Times, they are a changin'...

Ah. My girl. Our Button. Rosalicious. Ro Ro. Rosie Baby.

I love this child more than words can express. Of course, she is my kid - so I love her the way a mother loves a child. My love for Rosie is deeper than that. It goes beyond parent-child. I love her personality.

She is silly and fun with a serious side. She treats school like it is her job and rocks those A's like nobody's business.

I hate that she is growing up. Hate. It.

12 years ago right now, we would be snuggled up, napping together. Well - she would be napping. I would be unable to move because if I lifted my arm away from her head, she would be awake and ready to go again. I would have ER on the TV and would stay awake, breathing in every little moment of my time with her. She is perfect.

She is racing, full-speed ahead, towards those teenaged years. She wants to be grown. She no longer likes hugs and kisses and doesn't want to be snuggled or held.

So on Saturday night, when she said "Mommy? Would you hate me if I wanted to sit with you?" I wanted to squeal with delight. I didn't, of course, I kept my cool - like it was no big deal - and said "I could never hate you, love bug. I will happily share my chair with you!"

For the next hour, I didn't pay much attention to Captain America: The First Avenger. I paid attention to the rate of her breathing. The feeling of her spine pressed into my side. I tried to memorize the texture of her hair - the individual strands and how they go in different directions, just like mine. (Though her hair is so much lighter than mine...) Her profile - and how much she looks like her dad. Her lashes - that frame this amazingly huge eyes that take up her whole face (that she got from me).

For that hour - I just enjoyed every moment of my baby girl - who is so not a baby anymore. I enjoyed those moments, just in case she doesn't ask to cuddle again.

Last night, awakened from a scary dream, Rosie came in and asked to sleep with me. This is the third time in the last month or so, and I made room right away. I know that as we grow, we need our moms in different ways. For now - I just want her to need me as much as possible and when she does, I will welcome it with open arms.

Dear Angelina...

Dear Angelina -

My sweet girl. I hate raising my voice. Especially with you. I feel like my voice is loud, it is like razors through your heart. And I hate it. I'm not always sure how to parent you without that voice.

I'm watching you sleep now, in the wake of yet another "why did this happen, Ange" conversation. "And don't tell me you don't know." But you never know. And neither do I. So I weep for us both while you sleep.

Tonight's episode occurred at 11pm - after a family movie (during which just you & I stayed awake). You yelled from the foyer - though two of your siblings were upstairs asleep and one was in bed, on her way to sleep. The yelling was because you saw "a strange animal" on our porch. I promised to investigate and sent you to brush your teeth. After seeing the harmless white cat on our lawn, I noticed my ring on the steps.

The year you were born, I tapped my way across the stage to Beyonce's "Single Ladies." I wore a cheesy, plastic, light-up ring - which has safely been on display in our sunroom ever since. It has been taken down three times. Once to be worn in a reprise of the original routine, once by a curious Angelina right after that reprise and then tonight.

This comes on the heels of a series of somewhat destructive behaviors that have me headed straight for the nuthouse. I'm at a bit of a loss as to how to help you - but there are some things that I need you to know...

I love you. More than anything in the world. You are absolutely one of my favorite people on the planet.

I often think we are soulmates - connected by threads that no one can see but we both feel.

I get lost in the depth of your eyes.

I know you hate taking medicine (because you would rather eat lunch), but I love your ADHD brain. That brain of yours is beautiful and creative. It is strong and powerful. You, my sweet little girl, are going to change the world and make it a better place. Your brain sees through fences and defenses and easily identifies that weaknesses within others. The beauty of our heart is that you only use that knowledge for good.

You are a helper - and you are proud to be a helper. It comes easily to you - and you don't even know how much of a gift that is to everyone else around you.

I think back to my very first parent teacher conference with your amazing teachers at Bridges. You were not yet 4 - the second youngest child in your class. Your teacher looked at me and said "your greatest difficulty as a parent will be figuring out how to help her harness her many talents to use them for good."

And you are so very, very talented.

I told you, my sweet 8-year-old girl, that I am afraid that your choices will land you in prison. That you will someday touch the wrong belonging of the wrong person and end up with your back against the wall and scared. You cried. I cried. You are sound asleep - and I am wide awake and searching ADHD blogs for different ways and techniques to help my beautiful Angel.

I'll do whatever it takes, baby girl. We were destined for each other - and I am learning so much from you. I love seeing the world through your eyes - and I never want that view to change.