As I was driving home yesterday, I got to thinking about Brynna's homework. She's done with it for the year, it seems. There's a week and a half left, but they are foregoing homework for the rest of the school year and Halle-freakin-lujah, I hate homework. I never hated homework when I was a kid, but I hate keeping on her and making her do it and the TEARS of spelling. I do remember crying over spelling, so maybe there's hope for her.
Anyway, she's signed every single thing she's turned in this second semester "Brynna T.I.P." For the uninitiated, T.I.P. apparently stands for The Ice Princess. I'm not sure where this came from or why she has decided to forever be remembered as The Ice Princess. In fact, months ago, I tried to talk her out of it. "Not everyone thinks that's a nice thing," I mentioned. "Ice, good. Princess, awesome. What's not to like?" was her typically teenagery reply. So, Brynna T.I.P. she has become.
She'll probably have forgotten about it next year or grown into some new phase and I am so terrified I'll forget this - her Ice Princess year. I was driving home thinking about all the things she has done that I thought were so precious (calling me MumMum, making up homework, insisting on "Dance Time" every night) and how very far away they all seem now.
I ought to write this down, I thought.
Like how when Maren gets mad, she puts her hand on her hip and says, "Here's the deal, mommy..." just like I do when I'm fed up with their shenanigans. How she gives me a little kiss every morning and I say, "No, I need a big smacky one," and she tries to give me the loudest possible kiss before I leave her for the day.
Like how Brynna hates to do chores but loves to help, so it's all in the wording. And how she wears pants under her skorts and says, "What? Now I'm warm," when I give her a look. How she's become suddenly obsessed with stories of when I was a little girl, reminding me of how thin my memory is because I can never think of ANYTHING.
Or how Maren's hair gets super-curly when it's wet or humid outside and she looks like Shirley Temple and I was surprised the other night washing her hair to realize just how long it's gotten. And how she wants so badly to help put away the groceries, but she tries to put everything in the freezer. Or how she's so grown up already that sometimes it just kills me to hear her talk.
Like how Brynna makes a big deal about story time every night even though she can read to herself perfectly well now. Or how she can't wait to get through Farmer Boy because there aren't enough girls. Or how she makes up songs that last for forty minutes.
It seems nearly impossible to hold all this in my head forever. And yet it seems impossible that I'll ever be able to forget. Brynna is already going on 14, in attitude if not in years and Maren is potty trained, knows her alphabet and physically capable of just about anything. Brynna is so tall and gangly already and so sure of herself and her place in the world. I am so proud every time I look at them, but also so filled to the brim with melancholy at how very quickly they are growing up. How much things change. How hard it is to listen beyond the screaming sibling fights and see them - my girls - in all their amazing glory.