When my kids were little we lived in Tucson, Arizona - land of the scorpions and home of silent-G saguaro cacti. In addition to prickly plants and poisonous insects — there is also fabulous shopping.

With my two-year old daughter strapped into her carseat, my son still at kindergarten, we headed out of our faux-adobe subdivision and drove along.

“Where we going, Mommy?” she said from the backseat, very verbally advanced for her age.

“To the mall, sweetie,” I replied.

“HOORAY!” was her response, complete with clapping hands.

I laughed out loud.

“That’s my girl,” I said.

Fast forward to 2008 and a 12 year old daughter walking with me in a department store, shopping for assorted appropriate school clothes and oh yes, new bras.

First she points to a black bra with pink lace. I’m not sure why they make them in her size, but I shook my head.

“A 12 year old does not need a black lacey bra,” I said.

She was kneeling down sifting through the selection, and turned back to look at me.

“Mom, every girl needs a black bra with pink lace!”

She is totally mine.

But a twelve year old must stick to pastels.

Then in the dressing room where I had to close my eyes until I had to wangle the straps
off the hangers and hooks, she tried on a cute white and pink heart speckled bra.

“Ooooh,” she said, “It’s cute and comfy.”

I laughed.

“The two C’s of bra shopping — cute and comfy,” she added excitedly, “Just like there’s four C’s of diamond shopping!”

Now THAT’S my girl!