November 3

Abby's 17th birthday is today. Seventeen! Already. Wow.

I think she had a good day. Adam got her a big unicorn-head balloon, a Frappuccino, and some sort of book to start off her new year on a sweet foot, and then she was off to school. My plan was initially to chalk the windows of the truck with a happy birthday message before she got up, but that vision changed when I looked out the window and was greeted by pea soup-thick fog. So I drove over to the street I know she parks on a few hours later after the fog had lifted and did it then and there.

After school, we did pictures as always and had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory before returning home for cake (for which Adam gets every ounce of credit) and presents and the requisite silly birthday videos on YouTube (featuring a collection of cats and sloths and Sesame Street faves).

Anyway, 17. My girl is 17. It's a very strange thing to realize that the little girl who so gleefully ran away from me while I was hobbled by pregnancy and who always wanted to pick, pick, pick fudgers as we strolled along the streets in our old neighborhood and who wistfully talked about being a VBS hula girl some day is just a year away from adulthood, but she is just that. And I couldn't be more proud of her. She's kind and smart and good-hearted and old-souled. And, as I so often say, I can't wait to see what God has in store for her in the future.