Sniffle

My daughter, Victoria, goes back to school tomorrow.

She’s given permission for my naming her in this space, while my son remains he-who-must-not-be-named (no, his doesn’t start with a “V”).

Victoria’s presence this summer made our home both smaller and larger. Fewer spots availed themselves to toss things into when company came, while expansive ideas flowed freely over cluttered tables and countertops. Plus, now,

I know the plots of more movies (Victoria works at a Hollywood Video),

I’ve seen how red hair-coloring is done,

I know how the most creative peasants dress inexpensively for a Renaissance Faire,

I’m closer to distinguishing a quote by Aristotle from one by Plato,

I’ve observed the progress of a desk-refinishing that may be completed after school starts (still, she’s closer than I’ve ever come to redoing furniture!).

I’ll miss my daughter (yes, she’s just across town--wimp, wimpy, wimp, that’s me), but I’m further along in transitioning, I think. Victoria our grown daughter, our company, our holiday guest telling great tales.

Still, though, my honey-sunshine girl.