It happened. They said it would and it did. Kyndall hit me with a “broski” for the first time the other night.
What happened to “mom?”
Actually, what happened to mama? It’s like I blinked and my chubby cheeked mama’s girl turned into a joggers wearing, croc loving, “bro” calling, teenager.
When Kyndall was three she called me Jewie for close to a year, and when Mike and I started dating, he was known as “Jim” for about six months.
During a teacher meeting Kyndall’s first grade year, her teacher told me that Kyndall had begun spelling her name incorrectly - different variations like Kindall, Kyndal, Kendall. She went on to say that she knew Kyndall could spell it correctly, so she wasn’t concerned, but she went ahead and asked Kyndall why she was doing this. Kyndall responded, “Well it’s my name, so I can spell It however I want.” I cringed a little and responded, “I’m sorry, I bet she tells you all kind of things.” She smiled and said, “Oh yeah, yesterday she showed me her new shirt and said, ‘Look! It makes me look like I have boobies.’”
Palm to forehead.
That almost tops the time she told a waitress that I was pregnant, getting married, and she was getting a baby goat. She was three and none of those things were true.
And while there’s no telling when Kyndall is going to tell your deepest, darkest secrets, or when she is going to burst into dance moves, you can always be certain that she is going to go out of her way to be kind and thoughtful. She is always going to make you feel loved.
Today she is 13 - officially a teenager and officially the coolest kid I know.
She’s not cool in the normal way though.
She’s cool like an 83 year old who needs to nap during her own birthday party, sings Prince songs at a loud but reasonable level, spends hours researching hamster/bird care and creates presentations to show her work. She’s a messy bun, card playing, animal loving, sister tolerating, dad joke telling, kind of cool.
She’s my favorite kind of cool, and I love her to the moon.
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