Dear Squishy Fish,

You are twelve.

You are at that stage where you are balancing maturity with childhood and you are doing it fantastically well. Me? Meh, not so much. Your transition from elementary school to middle school was very smooth. You are finding out what friendship is really about and choosing friends with good character.

In the fall, you texted me asking if you could join the math team. Has a parent (especially one as math impaired as I am) EVER refused to let a child join the math team? I texted back saying we’d talk when you got home. One of my funnier memories is our exchange about this.

You: Mom can I join the math team?

Me: Hmm, I don’t know, it sounds kind of dangerous to me.

You: Huh?

Me: I mean what if someone messes up their quadric equation and it explodes? Ugh, what a mess. Variables everywhere. You could get hurt.

You: Mommmmmm!

I held you off a few months, but you followed your brother’s footsteps, and took up karate. Your poise and precision is amazing. Your instructors all comment positively and frequently cite you as an example. Skiing continues to be one of your favorite activities and you enjoy skiing with the Hs and helping them heard their cats as the seven of you traverse the slopes. You’ve worn contact lenses for about a year and handled the responsibility with ease.

As mature as you are, you don’t hesitate to grab my hand and make me skip through a parking lot with you. Nicki, Jess and Emily are frequent companions as you while away the hours in your room, figuring out how this world works and what exactly you want your place in it to be. Thankfully you still seek me out for some snuggle time before bed

Your little brother can drive you absolutely mad, but you make time to play the Wii with him or the two of you venture into the land of make believe. He still worships the ground you walk on and you are one of his biggest fans.

The year hasn’t been without conflict. You made mistakes, but so have I. I’m not sure that will ever change. I want the best for you. I joke that you, must, stop, growing, and some days, I wish it was true. I feel like I need another twelve years just to catch up with you. Yet, I know that’s not how it works. It is your job to grow and move into your own life. It is mine to remember you are not me and support you as you find out who you are and what you want.

Happy Last-year-before-being-a-teenager. Make it a good one!

Love,

Mom