Seven years ago today, I was standing in the bathroom of our suburban St. Paul home, looking down at a pink stick. Very pink.
Later, my husband and I went to Old Chicago to play darts and have a bite to eat. He drank beer; I drank lemonade. He didn't make the connection.
I told him that evening about the pink stick.
Oh, the little things we remember...how did I remember the date? I don't know, really.
Today there is a six-year-old girl on her first real field trip, riding a school bus for the first time, carrying a sack lunch and wearing her long blonde hair in a thick ponytail.
She's old enough to read, do math, giggle with her friends, be dropped off at birthday parties, earn patches in Daisy Scouts, and be embarrassed by her mother.
We've come a long way, baby.