Sometimes it seems like I write the same things over and over again on here. It isn't my intention to do so, and considering the fact that nobody reads this, I don't think it really matters. This is probably going to be a little bit all over the place. Again, not that it matters.
Two years ago, all of my friends and acquaintances were getting engaged. And I do mean all. In 2011, I think there were approximately 35 engagements. Six of those happened in a two week period in March and four were in a 10 day period in July. So that was fun. And by fun, what I actually mean is that it was hard because even though I was happy for each and every one of those couples, it was a constant reminder that I was not anywhere near that point. A reminder that I hadn't ever even had a boyfriend.
Fast forward two years. It is now my friends/acquaintances younger siblings starting to get engaged and married and people my own age are having babies. On purpose. That's when you really know you are getting old. And again, it is hard. In a different way. I am happy with where I am, don't get me wrong. I want to finish school before I get married anyway, although at this point that isn't going to be an issue sine I will be done in under 18 months (WOOHOO!) and cannot imagine dating/being engaged to someone for less than that, especially if it isn't somebody I already know. At least not at this point in my life. I think as I get older that time period will decrease.
I will probably lose it when I have a niece or nephew on the way, even though my siblings are all older than me. I constantly try to remind myself that brother 2 didn't meet sister-in-law 2 until he was 28 and she was 25 and that they didn't get married until 30 and 27, respectively. I try to remind myself that engagements are not sure things. At least three of those 35 I mentioned broke it off before getting married. One of my friends from high school that I bumped into at church a few months back was engaged to a guy who broke it off three weeks before the wedding. My heart still hurts for her. And then I remember things like the fact that best friend is planning to propose to his girlfriend in October and that, literally, all but one of my friends are either married or in a relationship.
Sometimes I wonder if I am too picky about what I want. Not that it has mattered because there hasn't been a guy in a long, long time that has been remotely interested. At least not that I have been aware of.
This afternoon I was out running errands and had planned to eat lunch at Moe's, but when I got there it was super crowded. There were probably 15 people in line in front of me, and this particular location is not very fast, so I turned around and walked out, ran some more errands, and came back. It was pretty empty by that point. There was only one guy behind the counter and nobody else was in line behind me, so we talked while he made my burrito. It was kind of weird for several reasons, although not for the reasons one might think.
I'm a big girl. And by that what I actually mean is that I am fat. I didn't realize until a conversation we had in class a few weeks ago that (a) conversations like the one he and I had are common for most girls and (b) that people treat fat people differently. I have always been fat so I have never had anything to compare it to. The thought just hasn't crossed my mind. Anyway, Moe's guy wasn't flirting with me, or at least I don't think he was, he was just being really friendly, and it was weird because I'm not used to that. It could be the fact that I asked him how his day was going after he asked me about mine, something I'm sure most people don't do. Or the fact that I empathized when he told me that he was working with all the lazy people. Another guy came out of the back to ring me up, and as I was about to pick up my bag and water cup, the first guy looked at me and told me to have a nice day even though he was at the other end of the counter. I guess it just felt good to be acknowledged.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
Faith
The other day, I got into my car to head to class. I turned my key in the ignition, and the radio turned on. The song Cinderella was playing, and I felt tears start to well up in my eyes just a little bit. It was weird. I have heard the song before. Multiple times. I have always thought it was sweet, but it got to me for whatever reason.
A few minutes after it ended, there was this huge pang in my gut. I don't know how to explain it. Almost a gut wrenching pain to have a child. It was weird. I have always wanted children, but I have never had anything like that happen before.
Something I have been struggling withlately for a while is that it often seems like I will not ever meet the guy that is right for me. God keeps reminding me that faith in Him includes faith in His timing.
Easier said than done, God, but I appreciate the reminders.
One of my youth leaders in high school told me that God would not have put that desire in my heart if He did not intend to fulfill it. I am well aware that He may not fulfill it in the way I anticipate, which is a little bit nerve wracking.
A few minutes after it ended, there was this huge pang in my gut. I don't know how to explain it. Almost a gut wrenching pain to have a child. It was weird. I have always wanted children, but I have never had anything like that happen before.
Something I have been struggling with
Easier said than done, God, but I appreciate the reminders.
One of my youth leaders in high school told me that God would not have put that desire in my heart if He did not intend to fulfill it. I am well aware that He may not fulfill it in the way I anticipate, which is a little bit nerve wracking.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Flawed system
Last night after giving a rocking presentation on counseling Middle Eastern Americans and spending a few hours at Chili's (because, duh, it was Wednesday!), I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to pick up lemon flavoring, butter flavoring, and vanilla-butter-nut flavoring so I can make a pound cake this weekend for class on Monday. In front of me in the checkout line was a middle-aged man who was making a small purchase. A bag of M&M's (the kind that is found on the candy row; not the kind that is found by the cash registers), a 2 liter of orange soda, a 1 liter of Mountain Dew, and a box of saltine crackers. Interesting purchase, but the same could be said about pretty much any trip I take to the grocery store. Of course he proceeded to pay with his EBT card. My blood pressure probably went up a little bit.
Here's the thing. I don't have any problem with people who legitimately need food stamps being on them for a short period of time until they are able to get back on their feet. Really, I'm not placing my anger or frustration on this man. I can't even begin to claim to understand or know him or his situation. What I am placing my frustration and anger on is the system. Why is it, American Government, that EBT cards can be used to purchase soft drinks? You know how much nutritional value soft drinks have? None. In fact, I could probably make the argument that they have negative nutritional value because of what they do to your body. The same goes for M&Ms. Saltines aren't very nutritional, either, although I don't have as much of a problem with them as with the other three items.
American Government, would you like to know the last time I purchased any of those products? With my own money, no less? Well let me see, the last time I purchased a soft drink from a grocery store was in February when I had an ear infection and needed some lemon lime soda. Although, come to think of it, it is still sitting in my refrigerator unopened. You want to know why? Because lemon lime soda is a nutritionally void comfort food. I'm not claiming that I never eat nutritionally void foods. I do. That isn't the point. The point is, if you are going to provide assistance in purchasing food for people who need that assistance, at least make sure they are purchasing oh, I don't know, ACTUAL FOOD!
Get it together, government. Hah, like that will ever happen.
Here's the thing. I don't have any problem with people who legitimately need food stamps being on them for a short period of time until they are able to get back on their feet. Really, I'm not placing my anger or frustration on this man. I can't even begin to claim to understand or know him or his situation. What I am placing my frustration and anger on is the system. Why is it, American Government, that EBT cards can be used to purchase soft drinks? You know how much nutritional value soft drinks have? None. In fact, I could probably make the argument that they have negative nutritional value because of what they do to your body. The same goes for M&Ms. Saltines aren't very nutritional, either, although I don't have as much of a problem with them as with the other three items.
American Government, would you like to know the last time I purchased any of those products? With my own money, no less? Well let me see, the last time I purchased a soft drink from a grocery store was in February when I had an ear infection and needed some lemon lime soda. Although, come to think of it, it is still sitting in my refrigerator unopened. You want to know why? Because lemon lime soda is a nutritionally void comfort food. I'm not claiming that I never eat nutritionally void foods. I do. That isn't the point. The point is, if you are going to provide assistance in purchasing food for people who need that assistance, at least make sure they are purchasing oh, I don't know, ACTUAL FOOD!
Get it together, government. Hah, like that will ever happen.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
The Father's Day post that you won't see on Facebook
Father's Day is not one of my favorite days. This one hasn't been any different.
I love my dad, don't get me wrong, but if I'm being honest (which is the whole point of this blog), my dad was (and is) emotionally uninvolved in my life. Even though my parents are married, there were many times growing up when he was not physically present because he had to travel a lot, and the times he was physically present, he was almost always emotionally absent.
He saw it as his responsibility to provide for our family. To him that meant provide financially, which he did. We were not rich by any means, but I have always had enough and at least a little bit more. I am grateful to him for that, no doubt. However, providing financially often came at the exchange of providing for us emotionally. Not even just providing emotionally, but just being involved in our day to day life. Truly, growing up, the most involvement I had with my dad was at dinner when he, on good days, would ask us what we had learned that day. On the bad days, of which there were many because of headache issues that plague many of my family members, dinner was eaten in silence. I know there were a few times when he would practice baseball with me, and I think I remember him playing in the snow with us once when I was about six. I know he came to a few music/dance/choir/etc. concerts over the years as well, but he missed far more than he attended.
I think I may have written about it before, but I swam growing up. Summer league from the time I was 8 until I graduated high school and high school league in, well, high school. Most school years, I would do some sort of swim lesson/practice type thing to keep up for the summers. Essentially, I swam nearly year round for 10 years of my life. In that time, I would venture to say I had around 100 swim meets and probably 800 swim practices. Those are rough estimates, but that is not particularly important. The important thing is the point I am about to make. Of those approximately 100 swim meets, you know how many my dad attended? Zero. I could probably count on my fingers and toes the number of swim practices he took me to in that ten year period. Granted, for the last two years, I took myself to most of them since I could drive.
My mom would ask occasionally if I wanted for him to come to my (insert name of activity). I would always say it didn't matter. At the time, perhaps it didn't. I'm not sure. I think it was more that I didn't want him to feel obligated to come and I didn't want to put my mom in a weird position of feeling guilty that my dad wasn't there if I wanted him to be.
Looking back, it would be an understatement to say that I resent that he wasn't there. I don't resent that he wasn't at every single event. Of course not! My mom wasn't either, especially as I got older. He legitimately was out of town a lot; coming to every event wouldn't have been possible. The fact, though, that he showed very little concern in my life for a large portion of it is something that still affects me. And it sucks.
We could also discuss the birthdays he missed because he was out of town. Sometimes it was beyond his control. Other times it was not. I can think of two for sure that he missed, although I couldn't tell you what years they were or what happened. I just know they occurred. The sad thing is, my child or adolescent self didn't give a damn. In fact, I often preferred it when my dad was gone. The house was less tense and I didn't have to tip-toe around. The adult version of myself feels guilty about that. That also sucks.
I recall one specific time when I was in elementary school, probably. My dad was going out of town and had been in a particularly bad mood all morning. I think brother 3 and I had gotten in trouble for something. We weren't bad kids, so it was probably something like we kept getting in the way or were playing too loudly. You know, things kids do because they are kids. Not things kids do to be a pain in the ass, which was probably what he was acting like. The memory of me climbing up the stairs, entering brother 3's room and telling him that dad was gone is etched into my mind. Also etched is his response. "Yes!," along with a fist pump.
Looking back, I realize that is not normal. I was confused by the fact that my friends were often sad when one of their parents went out of town and excited to see them again. That isn't to say I wasn't excited to see him when he came back. I was. Some of the time, at least.
I guess mostly, when I look back, I am sad for the relationship I missed out on. Not because of anything I did, but because my dad chose not to invest in my life in any meaningful way.
The guilt of that relationship, or lack thereof, weighs heavy on my shoulders.
Especially on days like today.
I love my dad, don't get me wrong, but if I'm being honest (which is the whole point of this blog), my dad was (and is) emotionally uninvolved in my life. Even though my parents are married, there were many times growing up when he was not physically present because he had to travel a lot, and the times he was physically present, he was almost always emotionally absent.
He saw it as his responsibility to provide for our family. To him that meant provide financially, which he did. We were not rich by any means, but I have always had enough and at least a little bit more. I am grateful to him for that, no doubt. However, providing financially often came at the exchange of providing for us emotionally. Not even just providing emotionally, but just being involved in our day to day life. Truly, growing up, the most involvement I had with my dad was at dinner when he, on good days, would ask us what we had learned that day. On the bad days, of which there were many because of headache issues that plague many of my family members, dinner was eaten in silence. I know there were a few times when he would practice baseball with me, and I think I remember him playing in the snow with us once when I was about six. I know he came to a few music/dance/choir/etc. concerts over the years as well, but he missed far more than he attended.
I think I may have written about it before, but I swam growing up. Summer league from the time I was 8 until I graduated high school and high school league in, well, high school. Most school years, I would do some sort of swim lesson/practice type thing to keep up for the summers. Essentially, I swam nearly year round for 10 years of my life. In that time, I would venture to say I had around 100 swim meets and probably 800 swim practices. Those are rough estimates, but that is not particularly important. The important thing is the point I am about to make. Of those approximately 100 swim meets, you know how many my dad attended? Zero. I could probably count on my fingers and toes the number of swim practices he took me to in that ten year period. Granted, for the last two years, I took myself to most of them since I could drive.
My mom would ask occasionally if I wanted for him to come to my (insert name of activity). I would always say it didn't matter. At the time, perhaps it didn't. I'm not sure. I think it was more that I didn't want him to feel obligated to come and I didn't want to put my mom in a weird position of feeling guilty that my dad wasn't there if I wanted him to be.
Looking back, it would be an understatement to say that I resent that he wasn't there. I don't resent that he wasn't at every single event. Of course not! My mom wasn't either, especially as I got older. He legitimately was out of town a lot; coming to every event wouldn't have been possible. The fact, though, that he showed very little concern in my life for a large portion of it is something that still affects me. And it sucks.
We could also discuss the birthdays he missed because he was out of town. Sometimes it was beyond his control. Other times it was not. I can think of two for sure that he missed, although I couldn't tell you what years they were or what happened. I just know they occurred. The sad thing is, my child or adolescent self didn't give a damn. In fact, I often preferred it when my dad was gone. The house was less tense and I didn't have to tip-toe around. The adult version of myself feels guilty about that. That also sucks.
I recall one specific time when I was in elementary school, probably. My dad was going out of town and had been in a particularly bad mood all morning. I think brother 3 and I had gotten in trouble for something. We weren't bad kids, so it was probably something like we kept getting in the way or were playing too loudly. You know, things kids do because they are kids. Not things kids do to be a pain in the ass, which was probably what he was acting like. The memory of me climbing up the stairs, entering brother 3's room and telling him that dad was gone is etched into my mind. Also etched is his response. "Yes!," along with a fist pump.
Looking back, I realize that is not normal. I was confused by the fact that my friends were often sad when one of their parents went out of town and excited to see them again. That isn't to say I wasn't excited to see him when he came back. I was. Some of the time, at least.
I guess mostly, when I look back, I am sad for the relationship I missed out on. Not because of anything I did, but because my dad chose not to invest in my life in any meaningful way.
The guilt of that relationship, or lack thereof, weighs heavy on my shoulders.
Especially on days like today.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Boom
Things that make me feel good about myself:
Having two points taken off a paper for incorrect APA formatting only to find out (after asking about it because I had never had that particular thing counted off for before) that the professor had misunderstood the rule for years and thanked me for catching it.
And getting my two points back.
Boom.
Successful day? I think so.
Having two points taken off a paper for incorrect APA formatting only to find out (after asking about it because I had never had that particular thing counted off for before) that the professor had misunderstood the rule for years and thanked me for catching it.
And getting my two points back.
Boom.
Successful day? I think so.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Twelve things a 12-year-old should know
Over the last few days while I have been procrastinating, I have put together a birthday letter for my baby cousin that is turning twelve next week. I decided that the thing to do was to write a letter with 12 things a 12-year-old should know. It was harder than I anticipated. I looked to see if I could find anything online, but there wasn't much out there. The few things I did find were similar to something I was planning to say anyway.
Here it is. Ignore the weirdness at the top left and the fact that my hands are in the picture. I blurred out her name and my scanner doesn't like this computer.
Here it is. Ignore the weirdness at the top left and the fact that my hands are in the picture. I blurred out her name and my scanner doesn't like this computer.
In case you can't read it, which is probably the case, this is what it says.
Her name,
First of all, happiest of HAPPY BIRTHDAYS to you! I cannot believe you are TwElve! It really seems like it has only been a few months since the first time I met you and got to hold you, but it was about 143 months ago. I have started to write this birthday letter to you several times, but have STOPPED each time because I was not sure what to say. I started to think back to what my life was like when I was 12 to think about if there was anything I wish I had known or wish somebody had said to me. Finally, I realized that the best way to wish you a happy twelfth birthday was with a list of TWELVE things you should know.
1. You are loved. Nothing you say or do will ever change that.
2. You are BeAuTiFuL. Inside and out. Don't ever let anyone tell you or make you feel differently.
3. The words you SPEAK have the ability to make or break someone's day.
4. Just because EVERYONE else is doing something, it doesn't mean YOU have to.
5. Pick your friends wisely. The more time you spend with someone, the more you become like them.
6. The hard days are usually the ones that make you who you are. Embrace them and know that they will not last forever.
7. Don't walk, RUN, away from anyone who tries to make you feel bad about yourself. They are not your friend, no matter how much they might pretend to be.
8. If you want something, go for it! Don't let fear keep you from doing what you want to do.
9. Don't let the little things get to you. Don't let the BIG things overwhelm you.
10. It's okay to ask for help if you need it! That help may be from a friend, but don't be afraid to ask an adult if you need to.
11. Who you are matters. There may be days when it doesn't feel like it, but your presence in the world makes it a better place.
12. Life is beautiful. It will fly by. Enjoy it!
I love you very much. I hope you have a wonderful day and an amazing year.
Love,
Sarah
Friday, June 7, 2013
Change
Change. Can't live with it, can't live without it. Change is good, don't get me wrong. Change can also be incredibly difficult and painful.
The last ten months of my life have easily been the best and the most challenging months of my life, due in large part to the change that has happened.
I quit my job of five years that I absolutely loved, moved away (for the last time) from my childhood home, started grad school full time, found a new church, spent five months unemployed (granted, it was on purpose, but being unemployed is terrifying), started a new job, started another semester of school (which turned out to be the hardest thus far), gained a sister-in-law, experienced various relationship changes, etc.
None of those things are bad things in and of themselves. In fact, other than quitting my job and being unemployed for five months, I would say all of those things have been good. The relationship changes have been a mixed bag, I guess, but mostly good.
My Wednesday night Chili's girls have quickly become some of my favorite people to be around. Partly because they are my only friend group here, but also because they get it. They know what it is like to have eight chapters to read, a test to take, two lectures to watch, and a paper to write in the course of a week. They get it, and I love them for that. Truthfully, though, I would love their company even if we did not share a common educational experience. They really are a wonderful group of people, and I am glad to know them, and glad to call them friends.
Conversely, things with best friend are, well, not mostly good. In fact, I haven't spoken to him in over a week. The last time that happened was probably over a year ago. We both blame it on the fact that we are busy, which is true. He is working two jobs, and I have a job plus two summer classes. He also has a new girlfriend, which I would say has a lot more to do with it than being busy. It has been hard, but to some extent, I have allowed it to happen. We both have allowed it to happen. Perhaps that is how things are going to be from here on out, I don't know. I don't want it to be, but I am not naïve enough to think things will go back to how they are.
If I'm honest, I'm not sure if I want them to. Yes, I know that makes me a terrible friend. My life right now requires that I embrace change, and that friendship has become stagnant. He and I both have allowed it to, but if I'm honest, it feels like it's mostly him. The sad thing is, I'm not even surprised. New girlfriends, or well actually, girlfriends at all, do that. I kind of thought things had changed, but I have also realized that for most of the last 20 months we have been talking again, he hasn't had a girlfriend. There was one for about a month right toward the beginning, and then there was about a two week period last summer. I had forgotten.
It is always amazing to me how much better I make the past out to be than it actually was. How easy it is for me to idealize the past, whether that is events or people. The truth of the matter is, though, people don't change. Not unless they want to. The other truth of the matter is that history often has a way of repeating itself, and I don't think that will ever change.
The last ten months of my life have easily been the best and the most challenging months of my life, due in large part to the change that has happened.
I quit my job of five years that I absolutely loved, moved away (for the last time) from my childhood home, started grad school full time, found a new church, spent five months unemployed (granted, it was on purpose, but being unemployed is terrifying), started a new job, started another semester of school (which turned out to be the hardest thus far), gained a sister-in-law, experienced various relationship changes, etc.
None of those things are bad things in and of themselves. In fact, other than quitting my job and being unemployed for five months, I would say all of those things have been good. The relationship changes have been a mixed bag, I guess, but mostly good.
My Wednesday night Chili's girls have quickly become some of my favorite people to be around. Partly because they are my only friend group here, but also because they get it. They know what it is like to have eight chapters to read, a test to take, two lectures to watch, and a paper to write in the course of a week. They get it, and I love them for that. Truthfully, though, I would love their company even if we did not share a common educational experience. They really are a wonderful group of people, and I am glad to know them, and glad to call them friends.
Conversely, things with best friend are, well, not mostly good. In fact, I haven't spoken to him in over a week. The last time that happened was probably over a year ago. We both blame it on the fact that we are busy, which is true. He is working two jobs, and I have a job plus two summer classes. He also has a new girlfriend, which I would say has a lot more to do with it than being busy. It has been hard, but to some extent, I have allowed it to happen. We both have allowed it to happen. Perhaps that is how things are going to be from here on out, I don't know. I don't want it to be, but I am not naïve enough to think things will go back to how they are.
If I'm honest, I'm not sure if I want them to. Yes, I know that makes me a terrible friend. My life right now requires that I embrace change, and that friendship has become stagnant. He and I both have allowed it to, but if I'm honest, it feels like it's mostly him. The sad thing is, I'm not even surprised. New girlfriends, or well actually, girlfriends at all, do that. I kind of thought things had changed, but I have also realized that for most of the last 20 months we have been talking again, he hasn't had a girlfriend. There was one for about a month right toward the beginning, and then there was about a two week period last summer. I had forgotten.
It is always amazing to me how much better I make the past out to be than it actually was. How easy it is for me to idealize the past, whether that is events or people. The truth of the matter is, though, people don't change. Not unless they want to. The other truth of the matter is that history often has a way of repeating itself, and I don't think that will ever change.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Twelve
Rarely does a day go by that I do not miss writing. Well, writing for pleasure. Summer school has not given me the opportunity to miss writing.
Let me just tell you that taking two graduate level summer classes and working at the same time is not the wisest thing I have ever done. In fact, when one of my friends asked me earlier in the week how school was going, my response was that summer school is a special kind of hell. Only two and a half more weeks of these classes! Woohoo! Then I have another one, but at least it is only one? Of course, before then I have four more papers, two more quizzes, a final exam, and an hour and fifteen minute group presentation. Copious amounts of reading needs to occur between now and then as well. Oh, there is a cake to bake too.
I was going to make a really bad joke about that being the icing on top of the cake, but I decided not to.
Except for I kind of just did.
In other news, my baby cousin is turning 12 later in the month, which can only mean that I am a grandma. She is older now than I was when she was born. Mind.Blown.
I need to start working on her birthday card. I love writing (obviously), and even though I know not everybody loves and holds onto cards or written letters the same way I do, I think most people appreciate them at the time. Even 12-year-old girls. Twelve is, in a lot of ways, a big year. She is growing up faster than I can believe and it makes me want to cry.
If she is anything like I was, she is in a hurry to grow up. I know nothing anybody said to me at the time would have convinced me that I should enjoy my 365 days as a 12-year-old, and I do not anticipate that anything I say to her will either. Twelve is also hard. Twelve was seventh grade. Seventh grade sucked in nearly every way. Twelve made me grow up. Not just because I wanted to, but because the events that happened at twelve made me. Twelve was what many of the issues that stuck with me well through my high school years stemmed from. Twelve made me who I am. Twelve is beautiful, and I want to convey that to her.
Let me just tell you that taking two graduate level summer classes and working at the same time is not the wisest thing I have ever done. In fact, when one of my friends asked me earlier in the week how school was going, my response was that summer school is a special kind of hell. Only two and a half more weeks of these classes! Woohoo! Then I have another one, but at least it is only one? Of course, before then I have four more papers, two more quizzes, a final exam, and an hour and fifteen minute group presentation. Copious amounts of reading needs to occur between now and then as well. Oh, there is a cake to bake too.
I was going to make a really bad joke about that being the icing on top of the cake, but I decided not to.
Except for I kind of just did.
In other news, my baby cousin is turning 12 later in the month, which can only mean that I am a grandma. She is older now than I was when she was born. Mind.Blown.
I need to start working on her birthday card. I love writing (obviously), and even though I know not everybody loves and holds onto cards or written letters the same way I do, I think most people appreciate them at the time. Even 12-year-old girls. Twelve is, in a lot of ways, a big year. She is growing up faster than I can believe and it makes me want to cry.
If she is anything like I was, she is in a hurry to grow up. I know nothing anybody said to me at the time would have convinced me that I should enjoy my 365 days as a 12-year-old, and I do not anticipate that anything I say to her will either. Twelve is also hard. Twelve was seventh grade. Seventh grade sucked in nearly every way. Twelve made me grow up. Not just because I wanted to, but because the events that happened at twelve made me. Twelve was what many of the issues that stuck with me well through my high school years stemmed from. Twelve made me who I am. Twelve is beautiful, and I want to convey that to her.
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