The Adventure

Two months ago, my parents took Elijah and Priscilla on a trip to see my grandmother, which included a funnel cake scented adventure at the Dollywood amusement park. They brought me home this photo as a memento. It hangs in my kitchen, pinned to a cork board, and every day I giggle to myself (mostly in appreciation of the exuberant guy, alone in the back. Surely he and his perfect "A-h-h, I'm flying down the hill of a roller coaster!" expression should be included in everyone's Tennessee Tornado picture) and marvel at my little girl and her stubborn fearlessness. That particular ride, I was told repeatedly by Priscilla, went upside down three times. It was CRAZY scary, for other people, but not for her because she's supernaturally brave like that. What I've learned about my second born over the past seven years is that even if she was freaked out (as her own expression and white knuckles seem to indicate) , she would never admit it.

I can claim her chin, her narrow face, the shape of her rounded eyes and the paleness of her lashes, but the fire that burns behind them belongs to her and her alone. In this one sense, she is not her mother's daughter. There's no doubt I'll have to stretch myself to keep up with the pace of the strides she is taking, that tiny daredevil, our potent Prissy - my force to be reckoned with.