May birthday #2

Seventeen.

My daughter is 17 years old.

Why is there such a huge, emotional difference between 16 and 17? Why do I get so verklempt at the thought of my little girl turning 17?

Sixteen is sweet, getting a driver's license (well for most of the world...Anya still hasn't gotten hers), pony tails, poodle skirts, Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, and possible flirtation.

Seventeen is...well...kind of adult, isn't it? It's finishing high school, college applications, responsibility, Molly Ringwald in Fresh Horses.

Or maybe it's just one year older and I'm a total nutter, thinking way to much and extrapolating way too far into the future. But, as Jenna so succinctly put it in the birthday card she made, "I can't believe that in three more years you'll be 20!"

Ugh. I just got hit in the gut.

In any case, Anya turned 17 this week, and there was great rejoicing in the Smith kingdom.

For our birthday dinner there was grilled burgers with cajun fries from Five Guys.
Anya's favorite cake, funfetti with no frosting.By the way, have any of you tried a funfetti cake lately? It's stinkin' good! I don't know what they put in that blue box, but I'm pretty sure it and Krispy Kreme donuts share some sort of mystery ingredient. Perhaps it's the fetti, you know, of the fun variety. Addictive, unexpectedly delightful, and of course, no redeeming nutritional value.

We sang while the birthday girl gazed fondly upon her cake and candle.Some of us added fresh strawberries, because even the delicious funfetti is vastly improved with strawberries in season.And there was prolific gift giving, including the poster over her head, made by Jenna.And while this has nothing to do with her birthday, or turning 17, or the current state of the Middle East...
the girl has an incredible head of hair.

Somewhere, there's an elderly woman with thinning hair, who's been forced to use Rogaine, plotting a scalping as we speak.