Invitation from the Capitol of Panem
I just hit my freak out point. It all hit me at once. My baby, my sweet baby is turning 13 in a few days. She’s been waiting to be a teen for the past 4 years.
I’m not ready.
We invited 15 more teens to come over Saturday for a Hunger Games Party. They are all super hyped on the idea of trying to kill each other in our wooded, rocky backyard.
What could possibly go wrong?
I’m not ready.
It could be a total blast. The trampoline will be the Cornucopia. They’ll have to find food and water (flags) hidden in the woods. They’ll get to use plastic weapons to beat on each other. Whoever finds the Bow and Mallow (marshmallow shooter) and shoots Wilderness Dad (representing the Capitol) will win the Mockingjay prize.
I have no idea what that prize will be.
I’m not ready.
Today is Friday, performing arts day, which means I started running kids to classes at 9 AM ; Improv and Stage Combat, Acting, Music and Voice, followed by lunch and rehearsal for their upcoming play.
While driving back and forth from classes and the store, I ran a stop sign. I didn’t really run the stop sign, but the officer seemed convinced. He nearly ruined my spotless driving record of 14 years without a ticket.
Shocked and surprised I asked the kind officer, “I didn’t stop?! Are you sure?”
“You slowed down a little,” he said with a smirk.
He took my license and expired registration back to his car.
The Adventurer commented, “Wow, this is the second time I’ve been in a car that a cop has pulled over.”
“When was the first?”
“With Grandma. She ran a stop sign.”
I’m turning into my mother! I’m not ready.
After seeing my immaculate record the officer returned with a pink warning slip and sent us on our way.
It’s now 4 PM. I’m spent. But there’s a party to finish planning. There’s an arena to set up properly. I have to measure from the Cornucopia out to the starting points for each Tribute. I have to figure out how to make a Tracker Jacker nest out of a balloon.
I’m not ready.
And as the Adventurer was getting ready for class this morning, in skinny jeans and brown leather boots, her lipstick and long wavy hair flowing next to me, I thought it again. When I watched her get out of the car and walk towards her class, I felt it like a sharp pain in my gut. My girl is growing up for real.
I’m not ready.
She asked me with such innocence and hope, “Do you think I’ll ever find a guy as good as Peeta?”
I held my breathe for a moment and said, “I sure hope so, sweetie. You’ll have to look carefully.”
I really wanted to say that sensitive, non-violent men that paint and bake and would give their life for you are hard to come by. And you’re not ready!
We all know that I’m not.
