With two (almost three) teenage girls in the house, it's not unusual to hear screaming. Sometimes it's hysterical squeals of laughter. Sometimes it's screams of frustration or anger. Sometimes it's a pair of shoes. The things that prompt screaming in this house are unlimited and no longer surprise me.
Wanna know what it was today that elicited the screams I heard as I pulled into the garage?
That text is from the boy of TCD's dreams. She's had many, many, many opportunities to ask him for his phone number and text him first, but she's held her ground and resisted because, "Mommy, I'm the girl!! Girls don't ASK BOYS for their phone numbers. They wait to be asked." Hooray for Andrew. He finally asked.
After the text, we spent the next 20 minutes analyzing the number of exclamation points, the word "delish," and what on earth would be the most "delish-ious-ly" perfect response. I think she settled on "you're welcome. I'm so glad you liked them!"
It was complete and utter chaotic glee at our house this afternoon as TCD jumped and screamed, read the text to everyone who walked in the door, and then called all of her friends to let them know. When I went into her room to say goodnight to her, she was writing in her journal about her exciting day.
Oh, the simple delights of being a teenager...