So Wierd

I registered Bun, my daughter and oldest child, for high school last night.

I remember coming to the same building, Saint Paul Central, ten years ago, when her half-brother, my stepson, was checking out high schools. She was three at the time, a tiny little hyperactive ball of obstinacy with a button nose and a stubborn streak wide enough to land a 747 on.

The obstinacy is still there; the nose is a little less buttony; she's certainly not tiny or little. Bun is 13, now, with all the facets of adolescence that make eighth grade about as beloved of parents as a tax audit. But when she's riding in the passenger seat, I can still see the outline of the little face that I used to look at as she stared down the world from the safety of the car seat just a few years ago. Er, I guess technically it was ten or eleven years ago.

Yow.

The good news is that she's looking forward to high school. Justifyably so, if memory serves; Junior High was an endless soul-sucking quagmire of boredom; the only things I really learned involved the moronic savagery of too many people, and that was just the teachers. High school was another thing altogether; after eight or nine years of being told vat I vould and vould not learn, I suddenly could shape at least part of my own course; it wasn't exactly "freedom", but it worked wonders. So, hopefully, for Bun.

The bad news: I have four years to figure out what and where I've screwed up and get some last minute fine-tuning in. Four years? I've been on software projects that didn't get finished in that kind of time.

Four. Ow. I'd better stop.