Bookgirl wanted to buy extra fireworks to set off on her birthday.
I said sternly, “I tried to tell you to be born on the Fourth, but you didn’t listen to me!”
“Maybe I thought it was best if I didn’t share a birthday with the whole country.”
Considering her stubborn individuality, that might not be so far-fetched.
I’ve been writing birthday posts for Bookgirl since she was four years old, but it’s getting a little harder. I can’t write for her anymore. She’s a young woman trying to figure out the world herself. She’s pretty sure she knows where she’s going. I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to pick up and go on when life knocks her down.
At fourteen, Bookgirl blazes through books, regularly rides her bike to 7/11 for Slurpees, dispenses wisdom to her (mostly) admiring siblings, and can take over household operations when I’m not around. She’s going to be an author and an editor one day. She might even not wear her red cap once she gets her own office, but I’m not banking on that.
Happy birthday to Bookgirl! We love you!