For Sara, Turning Five

Ah, my beautiful girl, now you are five.


Once again, I sit in staggered awe at the person you are. Somehow you are much older than your years, yet still retain the adorable wonderment that is the stamp of one of your age. You see what others are doing around you and don't even question if you can do it, too. You just do what the rest of us are doing.


We all read. Therefore, you decided to read. Really read. Real words. You made the hair on the back of my neck stand up a couple of weeks ago when we cracked open that wonderful thing that is a brand new book. (In this case, what has become your favorite of the past 2 weeks, The Little Old Lady Who Was Not Afraid Of Anything.) Curled up in the rocking chair in your room as part of your bedtime ritual, we opened it and, as I was curious, I started pointing to the words in turn on the first few pages. Damned if you didn't read 80% of the words cold. You'd been 'reading' for ages, but as it'd been books we'd read over and over and over and over, I just figured you were reciting.


Nope.


When you were helping me with the wash (and may I just say what a large help you are, my best girl, always willing to help with the dusting and the toting of the laundry and the dumping of the flour into the batter) last weekend, you then read all the words describing the laundry settings on the washer. Well, almost all of them; 'delicate' gave you pause.


You also can do your 1+ and 2+ additions, which you learned from your brother being quizzed one day. I guess what gets me is that you can just do stuff that we don't realize you can do because you don't make a huge fanfare out of it.


Which doesn't mean you are not a drama queen, though. Noooooooooooooo. You can throw a fit with the best of them over the smallest (one might even say 'non-existent') thing. Your stubbornness is also legendary. You will forgo candy and popcorn and playing Guitar Hero in your refusal to eat a bite of your dinner. A dinner, I might add that is not composed of meatloaf, beets and liver with onions, but grilled chicken, salad and pasta. And you used to eat absolutely everything I put before you. You will even insist that you are tired and need to go to bed at 6:30 pm rather than eat your nice dinner, and then proceed to go to bed, sitting there happily reading and singing to your dolls and animals until you fall asleep 2-3 hours later.


Lord, help us when you are 15. (And there is no way in hell that you are moving downstairs to the basement bedroom. No way in hell. We are either putting you in your brother's room, which is right across from our room, or installing you in our closet through your high school years.)


You love to play ball sports and are rather good at them, unlike me. You must get that from your dad. You also love to draw and paint and anything else of that ilk, which you do at the kitchen counter while I fiddle with the food. It's lovely.




You are warm, generous and very empathetic. You are tough in some ways but a small bump on the leg will be grist for conversation for days. You will not take medication for any amount of love or money or loss of privileges. This makes it particularly difficult when your fever is over 104, let me tell you. I blame most of my gray hairs on those times.



You are very protective of your idol, your big brother. I am suspicious that a lot of the things you've accomplished have been because you admire and want to do what he does so much. Good taste in your role models.

Starting school has gone better than I had expected, thanks to your amazing teacher, the fabulous Mrs B., who was Colin's 5K teacher. A wild woman at home, you are very shy around people you don't know. The first several weeks were hard on you, especially because you really do still need an afternoon nap most days. You've adjusted, though, as we knew you would. You are making friends nicely and are thrilled with the thought of your first 'real' birthday party, with a pinata and pizza and, of course, cake. Your dad and I were particularly thrilled with your choice of cake: Chocolate with chocolate and chocolate. And roses. (Just like Robert the Rose Horse, natch.)

But best of all, to me, is that you still love to be with me; you want me to sit with you on the couch and "cuddle" with a book or a game. You want me to hold your hand in the parking lot or walking through the house (the latter can be difficult if my arms are full of laundry or crap or dishes). You want me to read to you before bed and color with you in the kitchen.


And that makes me the luckiest one of all.

This morning, at 5am, I woke to you singing "Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday toooooooo meeeeee....."

Happy birthday, indeed, my best girl. May this year be filled with happiness and wonder, just like you.