Emma's Room

Emma, 14.

Her bedroom, as she left it when the bus pulled up across the street. My dear, sweet girl. She loves her bed and likes all the blankets and pillows to be crazily swirled into a messy, cozy pile. She snuggles down in the middle. She calls it her "nest."

There are lots of moments when I miss the tiny Emma. So much. Sometimes my heart breaks with the missing of her. But then I watch her from a distance or pause a moment to watch her face while she's sleeping and I catch glimpses of that same little person . . . it's still her. She's still the same Emma.

She's becoming her own person. Making her own choices, finding her own style, figuring out what it is she loves, what she dreams of, what she stands for.

The note to herself on her mirror makes me smile every time I walk by her room.

    Every night:

•  50 jumping jacks
•  15 push ups
•  100 crunches
•  1 minute plank

I remember when I started writing myself notes too. Making lists. Taking charge.

Oh, what a precious, joyous time. 


p.s. I refrained from showing you the clothes strewn all over the floor. Something strange happens every morning while she's trying to figure out what to wear, and the entire closet ends up on the floor.