Since November 12, my second child, my only daughter, has been five years old. She was still four in this picture, but I love it and wanted to share. I adore my daughter, but man can she push my buttons. Most of the time I'm in awe of how much she reminds me of my mother. She's tiny but fierce. She's sweet and funny and a true Daddy's girl. She's so beautiful, I wonder how the heck she's my daughter. But then I remember, she's Mami's granddaughter. I can't wait to see what this new year brings for my little firecracker. Happy Birthday, Delia.
November 7th is one of those days that has been imprinted on my memory since 1989. It is the birthday of one of my oldest and dearest friends. I'd say she's my best friend, but really that term is loaded and imprecise. She's not my oldest friend either, because we met when she was almost 12 and I was newly 13, and we both have friends we've known far longer.
She's the friend who held me as I sobbed at age 16 when I had my heart broken.
She's the friend who, weeks later, held my hand as my mother left the house in a hurry -- breakfast half-made on the stove -- for the emergency room, where we later learned, my beloved aunt had just died.
She's the friend I called first when I received my college acceptance letters, started dating my future husband, was proposed to, and found out I was pregnant five weeks after returning from my honeymoon.
She's the only person who could lure me to visit Alabama, because I'd never had a desire to visit the state before she lived there.
She's the friend who nearly always votes a different way, but it never comes between us.
She's the friend -- the only friend -- who never, ever forgets my birthday.
So, Ruth Ann, on your 32nd birthday, I thank you for being that kind of friend. -- the kind of friend a dozen women would ask to stand up for them at their wedding. You're an amazing woman, wife, mother, sister and friend.