And off she goes

 How's the saying go?

"The days are long but the years are short"...

Oh Chloe Louise, out of all my children, you made my days the longest.

I'm not sure what I expected when you were born. I think I expected you to be like your sisters. I think I expected you to be easy.

All I know for sure is I was incredibly unprepared.

I was pregnant during 9/11, and so when you were born the following spring it felt so good to feel happy again. I had a water delivery with you, and when you were born I pulled you out of the water and looked right into your deep, steady brown eyes. I was so excited, I finally had a baby that had brown eyes like me. You didn't even really cry much at first. Just kind of looked around, maybe a little annoyed you weren't as warm as you were just a few minutes prior.

You could tell you were born in water because you loved any chance to swim. By the time you were 15 months old, I could put you in a bathing suit with the life jacket floaties built in, and you could swim complete laps in our in-ground pool. Nothing scared you. Not your sisters, not your parents. Nothing.

It was like you were born with this baby fierceness. We laughed about it at first. Like when you were about 2 and you started, for no reason at all, kicking your great uncle Bud in the shins every time you saw him. Why? We have no idea. We figured you'd forget about him by the next year. Nope. You'd see him across the room, talking to your great grandma Tillie. Then you'd muster up all the strength you had in your 28 pound body, and march over to deliver a sharp roundhouse kick in Bud's shins once again. It became an unfortunate annual event. Luckily our family has a warped sense of humor and is very forgiving.

Maybe because you were the third child or maybe because it was just your personality, but you never waited for permission for anything. You saw an opportunity and you seized it. Unknowingly you embraced one of my mottos: It's always easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission (most likely a contributing factor in my divorce, but I digress...)

You challenged your daycare and preschool teachers daily, and carried it into elementary school. Do you know how nervously I laughed when your kindergarten teacher had to inform me that you mooned the cafeteria and yelled, "Everybody, check it OUT!" You were 5.

I used to think you did it all because you liked attention. I understood that, I like attention too. But then I began to see that you knew from the very beginning that you were going to seize the opportunity in front of you, and not even bat an eyelash to someone or something that stood in your way.

You always made us laugh. You were an entertainer and a natural athlete. Dramatic and over the top. You demanded my attention, constantly. And woe is me if I didn't give you the attention you craved and needed at that very moment.

Sometimes you would be so relentless that I would snap. "Chloe Louise! Jesus, just give me a minute... I have shit to do." You didn't care. You'd follow me around and never let up.

Now in total fairness to you, there were times it was necessary. Like when you kept telling me your arm hurt and I brushed it off, only to find out a week later it was broken. There we were, standing in the doctor's office, looking at the xray as he pointed out the obvious fracture. You were about waist high, and the glare you were shooting me could have set my skin on fire. "What did I tell you MOM?" I tried not to make eye contact with you because you were in no mood to let me off the hook.

One time I took you and your brother to the park where I had a workout session planned with my trainer, The Tin Man. You were 8. After my workout we were all walking back to my car. The Tin Man looked at you and tried to make a joke. "What are you looking at?" he laughed.

You stopped, with your arms crossed across your chest and your hip slightly jutted off to the side. You gave him a slow and deliberate up and down scan with your eyes, finally looking at him straight on.

You scoffed. "You ain't all that."

The Tin Man laughed nervously and said to me in all seriousness, "She scares the shit out of me."

I nodded. "Me too. Since birth."

When I was unemployed and watching "Maury" during the day with my friend Mandy, you'd overhear us talking about how some day we were going to fly out and be in the audience for the show. Imagine how fun it was at your next school conference when your teacher mentioned, "So I understand you're going to be ON the Maury show. As a guest?" I'm not sure if you announced at Show & Tell your mom was going to take a DNA test or what, but that was one of the most memorable conferences I ever had. I always ended up doing a lot of fake laughter and hurried explanations at those meetings. Hoping like hell a social worker wasn't going to follow up with me later.

Through the years it felt like sometimes I was merely attempting just to survive being your mama. It was never easy. You were always work. You never allowed anyone to get lulled into the thought you were just one of the kids. You required attention constantly. And sorry is the person who thought they could get away with just treating you like everyone else.

But you know what else came with that package of terrifying dynamite that made up you? An amazing and beautiful explosion of love and personality and loyalty and humor and a wit so strong it takes my breath away still.

You've used your talent to create incredible art. You're able to see possibility and beauty in not only objects but in people too. Your desire to create masterpieces seems to drive you, and your ability to see beauty in others is what warms my heart. Your creativity and your talent seem endless at times, so it seems only fitting you start your next adventure at Aveda.

When your senior year in high school ended abruptly because of the pandemic, I was heartbroken for you. No prom, no senior trip to Florida. In your typical fashion, you shrugged it off and started planning for your post high school life, not wasting time with something you couldn't control.

And tomorrow morning, you move to your new apartment in Minneapolis.

It's hard for me to imagine my daily life without you part of it. I've gotten used to the effort it takes in being your mom. Slackers need not apply ~ you wouldn't last a hot minute being this girl's mother.

As much physical and emotional work as you've been Chloe, and as many tears and fights and exhaustion we've shared, I know there will always be even more love and laughter. You are addictive in that sense. We are all lucky to be in your path. I can't believe how lucky I've been to be able to be your mama.

You have been a formidable, unstoppable and unforgiving FORCE since the beginning. Combined with power and sweetness, determination and love.

I'm just in awe I gave birth to the storm.