And so, darling, exasperating, adorable daughter, you are 4.
You make the sun rise and make my heart glad. You make the birds sing and the moon shine. You bring such tears to my eyes as I write this, both from the love I feel for you and the utter sappiness of this drivel, that I find to save my keyboard and your respect for me, should you read this in the future, I will have to resort to something a bit less sentimental.
(Oh, hush, you-all. You knew I couldn't keep that up.)
4 years old.
This is the last year I have you home with me. Next year, you will head off to 4-year-old kindergarten, on the big yellow bus with your brother, something you are looking forward to with glee. Me? I dread it. Sure, I will suddenly be at leisure 2 mornings a week to do things for myself
, something I've not had for about 8 years at this point. I've been alone in my house a total of 2 times in the past 4 years. Well, alone with the pets. Free to hop in the car and dawdle over some shopping. Or clean with no interruptions. Or work in the garden like a banshee. Or just sit on the deck with coffee and a book in the sun, or with the same on the couch with a blanket, as the weather dictates.
But I will miss you like hell, like I missed your brother when he headed off.
So, I will try to make the most of this last year of our time together, just you and me. Because you really are a ton of fun to be with.
You are gregarious and silly but still very shy around those you don't know. This means when we are out and about, you stick pretty close to me, sometimes making it rather difficult to walk as you have a death grip on my leg or my waist or both hands. Not that I mind.
You've done the quantum leap thing the past 2 months. Literally. You outgrew most of the clothes I got you for winter, including your socks. Good thing I waited to get your parka. You have developed a love for board games, especially those for kids a few years older than you are. You also love to color and play with your dolls and animals.
You hate barrettes and such in your hair, though.
You love to cuddle and don't mind all the kisses I give you.
If your brother has it/is doing it/likes it/hates it, so do you.
This causes your brother no end of grief, but as he honestly likes you, he doesn't suffer as much as he might.
You have this aggravating thing where you answer a question with the opposite of what you really mean. If I ask you if you want some milk, you firmly say, "No." Then have a fit when I don't give you some, because you really, really
wanted some milk more than anything in the world.
You are also a perfectionist (now where
on earth would you get that?)...
...and if I make even a tiny mistake in the long book we are reading (which you know by heart) before bed, you become completely incensed. You revoke my reading privileges, re-read yourself the page before
the egregious error, the page of
the egregious error AND the page after
the egregious error, before returning the book to me with a severe warning look.
Now, as I am clearly not up to snuff, I am also having to use my finger to underline each word as it's read, so you can follow along more easily.
Did I mention that you can't read, yet!!!
Who are you to judge?
Oh, yeah. My daughter, that's who.
You still need a nap, thank the lord and all the saints. Sadly, I can see the days of napping are numbered.
(Yes. She's sleeping. Really and truly. )
So a big, smoochy, happy birthday, my best girl.
With love from your adoring, embarrassing mom.
Don't worry. You will have years to pay me back for all this. Plus, you'll get to put me in a home when I'm too old and doddery to prevent it. Gotta get my licks in now.
(And a happy 2nd blogiversary to me. Who knew I'd be able to keep this up? Getting braver, I am, posting pictures of the kids and myself, each carefully culled as none should allow a stalker to ID any of us at a playground. Most of these shots don't really look that much like us, either.)
Labels: The Small-Handed Ones