Well, I can call her quirky, because I’m her mother. Plus I don’t want any boys thinking she’s too nice:) Actually, the plan is to lock her up until about 30 or so. And her dad wants it mentioned that he owns guns. Lots of guns. Ah, my beautiful girl, it’s so hard and wonderful watching you grow up. In one picture, I see this smart, sweet, slip of a girl who loves life and relishes it. In the next, I can still see remnants of her chubby cheeks as an infant. How does this happen? This transition from cute to lovely. From helpless to independent. From baby to girl to. . . . woman. I know she’s not there yet, but the future seems to be moving faster and faster. Everyone tells you how fast it goes, but only time convinces you. Perhaps that is why pictures are amazing things. They capture, for an instant, what you are so desperately trying to hold onto. That look she gives. The way she moves her hair. Her funny skip. My quirky girl.