Picture a Young Woman on Her Birthday

Were the teen years much simpler then?

Today she is 15. Picture a young woman with long hair that she wears braided or not, maybe up in a pony clip, maybe down on her back. See her freckles. Witness her smile, with braces, hear her laughter with her seven friends who came over tonight for a cake party cobbled together in the afternoon--Olivia, Maggie, Emmy, Maria, Vicky, Helen and Christy. A couple have known her since she was a baby. One is a new friend from Montclair High.

See the two mismatched knee highs, the belt around the floral dress. Note the canvas totebag with her hand-written graffiti all over it.

Behold the red velvet layer cake she asked me to make. It has swirls of cream cheese frosting. [Or did have swirls of cream cheese frosting. There's only one slice left.] I am a discerning cake judge at heart, and though it took me hours to make from scratch, I didn't think it was really all that great. I think a rich fudge or devil's food or even angel food cake would have been miles better. But she loved it. Thank you so much, Mommy, she said. I love you. And later, when some cake and icing remained on a couple of pretty pink square Lilly Pulitzer paper plates, she ribbed her friends. Okay, who didn't finish their cake?

See her heart...can you? I'm afraid I really can't. It's in there, but hidden behind the typical teen armor, stitched together with some steely threads of emerging independence, forward thinking, creativity, smarts. The needle goes in and out, in and out, as she fashions the armor. I just hope she knows [maybe I should tell her] that I'm holding the other end of the thread, even if she forgets, or doesn't think I am. I can be the plain, sturdy, practical spool the thread spins from. That's okay by me. I like holding it as she discovers literature, art, culture, true friendship, life lessons. It can be painful to hold the thread tight, or let it unravel a little, when she encounters the ugly or painful parts of life. But I will not let go any time soon.

Figgy is 15. Who knows exactly what the year holds. May it bring good grades, more of her fiery passion for art and music, safe footing with friends who are kind and fun to be around, unbridled joy, more time in nature, scaling mountains. Less time on devices [just learned that term on NPR today], if at all possible. But could it bring a boy? A fight? A pining? A fall? A loss? Will it bring Figgy closer to us or farther away?

One thing is for sure. It will bring more clothing from Forever 21, more songs from iTunes, more makeup and bath products. Oh, and longer hair, since that's the current plan. And a kickboxing class, maybe a painting class at the Montclair Art Museum, too. Even a new room in the attic, when we move back into our refurbished house in October.

God bless you, Fig Caroline. Happy Birthday!

Image above from girl-groups.com.