“Mom, how do I get rid of these wrinkles?” My 17-year-old daughter Amelia tugs at her oversized T-shirt – the one with the red race car on the front – that she wears over her cut-off shorts. I want to freeze the moment right here and never let her get any older. Better yet, I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze her back down to kindergarten. Just for a day. But it’s impossible.Instead, I play it cool.“Oh, no problem – throw it in the dryer. I just put some stuff in there that’ll take them out.”The author's daughter, Amelia.She reaches arm over arm and shimmies out of the shirt without blinking. She doesn’t think for a moment about being nearly naked in front of anyone. She wears string bikinis like bakers wear aprons. Amelia loves freedom. Bending over the hot dryer, I spot a corner of an old snapshot of her and her brother that hides almost out of view under the appliance. I inch it out with my big toe.Joseph’s staring at the camera, a look of sheer dread and confusion on his face, as if the world could end in a moment. In contrast, Amelia is popping into the picture behind him, bright brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and wide, jazz fingers spread apart at each knuckle.I stifle a chuckle as I remember this day over a decade ago.