents, but she tailed me throughout the evening, helped me in the kitchen, and we chatted and laughed pretty much non-stop. Before you tell me I have the emotional maturity of a ten year-old I will tell you you’re not far wrong. When it was revealed she had caught a glimpse of Game of Thrones (which she is forbidden to watch) she and I were in perfect synch: “Icky!” I kept tabs on how many quarters were owed her when the adults deployed swear words, and when she forgot to take home her stack of coins I set them aside for next time. Most of all it reminded me how different boys and girls are growing up.
I knew this little one from very early on. I held her mother’s baby shower at my house. I even take credit for her name (completely unwarranted). If my wobbly memory serves, I had something to do with putting a name in a hat that was either Svetlana Imelda, Ultra Violet, or, Avalanche Lily. I’ll leave it to you to guess which became hers. Clue: nobody names their child Avalanche.
And, although my hormones are raging against the dying of the light, I really wouldn’t mind being a grandparent. Cross my heart.