Well, here we are. My granddaughter is officially 11 years old. I am now the proud Coco of someone standing on the shaky bridge between glittery childhood and teenage eye rolls. This phase marks the transition to the dramatic land of teenage eye rolls. Buckle up, friends, the hormones are coming.

This girl, though she’s bright. She’s considerate. She’s got a gentle soul. It makes me wonder if maybe she was sent to balance out the rest of us loudmouths in the family. She asks big, important questions about the world. She wants to know why people do certain things. Why people lie. Why is there traffic (honestly, I’d like to have a word with the persons responsible for that last one).

And don’t let her soft approach fool you. This child has a wit sharper than my kitchen knives. Sweet as pie one second, zinger-queen the next. If you’ve never been roasted by an 11-year-old, you haven’t lived.

Now, the antics of 11? Oh, they’re real. But since Coco lives out of state, I’m spared from the daily teenage dress rehearsals. The door slams, the dramatic sighs, the “but moooom” eye rolls? That’s a show reserved exclusively for Mom and Dad. (And I cannot lie — it’s kind of nice being in the audience section instead of on stage.) I just get the highlight reel on FaceTime, where she’s all sweetness and big questions, like she hasn’t just told her mom she’s “literally mean about Tech time.”

But here’s the truth: I could not love the things that make her, her, more if I tried. She’s curious, kind, a little bit sassy, and a lotta bit wonderful.

So, happy birthday to my daughter’s girl! The one who’s figuring out life one sarcastic sigh and one big thoughtful question at a time. Yet, she still loses her socks daily. Eleven looks good on you, kiddo. Keep shining bright, keep asking, keep being your sassy, wonderful self. And remember, Coco’s got snacks, unsolicited advice, and a killer side-eye to get you through the next few years.

Love always,
Coco