Aidan got her ears pierced yesterday.

She was feeling brave, determined, and ready. When she turned eight in July, we told her she had permission to get her ears pierced, but it had to be her decision. She was to let us know when she was ready. Shortly before Christmas, she announced the time had come.

Earlier in the day, she sat beside me at my grandmother’s funeral. Her back was straight. Her hands were folded. I admired her composure and maturity and remembered this was her second funeral in three weeks. She knew what to do, a wiser child now than in November.

After the service there was a reception. Little round sandwiches were served with lemonade, brownies, jello salads with marshmallows. She shook hands shyly and tried to answer the questions of strangers. Rarely-seen family faces kissed her and asked how third-grade is going.

“Fine,” she answered.

It was time to go home, but we didn’t feel like going home. Extended family scattered and expressed the need to sleep in their own beds for a change. My parents wanted to go back to Grand Junction and we felt alone, so we went to a mall for a little distraction. It was pre-Christmas busy, which irritated our post-Christmas and fresh-from-a-funeral selves. The kids had Christmas money to spend and Aidan wanted to shoot faux rubies through her pristine lobes.

She held my hand when the assistant manager of the kiddie jewelry store asked if she was ready. Hubby and the four boys watched, along with everyone in the store and shoppers through the window. Two clicks and an “it didn’t hurt?!” later, and my daughter seemed 10 seconds older, not years older as I imagined it would seem. Maybe it was because so much has been asked of her lately that the milestone of ear-piercing seemed relatively insignificant. I always thought I would get at least misty-eyed, but I didn’t. Instead, I respected her and was awed by her. The timing of her decision reflected her changed eyes—the emotions of the past year, the things she’s seen and grown to understand a bit more. She is growing up.

A mirror was held in front of her face. The two sparkly little rubies could not compete with her sparkly eyes as she admired her ears: “I am never wearing my hair over my ears again!” she announced.

Okay, so maybe she still has some growing up to do.

I met Laura, the very talented blogger behind bluestocking. She is in the Denver area visiting family and we were able to meet for lunch at Red Robin yesterday. Ethan, her 18-month-old, was with her. He is even more adorable than in the pictures Laura posts. I recognized her right away when she walked in the restaurant.

She is a lovely, warm person, genuine. Sprite drinker (details, I know you want details). It wasn’t easy talking because I had to keep intercepting ranch dressing cups from Joel, reminding video-game-eyeing Ryley to turn around, and keep a sudden balloon obsession quashed. Our visit seemed short because my kids do not appreciate the art of eating, then coloring quietly whilst certain bloggers discuss important blogger business, like garish food coloring and college jobs. I could have talked with her for hours, but my kids were downright crazed. I’ll admit it, I was embarrassed and a little baffled by how squirrely they were. Studious Ethan seemed to be taking notes. Laura, if he starts drinking ranch dressing or scaling concrete retaining walls, I apologize.

At one point she looked at them, looked at me, and asked “how do you find time to blog?” I get asked that a lot. Somewhere in between all the wiping I do of people and things, I wipe my thoughts all over the screen and they seem to stick.

Thanks, Laura. I am so glad we met.