Last month, the girls attended their first social event, a father/daughter dance. I've labeled it a 'social event' because I was told that once they found their friends, the fathers were cast aside and only involved in the dancing portion of the evening when the deejay insisted that they join their daughters on the dance floor. All week, Emily's BFF had been concerned that Emily and her sisters would have to take turns dancing with Rich. Turns out, that wasn't really an issue.
I helped the girls dress that evening. I brushed hair and attempted curls with hot rollers. They giggled and said they felt like they were in a beauty salon. They slipped their feet into tiny sparkly shoes and packed their little purses with lipgloss and tissues. I hugged and kissed them and then waved good-bye as they drove off with Rich.
Letting them grow is so hard.
Earlier in the week, while Emily and I were cuddling at bedtime, she told me that she needed to find someone to babysit the Gone Family children while she was at the dance.
"Um, hello? I'll be home. I can babysit."
"Mommy, I think that's too much for you to handle."