Oh, to be a teenager again! Yep, I actually thought that last Saturday night when I attended my first Quinceanera. Everything was decorated in a fabulous hot pink and zebra striped motif (including most of the guests!). The food was beyond delicious. The beautiful young lady we were celebrating is so loved and adored by her family that her Great Aunt hand rolled 500 flautas and her Grandmas made brisket, potato salad, and rice. There was enough food to feed the mouths of 80 hungry people. Not to mention a zebra striped birthday cake, a cupcake tower and cookie-pops that were all provided by this young women’s lovely family. What a blast!
My daughter was the center of attention when we arrived. She was circled by teenage girls and celebrated for her “cuteness”. Of course, the attention soon shifted to the birthday girl leaving my daughter to wonder where all of her admirers had gone. This seemed to set the tone for the rest of the night. During the grand entrance ceremony my daughter dislodged herself from my bear hug and attempted to run through the circle of photographers and no doubt climb the throne to overthrow the princess. Then, during the slide show, where we watched the birthday girl mature right before our eyes, my daughter ran up to the screen right at the end. Everyone started clapping because the slide show was over. My daughter turned around to face the audience smiling and looked like she was ready to take a bow. She thought the applause was all for her! We managed to eat dinner, but it was 8pm and bedtime. Miss cranky started rolling around on the floor attempting to trip dancers, dancers wearing fantastically high heels that could also be used as murder weapons. What a night! When the DJ turned the music up it was our cue to leave.
It would have been fun to stay longer and dance and eat ourselves happy, but it was obvious my daughter wanted to be in her bed tucked in with Elmo (she fell asleep on the short ride home). The slideshow had left me all teary-eyed anyway. I realized how quickly time goes by and that someday in the not too distant future my daughter will be a teenager. She will be wearing short skirts, giggling with her friends, and hanging on the arm of her boyfriend. It’s going to happen too fast. I’m not ready. For now I think I’ll just eat my zebra striped cookie-pop and be grateful. Grateful that her short skirts come with bloomers and that a furry red monster named Elmo is the closest thing she has to a boyfriend. It doesn’t get any better than this.