The light is here longer now. 

My girl is finishing her freshman year of high school. She just got a learner's permit. She's a better horseback rider than I am and wields a mean powerpoint. 

And oh, my God, how is it possible she's going to be a high school sophomore in a few weeks?

I started this blog on my maternity leave. I started it because I didn't know how to process what I was feeling about being a mother. That totally hasn't changed in fifteen years. I still don't know how to process what I feel as a mother, except now that I'm here, I want to say this to the me there, the one who started this blog at this time of year in 2004.

It turns out okay, Rita.

I want to say that to the me who cried in the shower every morning at 23, not sure if I would find my way. I want to say that to the me who paced for miles up and down gravel roads at 17, the me who worried about grades at 12. The me who was afraid my mom would die young. The me who was afraid of tornadoes and fires as a kid.

It's not over yet, but so far, Rita, it's been okay. Your life turned out okay.

You got married, and you still are. You gave birth to an amazing girl who only got more amazing with every year. You live in the Midwest, and you like it. Your friends are amazing people who have your back through everything, even cancer. You did write those books you said you would write. Your body held up. You can still carry your own groceries and think your own thoughts. 

When I was in my twenties, I thought I had to be fabulous. Then I realized I wasn't fabulous and dismissed fabulous. In my thirties, I survived new motherhood and marriage and mortgages and friendships and career. In my forties, I'm redefining fabulous. 

Maybe fabulous is just turning out okay.