My daughter was sitting in the back seat of the car, very excited about her new phone and not at all interested in what I was saying.
"Just a second, mom," she told me, looking up distractedly. "I'm texting my peeps."
What? Who IS this kid? Who is this kid who is teaching me how to upload videos to YouTube? Who already has an online art portfolio? Who texts with her thumbs almost as fast as I type on home row?
She's 12. I think when I was 12, I was reading "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret."
She's not all grown up, of course. We still snuggle together on Friday nights to watch movies, we still giggle late at night when everyone's asleep.
I can't make myself say "Kids grow up so fast these days," because I know I'll sound like I'm wearing supp-hose and those stretch pants with the waistband that settles in right under the boobs.
So let's just say I'm clinging to all the mom-daughter moments I can get. Because I kow they won't last too long.