Brave knows no gender

Not long ago Jen Hatmaker wrote a bog post entitled Brave Moms Raise Brave Kids, and my Facebook feed exploded with mothers saying that they wished they could do this with their sons.

I like Jen. And usually I agree with Jen. And kind of I agree with her here, too – we are those laid back parents. My kids totally use sharp knives and build. things with actual nails and hammers and power tools. They have (and use!) air rifles and I love it.

But here’s the thing y’all – I have daughters. Three of ‘em. And it is my daughters who live on this edge, doing stupid things like sliding down the stairs in a laundry basket.

This is not a ‘boy’ thing.

Why should it be? As Jen said, we are not precious people. I was never one to mind the place of a girl, with long silky hair and a pretty little dress, playing girly games. In the dirt I played, in the woods I hunted with my Dad, to the river I went with my Pap. I played in forts, collected broken glass, swam in muddy creeks and learned how to spit and hit and catch and run and do it all right along with the boys.

Brave isn’t a boy thing, and I bristle and resent the implication that it is.

Reading all of these friends’ thoughts about how boys should be raised made me bite my tongue. Hard.

When I was pregnant with Lilly, I can’t tell you how many people asked if we were finally getting a boy. Or how my husband felt about having three girls. Was he supposed to be disappointed? Are girls not as valuable? All men want sons?

As time passed, we came to resent the comments more and more. Each time we were asked if we would try again later for a boy, we grew more and more convicted that we didn’t want any stinking boys anyway, thankyouverymuch, our girls are pretty darn awesome. I once, in a very pregnant and hormonal state, snapped at a woman in Sam’s Club and asked how she dare to say such a thing in front of my young daughters, as if to tell them they are any less than a boy. She stared at me, dumbfounded, and finally spit out that men always want sons, whether they admit it or not.

Jerk.

I went to the car and sobbed.

Because the truth is, I did want a boy. And probably so did my husband.

Not instead of, mind you. Never once did we hope to have one gender or the other, and never once were we even a teeny tiny bit disappointed with what we saw on the ultrasound screen. Our girls are the greatest blessings of our lives, and we have never been anything but thankful for them.

But we tend to want it all, don’t we? And I wanted a boy, too. I wanted a boy because I know boy. The emotional girl stuff I see coming with my middle daughter terrifies me. I don’t know how to deal with girl stuff. Boy stuff I know. So actual boys or tomboys, I can do. Girls – real girls – this is scary, y’all.

We talked about adopting a boy. An older one of course – we aren’t baby people. We were selling our house in order to buy land and build a bigger house, and maybe then, after we were settled. Maybe in a few years. Maybe a toddler. But of course God laughed and so here we are, not selling, not building, not having a toddler but two baby boys.

And many people have told me that I will find boys are different. And I’m sure they are. But so are all three of my girls.

I hear things like ‘boys are physical – they climb and throw and dive off of things’ and I think of how Annabelle was walking at 7.5 months, climbing and sliding down poles in our basement when she was barely a year old, diving off the back of a recliner even younger than that. It’s easiest to smile and nod politely, I’ve found.

Ultimately what I want for my children – for all five of my children – really isn’t that different. And how I will parent them all probably won’t look that much different either.

I expect them all to be brave, boy and girl alike.

Everyone gets dirty around here.

I wish for them all to have broken bones and scars and stitches and various other non-life-threatening injuries sustained while doing something incredibly stupid and fun. I really, truly do. Because those dumb things I did when I was a kid, those scars I have to show for them – they are memories that I treasure. The busted knee playing baseball, the head cut open from a skateboarding accident, the multiple broken and sprained ankles playing basketball…I want my kids to have those, too.

I will pray for them every day. I will cry with them when they are hurt or sad or wronged, and I will always be on their side, macro. But I will also call them out when they are wrong, micro. I will make them handle their own problems, and deal with the fallout from their bad decisions.

I want them all to get caught when they inevitably do wrong. Getting caught leads to [sometimes painful] lessons learned. Getting away with it is where the real danger lies.

I’m kind of a tiger mom, so they won’t always like me. I won’t let them quit the team when it isn’t fun anymore, because we honor our commitments. I will not pull them out of a class with a mean teacher, because God put them there for a reason. We grow from bad experiences more often than good ones. And I won’t sugar coat it when I explain this to them, either.

I will be their mother and their best friend, and I know this is possible because I had it with my own parents. There was never any blurred line. I knew without a doubt that they were my parents, but I also knew even as a bratty teenager that no one would ever love me more than them, and I genuinely valued and respected them for that – not just as parents, but as friends. I knew I could go to them with anything and they would love me through it. Somehow, someway, I will do this for my children, too.

And when the ‘parenting’ years are behind me, I look forward to just being a friend. I have three really cool daughters and I’m excited to meet the adults they become. I will love my daughters with all of my being for all of my life, and I hope that we will always be as close as we are now, in a different way. I will do my best to bite my tongue when I am tempted to advise them as adults, so that maybe I will remain a good friend instead of a resented mother.

I do not want to have Momma’s boys. I will never, ever, EVER read to them ‘Love You Forever’, and I will never be the creepy freak climbing into my daughter-in-laws bedroom to rock her husband in the middle of the night. {Seriously people, do you ever really think about that book? It’s messed up.} I will love my sons with all of my being for all of my life, but if I do my job correctly, they will leave me. I want them to leave me. I want them to find a woman better than me, and love her more than me, and put her before me. And I will do my very best to butt the heck out of their lives so that maybe I will gain another daughter instead of a daughter-in-law.

I don’t have a ‘parenting philosophy’, but I do have these goals in mind. So far, we have had one broken bone, two sprains, two arms in slings, countless ER visits, two hospitalizations, a very dirty house, and three Christ-following children to show for it. Not too shabby.

Yes, brave mothers do raise brave kids – that we can agree on. But gender has nothing to do with it. I feel sorry for everyone who thinks that it does.

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Six

It seems like only yesterday she was this girl

or even this one

but somehow, in the blink of an eye, she vanished.

Monday she was this girl:

Six.

She who is the very best surprise of my life.

She who promised to never leave me.

She who did.

We had a Hello Kitty party to celebrate with family. A skating party with friends will come later.

Her sisters worked hard to decorate above the table. Her Grama made a cake. I made treats for her class at school, and wrapped a present to tuck in her lunchbox.

We made memories.

But none of us was able to make the clock stop.

Six-thirty brought six, like it or not.

She’s going to be an awesome six, I know – just like every year before.

Happy Birthday Sweet Pie Pie Girl.

To the moon and back.

In the middle

Dear Catie,

My charming, challenging middle child. Oh, how you exhaust me! Mentally, physically, emotionally. I sometimes fear I will never be able to keep up with you.

People say that the middle child is the peacemaker and I throw my head back and laugh. They’ve surely never met you. You posses so many wonderful qualities, but making peace is not one of them. You are the spitfire of our family, stubborn and argumentative, contentious and unyielding.

It is utterly fascinating to me that you are the exact opposite of this when you walk out our doors. At school teachers were concerned that you would never stick up for yourself. I sat through many conferences hearing about my meek, shy, easily bullied child and wondered how in the world that was possible. You certainly stand your ground at home! The teachers, in turn, were surprised to hear that you could ever be an ounce of trouble, as your behavior for them was nothing short of role-model and praise worthy.

I just shook my head in amazement.

All of these qualities – this strong-willed, strong-tempered, frustrating independence you have -

(I can still hear your tiny toddler voice declaring angrily ‘I do it my own self!’)

all of these things I find maddening about you, and also they give me peace. If, by the grace and miraculous nature of God I can manage to put you on the right path, I know you won’t stray from it. You are an absolute force of nature when you want to be – we just need to channel that determination to something worthwhile, like saving the world, instead of your current frivolity like creating your own elaborate hairstyles. Because truly, I have never seen anyone work harder when they set their mind on something like you do, Catiebug. Just stop wasting it on girl stuff.

I wish I could convince you of your muchness. Of how smart and funny and generous and beautiful you are…when you want to be. (Oh, the Jekyll and Hyde of your adolescence!)

Of how worthy and worthwhile you are, no matter what anyone else thinks or says or does. I wish I could convince you to love yourself for all that you are, and to stop worrying about what you are not. I wish you would stop comparing yourself to the other little girls of this world, and measure yourself against the only One who matters. I assure you, He thinks you are even more incredible than I do, and that’s really saying something.

Yes Catie, there will be mean girls in your life. You’ve already encountered a few, and unfortunately you will encounter many, many more. Even as a grown up. Mean people suck. Feel bad for them, pray for them, but don’t dwell on them. Don’t let stupid people take up space in your head. It’s valuable real estate you have there, my dear – don’t waste it. There is something wrong with them, honey. Them, not you. Don’t you ever let a small, petty person affect your sense of self worth. Your value is determined in Him, and not in any of them…no matter how popular or pretty or important they think they may be. I promise you baby girl, that even though it seems impossible to believe right now, one day those girls and those problems will be just a memory. There is a danger in peaking too early, and the girls that are fabulous in high school can only go downhill from there.

You, sweet Catie, were made for something far greater. I don’t even know what that is just yet, but I know it is More. It’s Bigger and Better and More than anything that you or I could ever conceive of right now. And all of these problems, they’re temporary. One day you will remember them and roll your eyes instead of cry.

One day you will know that you are More. And I pray that day comes soon.

Annabelle {Just Write}

What I remember about being almost ten is that it isn’t easy. That it stings when people laugh about your problems, and tell you how great and easy it is to be a kid, because sometimes it doesn’t feel great at all. Sometimes it hurts and it feels very, very hard, and I was grateful to have a mom that understood that. I remember thinking that I wanted to be that same kind of mom one day and I hope that I am baby girl, because she was a great one.

I remember feelings that were big and hard to control, and I remember feeling so helpless and miserable when I couldn’t. I remember telling my mom that I felt like I would never fit in anywhere. I remember almost ten being tough. Unfortunately, completely 10 is tough too…and 11. In fact, let’s not even think about how long your road will be bumpy, because it’s intimidating – for you and me both.

Let’s just think of all the wonderful things that not quite 10 brings, and snuggle here together with a good book. I love that you still love to snuggle with me, and I know these sweet days are numbered. I count them each one as precious, sweet girl – every little one matters.

I kiss your head and drink in the sweet smell of your hair, your delicate features, your slight frame that still curls perfectly into my lap, and I squeeze a little tighter. I think of how foolish I feel trying to give you advice – you who are wise beyond your years. You who has taught me so much. You who gives such good counsel to everyone. I often feel the advice should flow the other way, and I’ve actually asked myself what you would say or do in certain situations.

That’s one comfort in all these changes – I know who you are, beautiful girl, and most importantly you know who you are, too. I love that about you.

I worry less about you. I can’t put finger on exactly what it is, but you’ve always needed me less than your sisters do. It’s this quality you have – independent, sure, but something more, too. I just instinctively know that you’re going to be okay.You make your own way in life, sure and confident. You’re not afraid to challenge anyone – even a grown up, even a teacher, even a stranger – when you know you’re right. And you usually are right. Little twerp.

You were born with muchness.

Smart and resourceful, bold and brave, unfailingly kind and generous. You are never first in line, never take the biggest piece, never choose your friends based on popularity…and more often than not, based on exactly the opposite.  You are friend to the friendless, voice for the meek, champion of all that is good and pure and right in your world. Your heart moves me to tears with regularity, and your momma is not a crier. The beauty that is you, my precious, precious girl – it comes from deep within. Loves shines from you.

I wish I knew how you did it, so I could do it too.

Everything that is you, dear child, is something I love. Even the sticky parts. Even the parts that are hard and the parts that make you nervous. I am right here, loving you through all of them. Always will be.

I know that almost 10 isn’t easy, but trust me baby, you are rocking it.

I wish I could tell you that one day you will look back and realize that, but you probably won’t. It’s just the way we are wired. I could tell you that one day, many years from now, you will realize that almost 10 isn’t nearly as Big and Bad as it once seemed, but that doesn’t really matter when you are There and it Is and it Does, so I won’t say that.

I will just tell you instead that we will survive it together.

That I will always have your back.

That you are blessed with a Father who has it better than I ever could.

That you are a very bright light in what sometimes seems like a very dark world, and while it isn’t always easy, it is always worth it.

And then we will snuggle, while you’ll still let me.

This is a good thing about not-quite-10.

And today, I think that is enough.

My daughter, my son {Just Write}

She doesn’t know how to be a girl.

She says the words and my heart aches, because I don’t know how to be a girl either.

She doesn’t even want to be a girl, and I nod my head in agreement.

I don’t know how to make her hurt go away and so I throw my arms wide and fold her in, her sobs wet and warm against my shoulder, my tears falling heavy on the top her her freshly washed hair. I came to tuck her in and discover instead that we are having a Moment that I won’t ever forget.

‘Why don’t they like me anymore?’ she asks, and I don’t know what to say. ‘Because they are stupid dumb boys,’ I think in my head, but I can’t say the words because I know they suck and they don’t fix anything and I’m sick of mothers blaming their offsprings’ behavior on a penis, so I can’t bring myself to do the same.

Boys are different.

The words run through my head and make me want to scream. As if boyness makes it okay? As if girls are all the same? I am a girl who has nothing in common with the other girls. I am different too.

She is different like me and I love this about her. The son I never had, in a beautiful girl package. And six months ago these boys were her friends. But now. Now. Something is different. Friendship is conditional. Only if there isn’t another boy around.

She said that she feels like they hate her and I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. I told her that they don’t hate her, and I knew nothing else to say so I stopped. She felt me falter and she looked at me with wide eyes, sincere and sad. I asked her if she wants me to tell them to include her, and she said no. ‘I want them to want me all on their own,’ she said ‘and they don’t anymore. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did.’

And probably she did nothing but Be A Girl, and my chest tightens because there is no way to fix that. ‘Well you could play with the girls,’ I told her, and her sister was happy to include her, but she was reluctant. I know that feeling – girls are second best. Now she tells me that it makes her sad to be with the girls, because she doesn’t fit in. She’d rather read a book alone than be with the girls.

I know that feeling too.

I’ve never outgrown it, either, that pain of not belonging. The frustration you feel when you have to play with your own kind, and you’re the only one who seems to recognize that Your Own Kind is actually the other kind.

At recess she’s always played football with the boys, but this year her teacher won’t let them play football. She said it’s because someone could get hurt and I feel sad, because what will hurt worse than a playground injury will be the lost year of being One Of Them, an accepted equal on the playing field. A year removed, I wonder if she will still be part of the club. Will she still be comfortable in her skin, able to hold her own with the boys, or will she then feel that she doesn’t belong? I wonder how long we have before the other girls stop feeling indifferent to my tomboy, and start resenting her. Start gossiping. I don’t want her to lose that precious year of childhood, that fearless confidence.

Her Muchness, even amongst the boys.

I’m lost in all these thoughts, the saddest of which is that this is only the beginning of her adolescent angst and after all my years of living, I’m still not wise enough to give her good counsel. I squeeze her tighter and hope it will make up for her pain. It doesn’t, but she loves me anyway. And this is what gets us through tonight. Hurting together, and holding on tight.

Photo Credit: J&G Photography

Linked to Just Write

Breaking my silence

Whew! I’m glad that is over. I’ve had a lot to say, and no way to say it!

I took a hiatus, as you may have noticed. I promised myself that I’d take the summer off and completely enjoy my precious children, and enjoy them I did.

While I was gone, there were trips taken and memories made. Swimming and slip-n-sliding and many, many popsicles eaten. A few Big Moments, but mostly lots of little ones, which are precisely my favorite kind of moments.

A few highlights:

~The day I treated everyone to a strawberry limeade, and while we were in the drive-thru line Annie asked me if I could roll down her window. There was a bus parked nearby that was unloading soldiers, and she leaned out the window to call to those passing by. “Thank you for keeping our country safe!” My heart swelled. This is a very good kid.

~Catie? No longer shy. In the slightest. She talks 90 miles an hour to anyone who will listen, telling perfect strangers about our dinner plans or her loose tooth or the play that her sister is in. The child is Out There in a big way these days, which is something I wasn’t sure would ever happen, given her previous inclination to hide under my skirt in pretty much any social situation.

~It’s too early to be sure, but it seems Lilly, at four-and-a-half, may finally have gotten the hang of putting her shoes on the right feet. Everyone please find something wooden to knock on, so we don’t spoil it. This has been a long journey – the child even wore flip flops on the wrong feet, with the strap between the wrong toes. It pains me just to think of it.

~The county fair! I know many people mock them, but I really love ours. The girls and I do lots of baking and sewing and drawing and flower cutting and photograph taking, and we enter as many categories as we can. The result? Lots of ribbons, and enough prize money to pay for our night at the fair. This year Annie and Catie were tall enough to ride lots of things they’ve never ridden before, and they were delighted! A very good, very late night was had by all.

We’ve enjoyed tea parties and day trips and lots and lots of craft projects. There’s been a lot of staying up late and very little sleeping in, and s’mores on more than one occasion.

Lightning bugs were caught, stars were wished upon, and a little camping was done.

And every day, I was very, very thankful to have these precious girls to spend it with.

I am blessed beyond measure.

Tangled Birthday Party

AKA-When I take a blogging hiatus, my titles suffer.

I’ve been working like a maniac on an all-out birthday party extravaganza for Catie.

It’s a bit early.

Her birthday isn’t until June, but summer birthdays mean friends on vacation and busy summer schedules that make parties a bit challenging. Take it from an August baby – it stinks. So I promised Catie we’d celebrate in May, before school let out, so her friends could be there. But then my sister and my niece planned to come visit in April, and since we see them so very infrequently, she wanted them to be a part of the party. So yeah…we’re having a party 2 months before her actual birthday. But I’m requesting no presents, so it won’t look greedy, will it?

All of that led me to realize that I’d never posted about Annie’s birthday party, which was, um…6 weeks ago?

I suck.

Her theme was Tangled.

I thought I was soooooo clever when I came up with this invitation idea:

But then later I googled ideas for food and saw that someone else had a similar idea, and did it better. Drats.

The good news is that I was able to download her cute banner to print and hang at the party as well.

I also made those paper mache lanterns, which worked very well with the theme. {More on those tomorrow}

The kids could color

and paint salt dough ornaments.

I thought I was so clever, making little crowns and frogs to fit the theme.

Until after I finished making 40 of them and Annie pointed out to me that Pascal was a chameleon and not a frog.

Whoops.

That also affected my ‘flip the frog chameleon into the frying pan’ game.

My fabulous mother drew out this super cute poster – perfect for playing ‘Pin the nose on Flinn’

She also painted this fabulous tower – the kids could climb up in and get their picture taken as Rapunzel.

{huge hit!}

But most breathtaking of all was the cake. Ah, my mom creates the very best cakes! And this was no exception.

No detail was overlooked

check out this light fixture!

and even the inside was ornately decorated.

It was a cake truly fit for a princess.

And princess she was – my Annie shone.

Her one true love was there, and they danced.

She told me later that him being there made her day completely perfect.

Funny.

Her being here makes my life completely perfect.

I love this kid.

One of my favorite moments was the pinata.

Well, the pinata aftermath, actually.

The tower was busted and as the kids scurried to scoop up the candy, I hear Annie’s small voice, urgently telling the kids to take their bounty to the table so it can all be divided equally.

Methinks someone is a bit too high strung for pinatas.

She recovered nicely, though. And has only mentioned how stressful that was twice since the party.

Oy.

On school and illness…and gratitude

The last time I posted was a normal day. The day after? Notsomuch. They day after began a whirlwind of doctors, hospitals, tests, medicines, therapies, and half-tank fill-ups, since I refuse to let my gauge get below half a tank, since even half costs me $40ish dollars and I know I’d cry if I saw the bll for a complete fill-up.

Sidebar – who doesn’t love a good run-on sentence?

So for the past few weeks, it’s been hectic. Stressful. I’ve spent a lot of time on my knees, praying for my sweet daughter. And I’ve spent a lot of time wishing I could carry her burdens myself. I’m experienced.

When I was an adolescent, I was sick. Very, very sick. In fact, between 7th & 11th grades, I missed more of each school year than I attended. You name the symptom, I had it. Hospitals were my second home. I learned how to reset my own IV alarm, since it went off so frequently. I knew exactly how many steps it was from the front door to the ER bed. And I knew that one day, I would die of this mysterious illness that no one could diagnose.

I believed this wholeheartedly, and I even wrote a will. You know, for all of my 15 year old possessions. In truth the will was more confessional, telling the secrets that seemed too big to reveal in the real life of a teenager. It was all very tragic and Molly Ringwald would most definitely have played me in the movie. This gave me an odd satisfaction.

At the time I felt bad for what I was putting my parents through. Not that I could help it exactly, but still, I’m a person with guilt. I hated that I cost them so much money. I hated that I messed up their work schedules. I hated that they worried so much about me.

After tens of thousands of dollars spent, countless specialists visited, and more invasive testing that anyone should ever have to go through, there was still no answer. Doctors began telling my parents to take me to therapy because I must be crazy. Which certainly is true, but thankfully my parents believed in me enough to know that my insanity wasn’t of the hypochondriac variety. And then one day, literally almost overnight, my problems vanished. I was healthy again. Whole again. Normal for the first time in 5 years.

We moved.

We still have no definitive answer for what caused my problems. My parents didn’t move to cure me – we had no idea that was even possible – it was just a blessed coincidence. We moved to a new state and realized that my problem must have been an environmental allergy. The school building that I was in was making me sick, quite literally. I was never ill before or after I left that building, and I wasn’t the only one affected.

At the time, though, my principal was, um, less than understanding. That’s the kindest way to phrase it. At one point he told my mom that if I didn’t return to school for the half day before Christmas break, I would have to repeat my sophomore year. It was an in-school dance, and I spent the entire time laying down on the bleachers with a 105 degree fever. I was taken to the hospital via ambulance later that day, and admitted for 1 week.

You might think an apology was in order, and certainly you would be right, but none came. Because he was, as my sister once put it, ‘a gigantic waste of flesh’. And I know it’s very petty of me, but even now (with high school just a couple of decades years behind me), I feel angry with him when I remember this. I’d like to smack him for his jerkish insensitivity. And I’d like to have screamed when he sent me a friend request on Facebook. Decline!

Why am I telling you all of this? Because over the past couple of weeks, I have experienced exactly the opposite of Mr. Buttface. [Sorry for the language, mom] My daughter’s teachers and principals have shown us an outpouring of love that makes me all the more grateful to be right where we are. To be in a school that nurtures my child both academically and emotionally. That meets her mental and her physical needs. And one that is ready and willing and even happy to help us.

Catie collapsed at school, and the phone call I got said that she’d either fainted or had a seizure. When I went to collect her, Lilly in tow, I found that the principal had carried her down the long hallway to the nurse (and Catie is solid so this is no easy task). She sat with her and held her as the nurse examined her. And she waited by her side until I got to the school. She walked us out to our car. She even offered to keep Lilly at the school while I took Catie to the hospital. Think about that for a minute. Over 700 students in her charge, and she was willing to take on one more, just to be kind. Just to help her student who needed it. Just to make an awful day for us a little bit easier.

Above and beyond. It’s like our school motto. Every teacher, every assistant, every secretary, every janitor. Above and beyond. And I am so very thankful for each and every one of them.

I know firsthand what it is like to be in the opposite situation, which makes this experience even sweeter.

I still don’t have an answer for what is causing Catie’s problems, and there are many more tests to come. I’m still not comfortable letting her out of my sight, since I continue to get phone calls. But I am very, very thankful to know that if she can’t be with me, she is definitely in the next best place.  She has a large family of people who love her, and it includes the staff at Bardstown Primary.

Thank God for that.

Celebrating Annabelle

I do some of my best thinking in the shower, usually with music playing to drown out the mayhem and destruction taking place while the children are left unattended. A few weeks ago I was listening to a Steven Curtis Chapman song that he wrote for his wife, but somehow the chorus seemed to fit my Annie.

And let me show you

What a treasure you are

A priceless gift from Heaven

To this thankful heart

And I want to take this lifetime

To celebrate you

This child, this precious, beautiful girl, is definitely Heaven-sent. She blesses me every day, in ways big and small. And I wonder sometimes if I am doing the same for her.

If anything I do could ever come close.

I’d been thinking that day about 1 Corinthians 13 – you know, the love chapter. It’s read so commonly at every wedding we attend, I wonder if people even pay attention anymore. I’m certainly guilty of glossing over it from time to time.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Annie is patient. Annie is kind.

She is slow to anger and quick to forgive.

I could go through this verse and remove every ‘love’ and substitute her name, and it would still fit.

This child embodies pure, unadulterated love and joy, every moment of every day.

And as I was thinking about this, I realized that very shamefully, the same could not be said for me. Not even close.

This child – this kind, generous, compassionate child – is what she is in spite of me.

I want to be more like her.

More worthy of being her mother.

More deserving of this wonderful daughter God has entrusted to me.

I want to celebrate you Annie – today and every day.

Happy Birthday, sugar… and thank you… for the best 8 years of my life.

A special day for a special girl

She was the baby I didn’t even know I needed, and now she completes me in a way I never knew possible.

From the day she was born

she has held my heart in her tiny pink hand.

She mesmerized her GG.

And other people were ‘impressed of her’ too.

They are the sweetest of sisters

and the best of friends.

They share everyday moments

and extra-special adventures

and they don’t even mind when she hogs the spotlight.

She does that quite a bit.

This little girl is friendly

and adventurous

and silly

and one day she will change the world.

I know this because she has already changed mine.

And it’s an exhausting task.

But I know she’s up for it.

She can do anything.

Baby Mine.

There is a little girl in my house who is growing way too fast. And today that girl is 4.

Happy Birthday pumpkin. Sweet Petunia. Silly Lilly.

Happy Birthday to my baby.

I love you to the moon and back.