She’s showing me her new hair clip she got today from a crafter at the midnight madness event.
I see the hair clip. It’s cute and explains why she wanted 50 cents. But I see more.
I see a little girl who is not my baby anymore and yet always will be. I see sass and spunk and single-minded determination to always get the last word and by God it’s gonna break me to only concentrate on teaching her that her voice always matters as long as she never loses sight of respecting the person she is talking to (because sometimes I want to scream and yell and say things like Shut Up and Because I Said So, which is totally honest and I’ve heard its probably maybeincredibly counterproductive to raising a #chingona and not a doormat).
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