Our oldest daughter, Hallie, turns sixteen in a little over a month. A week or so ago I asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday. Ever since, her wheels have been turning. 

We're at one of those weird stages where both her taking a trip to the zoo to feed the giraffes (like we did this past summer) and getting her driver's license are both age-appropriate. She's a girl and she's a young lady. 

Trying to narrow down her birthday idea list has proven to be a chore.  As of this morning, after much contemplation, the short list included a shopping trip, a trip to the zoo or re-decorating her bedroom. 

When she mentioned fixing up her room I instantly groaned inwardly. This idea involves painting again (Please no!). She wants to string up lights (Really?). She also wants a new bedspread (I like the one she has). 

Come on...no redecorating. 

Since lunch I'm singing a different tune. Eating the last bite of her rice, while we watched Netflix together, she looked up and in a few quickly executed sentences crossed another birthday idea off the list:

Hey Mom. I was thinking. I'm not sure I want to redo my room for my birthday. I'm only going to be here a couple more years. There's really no point. 

Talk about a punch to the gut...

It's funny how quickly one's perspective can change. Now I'm finding myself wanting to help her redecorate. Let's paint.  You said you liked pink?  How about "Fairy Pink"? "Sweet Taffy"? 

Maybe we can do that AND take you to the zoo. We can eat cotton candy and ride the carousel. 

We can just keep riding the carousel and never get off. 

I mean, is sixteen really sweet? 

I kind of think sixteen stinks. 

It's an invitation for our daughters to have their hands on the wheel, to set the wheels in motion (soon by themselves). It's a provocation for our little girls to decide where they're going and to think about someday  leaving. 

How do you gift your girl for her sweet sixteen? 

I'll leave that up to you. 

I just may once again embrace a delicate shade of pink and a paintbrush, making sure that for however many years she has left at home, and even after she moves away, that she feels at home. I'll gift her with permission to preserve girlish fancies; twinkle lights and pretty covers and the knowledge that she's still our princess. 

And I'll gift myself with perspective. 

Time gives, or does it steal?  It just depends on how you watch the clock.