My eleven year old is pretty awesome.
She’s a complete animal nerd and book geek. Which I count as winning.
She’s an independent thinker and not afraid to respectfully disagree with her peers. When other girls were in love with Hannah Montana, she wasn’t. And when those same girls stopped liking it because “Miley Cyrus smokes and drinks“, Eleven Year Old replied with, “My papa smokes and he’s a good person. I don’t know Miley personally, so I don’t have anything against her, but I think smoking and drinking are mostly bad if you’re addicted to them.”
She’s a writer. She blogs at The Girl Named Jack and writes fiction in her spare time.
She’s not afraid to be herself. When I offered to buy her and her friend friendship rings, she looked over all of the girly, flowery ones and picked a sharks tooth ring.
She wears whatever clothes make her comfortable, regardless of what other people like.
She knows a ridiculously lot about horses.
And, like her daddy, she nearly can’t take a natural looking picture to save her life.
Eleven Year Old, smile!
Okay … now smile like a more normal person.
Unfortunately, these are things I think, but not necessarily say. Like a lot of you other mommy moms, my actual interactions with her probably add up to make her think I mostly feel annoyed toward her most of the time. My bad, Eleven Year Old. My mommy bad.