My Life, My Blog

Chicago

The day has arrived:

I help her pack her duffle bag, making sure she has all she needs for her trip. Why am I so anxious? I should be proud, and I am, but I can’t seem to let her go with grace.

Her long hair shines like copper silk as she runs the straightener through. I like her subtle curls and occasional frizz, but she prefers the smooth look. She is barely thirteen, too young to drive or have a serious boyfriend; yet I see a woman with rounded curves and an hourglass figure. The freckles that brush her ivory face are covered by foundation, but she uses no other makeup.

She will be gone for three days, off to Chicago with her choir group. They will see concerts, eat in interesting restaurants, tour aquariums, malls and piers. They will sing in front of a panel of judges, swim in a pool, and sleep in a fancy hotel room. I envy her. I wish I could go with her.

She is my baby, my only girl, and I will miss her horribly. I am grateful for her experience, but I will be the first one in that parking lot to pick her up when she returns!


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