Brass Knuckles

Nope, I didn't decide to pursue my lifelong dream of being a cage fighter. Because, if you know me well, you know I love to punch, get punched, puke, etc.

This is a post about C. She's 13, She's finally to a point where I no longer describe her height in inches (5' 1" baby!), and she's got attitude for days. This time, I've got no need to complain about her voluminous 'tude. In fact, I have to admit I'm pretty darn proud of my little badass. She's been in sufficiently "full effect" lately that one of the swim dads gave her a nickname last night. My sweet little baby is now known as:


Yep - "Brass Knuckles" I think it has a ring to it. It's no "Shoebuckle" but seriously, what is? Here's the rundown of C's badassedness of late:

1. She's a swimming machine. 3-4 times a week, she puts all she's got (and I do mean all) into a grueling workout with a coach that can only described as a more intense version of Gillian Michaels. She's not the fastest swimmer and she's one of the older kids in her practice group but there's no denying that she's putting workouts that would put most adults to shame/in traction. She's loving the muscles and the battered and fried dietary carte blanche.
2. She takes no shit. There's another swimmer in her lane who had taken to grabbing people by the leg to keep them from passing. In order to avoid incriminating any members of my family I will simply say that the behavior has been rectified. Ahem.
3. No shit part deux: Wednesday at school, 8th graders were given some sort of pre-ACT test. As a "reward" everyone went outside to play kickball. Already peeved that she got an extra dose of PE torture in one day, she lined up to kick. One of the self-appointed Hollister Mafia ("HM", read: mean girls) told C to get out of her way because she (HM) was going to kick next. This particular mafiosa had clearly never spoken to C before, and repeatedly told her "move it" so C turned to her, said, " I don't take orders." and proceeded, to kick, run around the bases in her flip-flops, and score a run. Athletic success through antagonism... who knew?
4. She just plain rocks. Listening to her every Thursday afternoon in her lesson/jam session with her jazz piano teacher has me completely overwhelmed with pride. The marimba/drumset/orchestral percussion are great, too. To think that music never really factored into her life all that prominently until the summer before 6th grade... a lot can change in a couple of years.
5. She's been especially kind to her bro and sis lately and may actually be starting to appreciate her parents again (knocking wood).
6. She's got good grades and hasn't made homework so traumatic for everyone that we wish she'd just drop out already and start strippin'/cookin' (Lord, I apologize for that there, and...be with the pygmies in New Guinea, amen.)
7. She got her passport yesterday. Looks like her big Spring Break Adventure in actually going to happen!
8. I could keep going but she might read this and the last thing we need is a badass with a superiority complex...
   

See you here again next week where I will contradict myself and all of these statements and declare that raising a teenage girl is going to be the death of me. Because as long as one person in the house is a roiling, boiling nutcase, why not everyone?