Sweet Sixteen
by Stephanie Black
It’s a significant day in our household. Tonight we’ll be lighting sixteen candles on a turtle cheesecake (that’s chocolate, caramel and pecans—no reptiles involved). Sixteen years ago today, my oldest daughter, Amy, was born.
Unfortunately, cake and Happy Birthday to You is about all we’ll have time for tonight. Between a Police Explorer meeting, Mutual and ball practice, we’ll be eating dinner in shifts. I haven’t yet figured out what to have for dinner that would be kind of fun, yet easy and nicely re-heatable. Pizza, probably. (Amy wasn’t terribly keen on my suggestion that I could microwave a hot dog for her. Go figure.) When we get a free evening—probably next week—we’ll take Amy out to dinner to celebrate the big one-six.
In honor of this momentous occasion, Amy is having a party on Saturday. We don't throw a lot of birthday parties. We’re not big party animals around here. We’re not even small party animals ("we" meaning my husband and me. The kids are ready to party whenever). But on Saturday night Amy will be playing the role of Inspector Somebody-or-Other as she and her guests work to solve a murder mystery. The mystery is set on a Bahamian cruise ship, so this is a great opportunity to decorate with the 700 pounds of seashells my children have collected over the years.
Ah, sixteen. My daughter is sixteen. I was pregnant with Amy during my last two semesters at BYU. I graduated in April, and Amy was due May 14th. In our youthful naiveté, my husband and I thought a due date actually meant something. Oh, intellectually we knew babies weren’t necessarily born on that date, but it still seemed . . . significant. The alarm clock had gone off. The timer had pinged. Ding ding! The baby’s finished! But come May 14th, there was no sign of the baby, nor any sign that she was close to arriving. Days passed with still no sign of impending baby and it felt increasingly unreal to imagine that this baby would ever come at all. My husband placed a note in the crib with an arrow and the notation, “Place Baby Here”, but plainly, Amy was quite comfortable where she was. When she was over a week late, we went for a four-mile walk, hoping that might stir up some action. Nothing. Finally at two weeks past the due date, the doctor induced her, and Amy made her reluctant debut on May 30th. Due dates, my friends, are a hoax, a fact I didn’t fully understand until subsequent pregnancies.
And now, sixteen years have passed. That darling little baby has grown into a beautiful young woman who is nearly as tall as I am and whose shoes I can borrow. Happy sixteenth birthday, Amy! We love you! Now go clean your room.
It’s a significant day in our household. Tonight we’ll be lighting sixteen candles on a turtle cheesecake (that’s chocolate, caramel and pecans—no reptiles involved). Sixteen years ago today, my oldest daughter, Amy, was born.
Unfortunately, cake and Happy Birthday to You is about all we’ll have time for tonight. Between a Police Explorer meeting, Mutual and ball practice, we’ll be eating dinner in shifts. I haven’t yet figured out what to have for dinner that would be kind of fun, yet easy and nicely re-heatable. Pizza, probably. (Amy wasn’t terribly keen on my suggestion that I could microwave a hot dog for her. Go figure.) When we get a free evening—probably next week—we’ll take Amy out to dinner to celebrate the big one-six.
In honor of this momentous occasion, Amy is having a party on Saturday. We don't throw a lot of birthday parties. We’re not big party animals around here. We’re not even small party animals ("we" meaning my husband and me. The kids are ready to party whenever). But on Saturday night Amy will be playing the role of Inspector Somebody-or-Other as she and her guests work to solve a murder mystery. The mystery is set on a Bahamian cruise ship, so this is a great opportunity to decorate with the 700 pounds of seashells my children have collected over the years.
Ah, sixteen. My daughter is sixteen. I was pregnant with Amy during my last two semesters at BYU. I graduated in April, and Amy was due May 14th. In our youthful naiveté, my husband and I thought a due date actually meant something. Oh, intellectually we knew babies weren’t necessarily born on that date, but it still seemed . . . significant. The alarm clock had gone off. The timer had pinged. Ding ding! The baby’s finished! But come May 14th, there was no sign of the baby, nor any sign that she was close to arriving. Days passed with still no sign of impending baby and it felt increasingly unreal to imagine that this baby would ever come at all. My husband placed a note in the crib with an arrow and the notation, “Place Baby Here”, but plainly, Amy was quite comfortable where she was. When she was over a week late, we went for a four-mile walk, hoping that might stir up some action. Nothing. Finally at two weeks past the due date, the doctor induced her, and Amy made her reluctant debut on May 30th. Due dates, my friends, are a hoax, a fact I didn’t fully understand until subsequent pregnancies.
And now, sixteen years have passed. That darling little baby has grown into a beautiful young woman who is nearly as tall as I am and whose shoes I can borrow. Happy sixteenth birthday, Amy! We love you! Now go clean your room.
Stephanie Black — 5/30/2007 12:55:00 PM
10 comments
10 Comments:
Maybe later.
oh, and P.S.--No Little Caesar's.
Sixteen is so fun- especially because now you get to date. FYI- parties are the perfect place to set up potential dates!
Happy birthday Amy and I agree- no little caesars, unless you guys really like the taste of soggy cardboard
Dates! Yikes!! Who said anything about dating? Amy can't date until she's 28.
Kidding.
No, I'm not doing Little Caesar's, so rest easy.
Happy Birthday!
Now that you can date, I have this friend... He's 38, but he's really nice. I'm sure your parents will approve.
Gaack!! New family rule: no dating someone old enough to be your father.
And don't forget about driving. Now you have a car slave--someone to run errands and do the grocery shopping (debit cards are so cool) and take their siblings to music lessons.
I'm on my last car slave now. I don't know what I'll do when she goes away to college in 455 days.
Gosh... I wish you hadn't beat me to that family rule! I was hoping to be able to say that I'd dated two generations of McConkie girls. Does "Mean Aunt" have a daughter? But seriously... it's hard to believe you have a 16-year-old, since I've known you since you were 13! I recently ran into a high school friend of ours whose 16-year-old daughter ran the family car through the back wall of the garage and into the family room. Too bad the "blue beast" isn't around for Amy to learn on!
My oldest grandson turns 16 in two days. We should arrange for Chris and Amy to meet--five or ten years from now.
Happy Birthday, Amy!
A car slave! What a great idea, Karlene. Of course, the downside is the insurance costs. Yikes!
You are so right about the Blue Beast, Dave. That would be the perfect starter car. And the good news--no way could Amy run it through the wall of the garage, since you can't even get a car into our garage--it's too messy in there.
Happy birthday to Chris, Jennie!
Happy Birthday, Amos. Now you are permenantly remembered in Google cache.
I was very annoyed that you were born so late--we were in Texas on an internship and had to wait all summer to see you. If you had been born on time we would have seen you before we left.
Then again, you still are running behind.
Now go clean your room!
Love,
Your Mean Aunt
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