I've always liked to joke that my oldest daughter is "X-years-old going on teenager," a line that is typically met with an uneasy laugh from other girl dads. Now, however, I can pinpoint exactly when my 9-year-old became a teenager: Friday, May 17, 2024 at 8:13 a.m.
 |
| The Gift of Gabb |
Our daughter, who was not a watch-wearer previously, took to wearing her Gabb and not abusing the privilege. The watch became a security blanket, too, allowing her to feel comfortable when we dropped her off at birthday parties knowing we were just a text away. (Being able to leave a kid at a birthday party for a few hours is an underrated parenting milestone.)
It's strange having my daughter in my phone contacts, but most of the texts to me are silly emojis or asking what's for dinner. (The answer, of course, is "Nothing you'll eat.") And it's nice to be able to text her if we need to update her on who will be picking her up from her after-school activities.
There has been the occasional hiccup, however. During school days, she only texts us during early-afternoon recess. So I was just a bit freaked out when I was working at my office one day and got this mid-morning message: "I am literally so scared right now." I frantically texted her and got no response. I frantically texted and called Belle even though I knew she was in a meeting. Eventually, I learned my daughter's comment was a reaction to a big thunderstorm that had passed over the school. We all had a talk that night about sending texts like that.
Thankfully, we haven't had an issue since. We overhear a lot of voice texts to her girlfriends discussing play dates and updating her grandmothers on what's going on in her world. We'll text her to ride her bike home from a neighborhood friend's house. She's starting to assert her independence with our encouragement. She can watch her younger siblings and figured out the identity of the tooth fairy but still likes to have her mom brush her hair after a shower. On most days, there is a sweetness-to-sass ratio of about 4:1.
But Friday morning, May 17, was not one of those days. It was a sunny but cool spring morning. Belle suggested she wear pants but our daughter insisted on wearing shorts. As she did every morning, she walked ahead to the bus stop with a friend, wearing sandals and no jacket.
Right before Belle headed to the bus stop with our son, our daughter sent Belle a text asking her to bring her Native slip-ons to wear instead of her sandals. A few minutes later, she also asked her to bring a jacket "because it's cold now."
"I just have the Natives," Belle texted on her way to the bus stop.
"Okay," my daughter replied. "I am freezing, but whatever."
"OK, well, you should've kept the pants on. I don't know what to tell you."
"Ok," my daughter said. "I'll spend my days freezing."
I'll spend my days freezing. I could feel our daughter's eyes rolling when Belle showed me the texts. It's the perfect combination of exasperation and silliness. I spent about a week using that line around the house as a non-sequitur. ("Danny, you need take the trash out." "Fine, I'll spend my days freezing.")
Our daughter came home from school that day unfrozen and as if nothing happened. That should only be the extent - and result - of our battles with her as she gets closer each day to actually becoming a teenager, but I'm not naive. So I'll just be on alert for these flashes of sass, which I imagine will become more like a steady stream.
I just wish I knew when they'd happen. If only I could set a watch to it.
