Her skinned knees, tree climbing, and hiking.
She wears necklaces and Spiderman costumes and boots to the swimming pool.
She pretends that sticks are curling irons and rocks are hats.
She tells me "leaves of three, let it be." Carefully counting leaves and stepping around poison ivy.
She loves nail polish. And biting her nails.
She makes silly faces, sings silly songs, dances silly dances.
She makes me laugh. And think. And love every bit about her.
When she was born I was mesmerized with her girlishness. I still am.
She captivates most people she meets, and makes friends everywhere she goes.
The day she got a tiara at Target, she wore it out of the store, riding atop the cart, waving the entire time, and hollering out "goodbye, thank you, goodbye, thank you!" Other customers waved back.
She sometimes kicks her brothers, and tells them what to do. She screams too.
But is the first to notice another's sadness, and easily asks for forgiveness.
She sneaks my chocolate bars, and food off of her baby brother's high chair. But always shares her ice cream cones.
She dances in public. And asks me to join her. I do. How can I not? Passersby usually smile.
She holds the hands of mannequins in stores and always wants to know the names of the people who are helping us.
At 18 days old she landed in the ER. I sang to her as the doctor performed a spinal tap. I told her she was brave, and tried to be brave myself.
Earlier this year she swallowed a charm off of a necklace, getting it stuck in her throat. I sang to her as we rode in the ambulance. I told her she was brave, and tried to be brave myself.
I knew she would be just fine when, as she was wheeled into the ER, she asked the nurse her name.
She shows compassion and courage and curiosity. Always.
By her being her, she reminds me of the very goodness in being strong, confident, smart, brave, kind, and a good bit sassy.
And that a tutu and tiara are acceptable accessories anywhere.
