It’s happened again, that thing where time just keeps moving in spite of my best efforts to slow it down. A whole year. And now you are twelve – a hilarious, brilliant, and (dare I say it) increasingly self-confident almost teenager.
Speaking of which, you are getting quite the dab hand at some teenagery characteristics. Sleeping late has suddenly become the most important feature of your weekends. Being embarrassed by your parents is a permanent state of affairs (and I look forward to dancing like a loon at your upcoming Bat Mitzvah). We are not yet at the (no doubt inevitable) door slamming, you-ruined-my-life, stroppy phase, for which I am grateful. You are sweet and kind and funny, and so creative you take my breath away. Given the right materials, there is nothing you can’t make.