my middle child. the one i have always made sure didn't get lost in the shuffle. the one that was shy beyond belief when she was younger. the one who is the most dramatic and the most sensitive. the one that makes me worry about those mean high school girl years. she came downstairs and said "mom, i drew on my bag." i turned around reluctantly, not sure what i would see. but then i saw it, and my breath got caught in my throat right behind that strange lump that threatened to turn into tears. after a moment's pause i exhaled. she is doing just fine. and may it stay that way.