Sweet Girl

Precious love. You delight my heart!

You are the sweetest wee lass I have ever met.

And you have the most tender, little heart.

Your compassion melts me.

I love listening to you talk…to your family and friends, to yourself, to your many adopted loin-fruit. And to your husband, whose name and identity changes daily. Today it was Pooh. You’re a dreamer. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The way your lips form the words “sweet heart” does something warm and fuzzy to my insides.

We hear it often.

You love to love on us.

I have just spent the last 15 minutes with my head on your little chest, the lucky recipient of your many sweet kisses and tender head strokes.

I may tuck you in at night and sing you to sleep…but it is your loveliness that rocks my day to a close. I’ve even fallen asleep here, body awkwardly propped up against your “big girl bed”, head nuzzled under your chin, wrapped in your sweet little arms.

And the world screeches to a halt, even if just for a moment.

Could I bottle this?

{sigh}

I adore the passion with which you dance.

And I just love it when you sing to me.

The way you recall lyrics and pipe out the perfect melody astounds me.

I ‘m tickled that you know the words to Truly Scrumptious.

You, my girl, are made of awesome.

Your eagerness to assist actually gets more {practically} helpful by the day. Your sing-song response this week, to whether you would like to help me with something or not, has been, “I would love to!”. This both cracks me up and blesses my heart. Clearly our conversation about working on the attitude of your heart and watching your body language stuck with you. Cool beans.

You are genuinely a tremendous help to me, my babe. You fetch bowls and supplies, crack eggs, pour oats, sprinkle cinnamon, pinch salt, whip madly, press buttons, put dishes away, help set the table, occasionally feed your fish, stir tea and retrieve teabags, ~~lick the honey nozzle~~, fold dish towels and sort socks, help load laundry, pour the softener, and just love to help clean the house. You are such a stunning gift to me, to your adoring family, you know that?

I used to dread you not napping on any given day. It was my time. The sacredness of naptime was not to be messed with. It was the only way, I was certain, I would survive until sundown. But now, as you’re growing up, blossoming into such a lovely little lady {and only nap on 3 days out of 5}, I treasure the time we spend alone together. And your ability to play quietly in your room, for hours on end, thrills me no end on those days that I do have deadlines to meet. How cool are you?

Your wild laughter is one of my favorite sounds in the entire world. And I’ve heard a lot of sounds in a lot of different places. Just in case you were wondering.

I love how thoroughly and tangibly you love me. And your daddy. And your baby brother.

And your nana and papa…and cousins…and aunties…and friends.

You’re a lover of people, that is for sure.

When I overhear you telling my pregnant friend that she “looks so beautiful in that dress”, my heart swells in my chest.

And when you love on the little boy that just pulled your hair and hit you over the head {arrrgh!}…I’m reminded of what real love looks like.

I am so proud to be your mama. Just because you’re you. Marvelous you.

How did we get so lucky as to call you our own?

I especially treasure the sweet love you have for a man you’ve never actually met; Jesus. You sing often of your love for him. Spontaneous love songs.

I don’t understand it – because I think adults tend to complicate things – but you just seem to get this whole faith thing. You really believe Jesus lives in your heart. And it makes you shine!

You radiate His extravagant love.

Tonight we talked about heaven. It was talk about our upcoming trip to the Magic Kingdom, and your love for Tinkerbell, that got us onto the subject of flying.

You can’t wait to fly with the angels, you say.

You wondered whether daddy could fly with us in heaven…and were positively delighted when you discovered our whole family would one day be there. Not to mention your friends!

It may be hard to keep you grounded now; you’re one heaven-focused kid.

We talked about my grandparents. You never had the chance to meet them. We talked about the fact that one day you would. You asked whether they were playing with Jesus right now. I went with “yes”!

We talked about who else was “up there”. You’re excited to meet Esther. And the man we just read about who got lowered down through the ceiling into the full house, where Jesus healed him. You’re excited to meet him too. And David. But not Goliath. He won’t be there.

You asked what God looked like. And where he was at that very moment. When I answered with something profound, to the effect of…”He’s everywhere, babe…in the sunset, in the air, in us…all around us…in heaven, on earth…in every beautiful thing you’ve ever seen…”. You stopped me and said, “no mommy, what room is He in right now?”.

Oh.

You then asked me how big Jesus’ feet are. And how big God’s head is.

You’re really hoping there are dinosaurs in heaven. You love dinosaurs.

I haven’t had the heart to break it to you that Tinkerbell won’t be there. But I’m trusting you’ll be totally over her by then, any way. After all…what 98 year old woman who’s getting to meet Jesus face to face still likes Tink?

Yeah, I know…I’m pushing it.

You also happen to have a naughty sense of humor. While taking Christmas cards off the fridge today, I noticed the faint remnant of words we were working on spelling a while back. You requested, I wrote: God, Jesus, toot, butt. I’m so glad God has a naughty sense of humor too.

I cannot wait to see what your heavenly Father has in store for you in the days and years ahead. I look forward to sharing the delight that you are with the world…but on second thought…I’d almost like to cage you and keep you all to myself. Well, I’d share you with dad and Bug.

We trimmed your curly locks this evening by the woodstove. You sat naked as a jaybird while I haphazardly lopped off random chunks. It looks amazing. You look amazing.

You are amazing.

You told me, while stroking my hair tonight, how beautiful my hair was. And asked whether I wanted curly hair like yours. I had curly hair…until God put little you in my belly. Then you took it all. You asked how I gave it to you. It was magic, I suppose.

I can’t believe you’re going to be 4 this year. Who said you could grow up this fast?!? Oh wait, I did. Yes. You’re a strong willed child. You’re getting more delightful by the day, I almost forgot about “those” days.

Thanks for picking out my clothes for me when I’m in the shower. Which is not as often as I would like. The shower part. You have no idea how profound your pickings are. I’m tempted to not wear what you set out, because it’s “too pretty for just around the house”. I must have forgotten that “just around the house” is where it’s at for me right now. Thanks for dressing me well. And teaching me to live in the moment. You’re so wise.

Thank you for reminding me how sweet life is. Today. Every day. You remind me to light candles…for no good reason. And to dance like a rockstar, when people are watching. And sing. And pray for daddy when he’s not feeling well. To really live.

You also have the incredible ability to remember every single thing I say, reminding me to not hold the weight of my words too lightly. This is good. And not so good. I love that you scolded me when I complained about something tonight, with the exact statement I had tossed your way earlier today…”no negativity in this house, mom!”.

You rock, little chickadee.

Even when you tell me that I look like my father-in-law in the dark.

I love everything you are with everything I am.

Your adoring mum.