Her color scheme was what can best be described as "Cherry Cordial" — a pink, strapless dress with a lace bodice, cinched at the waist with a thick chocolate band. That, or it's way past dinner, and I am typing with my stomach. However you call it, it proved to be the perfect complement to her creamy skin and dark hair and eyes.
After "Project Runwaying" her into the dress (due to issues with the band, complete with subsequent tears, I had to sew her into it), we blew out her hair, braided the top with bits of fabric from the dress, and curled the rest. Under pain of death should she lose them, I also let her borrow my chocolate pearls.
A pair of killer heels and a pedi finished off the look.
A friend dropping her daughter off for a sleepover with Julia commented that maybe sewing Jo into the dress was a smart move, considering. I think I can see her point.
So, no tears on our part, and I think that's because there was no boy at the door with corsage and cracking voice. These days, I'm told, it's more common for the kids to go in groups, and I am not ashamed to admit that I'm relieved. I know it's coming, know it's a natural part of growing up. I'm just not ready for the growing up bit. Not really. Which is kinda too bad, because it's going to happen — is already happening — whether I like it or not.
Weird how, in the beginning, parenting requires that you hold on tight, don't let them out of your sight, until it's time to let them go, gradually, then completely. But if you do it right, and if you're very lucky, maybe they'll remember to look back every once in a while as they take one step, and then another, and another, on their way up and out.
That's what I'm hoping for, anyway.