Happy Birthday, youngest daughter

Brighid turned 14 yesterday, and I'm am thankful that she's alive (having been hit by a car and hospitalized for a week about two years ago) and not pregnant. (I had my first daughter when I was 14, and I just learned my brother's daughter is 7 months pregnant at 17.)

I'm taking her and her best friend to lunch at Benihana's in Los Colinas (or Lost Colitis, as Logan calls it), then we might take in a flick, say, The Devil Wears Prada or some such.

Brighid is becoming more fun as she gets older. I thoroughly enjoy her bizarre sense of humor. We laugh at the ridiculous and poke fun at the arrogant. One of her chief amusements is turning the radio up loud on classical music when we're at a red light next to a car which is blaring rap at hearing-loss inducing decibels. She appreciates the humor of David Letterman, Eddie Izzard, and Pee Wee Herman. We laugh a lot together, which is good, since it will help when the bad times happen, which I know they will. She's 14 now, and just starting the journey up "fools' hill", as my mother called it, that passage of one's life during which one's parents become eat up with the dumb ass.

A child climbing fools' hill will become amazed that his parents are able to function, given the level of their stupidity. A child climbing fools' hill will become deathly embarrassed of one's entire family, and require being dropped off at least a block away from whatever function he is attending. And a child climbing fools' hill would far rather be seen in outdated clothing than with one's family in public. Luckily, one reaches the summit of fools' hill around the age of 18, and is usually back in the foothills of fools' hill by the age of 22.

So I try having fun with Brighid now, while she still likes me and thinks I have useful things to say. Happy Birthday, youngest daughter. Your mommy loves you and is glad you were born 14 years ago.