I shall now tell you my third daughters name, because she said I could.
Her name is Mariah.
She is smart and beautiful and has such a good heart, and boasts the title of "teenager" right now. Thankfully, she comes into our family on the tail end of that, so I feel we are narrowly missing some of the uglier teenage behaviors. Although last night is the first night of my parenting career that I had to wake up my husband because I needed to go out and look for a child. That is because it was 11:30 and she was supposed to be home at 11. Something about that late at night thing is very scary when you have someone you love and are responsible for out in the darkness and you don't know where they are or who they are with. And you should know this about me: if I can't account for you, that means you're probably dead in a ditch somewhere. I inherited that fun little thing from my father. The over-reactionary quality comes from my Mom's side of the family. So imagine the combination. As I sped down the pitch black road to her workplace, imagining all sorts of horrors and wondering at what time I could legitimately call the police, I had more sympathy for my parents and more regret for my own late night curfew escapades then ever before. Sorry, Mom and Dad. I get it now. And at only 28! You have Mariah to thank for that.
Imagine my relief and anger when I pulled up in front of the store and there she was, chatting away on a bench with her co-worker who was really going to give her a ride home, but her own ride was late. Her co-worker is a Mom and a great gal and felt sorry when she saw the worry on my face and heard the "I thought you were dead, Weirdo!" when my child opened the door. I handled the anger pretty darn well if I do say so myself, but she did get a talking to, and I laid the guilt on thick because it had to be done. Seriously. She was very sorry. I said "Honestly, could you not have called? YOU HAVE TO CALL. Next time you are thinking you might be late, YOU MUST CALL."
I feel more experienced then I did yesterday at this time.
Before this thirty minute block of time, Mariah gave her second dance recital for the Halloween concert her dance studio puts on. She takes Jazz dance (as does K.J., so -- score) and was so cute. I got to see her Saturday, too, but last night the whole family came, including both sets of grandparents. Are they cool or what? While there, we saw a family from our hometown and the Double B got to meet a guy named Brett that is such a nice guy and was, in fact, the nicest priest in the world when I myself became a brand-new beehive. He has the danged cutest kids now. When we introduced K.J. (who is named after my grandfather) he was like "K.J.!? Wow, you have a lot to live up to, buddy! What a great name for you to have! You've definitely got someone to look up to." And it warmed my little pea-pickin' heart, because Brett was maybe -- 10? -- when my Grandpa died, but Grandpa K.J. left a big enough impression that twenty four years later this fellow would instantly pick up on the name and what it means to us, and pay respect to that.
I thought that was cool.
I'm so proud of my Grandparents.
I'm hoping that somehow, someway the Lord will send another little girl to our family, because I've finally found a way to pay homage to my B.est. G.ranny F.orever in a name, and I want so desperately for one of my children to carry her name. If that doesn't happen, I will exert force and convince my baby brother and Sil to have another little girl and will name her myself.
See? I've got it all worked out.
Here is a story that must be told: on Saturday, one of my amazing young women (I have mentioned her before 'cause she's just so smashing), Sherine, ran down to the high school to see Mariah dance. Yes, folks, she ran. Now that is friendship! We enjoyed watched the concert together and then afterwards she drove with us to the local store so Mariah could get her work schedule. While there, we saw an arrest! And a lady, too! First it was just one cop with a car pulled over in the parking lot. Sherine convinced me this was something that must be seen, because somethin' was goin' down. And she was right. Three cop trucks later, she was put into hand-cuffs and carried away.
It was thrilling, to say the least.
I'm not going to lie, I felt exactly like Harriet the Spy.
And it was a darned good feeling.
Signing off, folks.