Growing Up

My oldest daughter is fifteen years old today.  She is a carbon copy of me at fifteen.  She is full of hope and enthusiasm for the future.  She believes the best of everyone she meets and marvels at every stick and leaf, grass blade and dandelion.  She reads everything she can lay her hands on and laments the fact that the library is not open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.     She complains about chores, thinks her sister may be the devil (when she's not her best friend), tells me (in nearly the same breath) first that I am the worst, then the best mom ever.  She loves her school and hates her boyfriend.  No.  Wait.  It's Monday.  She hates her school and loves her boyfriend.  She loves her friends, but hates that they are always moving (the joys of living in a military town).  She has clothes flung in every corner of the house, yet she has 'nothing to wear.'     Now that I think about it, I am SO glad she is the one who is fifteen.  I finally got over the second paragraph of this blog, and somehow retained most of the first.  Life is good.