It’s what nearly every little girl looks forward to as a rite of passage, and it’s what nearly every parent bites her nails over.

The sleepover.

At 10 years old, we’re right at that precipice of childhood when sleepovers require packing further ahead of time than we pack for a trip to China and an early bedtime the night before. While some may think the talk refers to something entirely different, at this point in our home, it can be summed up with this: make wise choices, don’t gossip about other people, be kind, and remember. All my parenting proverbs were put out there in a quick few minutes and were met with a big smile and lots of head nods as she was already warming up to sing “Let it Go” 100x with 3 other equally obsessed tween girls.

All 6 of us in the car got to experience the high-pitch squeals saying something that sounded like her name greeting us from the front porch as we drove up to the house. While I greeted her friend’s mom (may she rest in peace tonight), my daughter disappeared into the crowd like a rockstar with her peeps without even a goodbye.

Nice.

And, we drove away, down nearly 17% of our crew which sounds like not that much but feels like a lot more…particularly when nearly 33 1/3% of the bunch in the car seemingly barely noticed we even stopped the car and someone got out (don’t worry, I’m talking about my sons, not Mark and I).

Hardly seems right sending her off like this already. Granted, we’re not dropping her off at college here, she’ll be gone for a whole 18 hours tops. But, still, there’s something big about entering into the season of sleepovers. Have we prepared her enough for what she could face? Will she know what to do and how to do it in a challenge? Wait, that friend of hers is taller than I am. Seriously.

I was just thinking of biting some nails again when I got this…

 

My girl. My sweet little girl who used to have blonde little Shirley Temple ringlets. She’s so got this.

I texted her at 11pm to tell her that Dad and I were going to bed and to have a good night and not stay up toooooo late (plus or minus a few O s). I may or may not have used some sort of emoticon in classic Ashlyn style.

But, she didn’t reply. Guess the girls were already asleep. Guess I can be now too.

Dear Evan,
Do you feel old? I remember being 12 years old. I thought my mom and dad were so old. You probably do too…and…maybe we sort of are. I mean, we’ve been parents for 12 years now! That alone makes us old.

First-born children have a very important job. You teach us how to do this parenting thing. All I learned about getting up at night with a baby, I learned from you. All I learned about the correct behavior at library story times, how to teach someone to pump their legs on a swing, how to relate to teachers, how to do multiplication (apparently, I did not learn it the right away when I was your age), how to draw robots and spaceships, and how to explain God to a child, I learned from you.

I know I don’t always get it right, but you’re a pretty good teacher. Thanks for being patient with us and for forging the way for the others coming up behind you. They don’t thank you for it, I know. But, I am.

Evan—it mean’s God is gracious—and He was when He gave you to us at the perfect time, just when I thought my dream of a being a mom might never come true. God is gracious—and He is, everyday, as you grow in stature and wisdom and we grow as your parents.

Happy birthday, Evan Miles.

When you give a 10-year-old girl your old phone, she discovers texting.

And, when she discovers texting, she discovers emoticons.

And, when she discovers emoticons, she has to use them…a lot.

And, when she uses them a lot, she stays up way too late texting pictures of lollipops, baby chicks hatching, and gold trophies.

And, when she stays up late texting silly pictures for no apparent reason, her mother texts her from her own bed to tell her to go to sleep.

And, when her mother tells her to go to sleep and then posts the screenshot of said instruction on Instagram, the 10-year-old who had not yet gone to sleep sees it and comments on it and is caught.

Apparently, she discovered Instagram as well as texting.

#ohthefunoftechnology

We’re home. Just in time for over 8″ of snow. Yippee.

We’re all sorta feeling a little Eeyore-like today. At this moment, Mark is out shoveling, the kids are laying around, I’m looking at all the hidden Mickeys in my dirty laundry mountains, and we’re all feeling a lot less magical post-Mickey.

Despite cool temps and very little sunshine, Disney World was awesome…I mean, magical. I love seeing the kids walk hand in hand, smiling until their faces hurt. I love hearing my daughter cackle on her first real roller coaster ride. I love watching my children respond to big costumed creatures that only play charades and women in wigs with way too much makeup who may actually believe they are princesses. (Okay, so I was standing in several of those character meet and greet lines either by myself or with my sister. It was all for the autograph for the kids, I swear.) I admit that I tear up at the ceremony to open the Magic Kingdom every morning. The train…the mayor…the main street performers…the music…Mickey and the gang waving directly at us…it truly is magical (so what if my husband laughs at me).

My first visit to Disney World was at 4 years old. My sister and I walked onto Main Street holding hands and asked my parents if we were in heaven. I’ve got lots of sweet childhood memories there of ferry boats, running to get on rides, character breakfasts, waiting in long lines, and eating Dole Whips and Mickey shaped everythings. The pixie dust magically made us all get along when we were there growing up despite all the fights about toys and sharing and eventually clothes and the phone and pretty much everything back at home. And, that’s what I love about Disney—the way they have mastered everything, their attention to detail, the red carpet treatment they provide as if they really have been waiting specifically for us, the way they allow families to leave “real life” for a week and help them rediscover real life as they laugh together and wave to Mickey together and snuggle up watching parades and fireworks.

We’re already talking about when we can go again.

I think I’m going to try to hold onto the magic through blogging—posts to come about how to get ready for a Disney trip and my list of lesser known must-pack items.