Growing older, growing up

Princess and I were in the car, her first day of third grade over and done with. We had covered the basic information- the teacher seemed nice, despite Princess' fears to the contrary; there is a new girl in class, and she sits right next to Princess; her friend Julia is in the row behind; gym class is on Thursday; this year she gets a kindergarten buddy. Because there was no homework on the first day, Princess had the rest of the evening free. We talked about some game she is learning to play, mostly ones that have been in storage in my mom's basement since I was a child. Princess is old enough now to play Uno, Go Fish, Monopoly. And last week, Gramma taught her to play Clue. We need to buy a new game, though, because the version at my parents' house is missing some of the suspects and weapons, and I suspect that the cards have seen better days. "The one at Gramma's house was old even when I played it!" I said. "When did you play it, Mommy?" Princess asked. "When I was your age, or maybe a little older," I told her. "Wow," she exclaimed, "then it's really old!" Not exactly what I wanted to hear, as I faced an impending birthday (one of the dreaded ones that pushes me to the latter end of a decade) and the need to color the grey hairs that were peeking through. But she made me feel a bit better today. I'm growing older, and so are my children, whether I like it or not. But instead of regretting how I've passed into what some consider "middle age" I am working to appreciate how the passage of time has turned my baby girl into a person with whom I can joke and play board games, who can help me bake cookies instead of just sticking her fingers in the dough, who can choose what toys to donate to the charity campaign. And I can be proud to watch her grow up.