My daughter is at a threshold.
On the one hand, she is burgeoning. She is about to become a young woman, and daily we are reminded of this. She requested undergarments. Is interested in borrowing my face wash. Trades whispered secrets with her best friend in the backseat of my van. Cares what color her shoe laces are (bright neon pink, please).
She is still a little girl. Who doesn’t need to wear *certain* undergarments or wash her face daily. And although those days will be here soon enough, they aren’t quite yet.
Right now, this summer–which seems to be a very delicate thing in the scope of her childhood–she is still young enough for some very simple things. Like a refresher lesson on skipping rocks. Which we did camping last weekend.
We found ourselves at a curve in a lazy river. The pooling water before us barely moving, and the bank was a sea of smooth round rocks. Searching, we found the flat discs that skim the best, and both my husband and I set about reminding our children how to skip rocks. And her thrill–my thrill–when she finally (after quite a few plunks) got a slim, smooth rock to dance across the water. One, two, three. It skittered like magic across the surface before diving below to settle in at the bottom.
“Did you see?!” she yelled excitedly. Yes, I did. I saw her, teetering on the edge of childhood.