The Joy of Watching Our Daughter Losing It

Last weekend my husband and daughter enjoyed a wonderful experience at Camp Seafarer  in eastern North Carolina with a local Y Guides group. There was zip lining over water, kayaking, archery, BB Gun shooting, ghost stories, s'mores, giggles late into the night, horrendous snoring, and memories that made my daughter laugh so hard, she turned a reddish purple color with tears streaming down her sun kissed cheeks. Yes, my daughter was losing it...big time. And I was one joyful Mom.
Anna is nine and one-half years old. She is starting to find her way in this world. She is discovering some people are the most amazing friends and some are best left as acquaintances. She is learning some people will keep their word and some will leave it in a pile of leaves, crumbling, breaking and twisting in the wind. She is developing her own sense of style with clothes, decor, music, literature and art. And when she shares these new discoveries with me, I am in awe of her creative spirit. But lately, my biggest enjoyment has been her lack of storytelling. The kind of story that begins quietly and innocently, but is quickly transferred to a gut wrenching, giggle infested, arms wrapped around the waist, gasping for air, I give up telling you anything intelligible type of a story. And in a nanosecond, my daughter is transporting me back to sleepovers and camping trips of my youth.
My memory echoes with parents yelling down the basement stairs to "Hush, girls...you need to sleep now" after a barrage of uncontrolled laughter had filtered up to the main floor. There was never a firmness in those voices, but more of a lyrical "You will pay tomorrow, but I shall not". I imagine they were smiling...a lot. I remember Mrs. Stockdale, my Girl Scout Leader, reminding us on our overnight trips that we might be more lively in the morning if we   would chat less in the nighttime. My cousin Amy and I were constantly reminded that while owls were hooting, we should not. Bah humbug! Will Smith was so on board when he sang, "Parents just don't understand.". But I am thinking they did...so much more than we understood.
When I look at my daughter's face, purplish, contorted and wet, trying so hard to convey a moment to me that I cannot understand...when she finally catches her breath and utters, "Never mind, you wouldn't get it", I smile, nod, and quietly think, " I so do." This part of childhood is fleeting, a bit indescribable, and tapped so far into your psyche, when you are 45 and in a reflective mood, these moments will step forward, a smile will spread upon your lips and your heart will be joyful for those moments when you totally lost it...and then found it again.