Eight

You are eight years old today.

Eight. Years. Old.



Eight years in a blink of an eye. From soft, pink newborn to long, lean girl in a matter of moments. Good moments. Special moments. Quiet moments. Loud moments.

Frighteningly fast moments.

Moments I want to remember forever.






Because your birthday falls so close to Thanksgiving each year, your birthday celebration seems to last for weeks. One for school. One for us. One with grandparents and aunts and uncles. Three cakes. Several different gift opening sessions. And you never, ever focus on the gifts. It is more than that to you.







Of course you like the gifts. What eight year old girl wouldn't? But you like the coming together of people. The song and laughter and fun. When your friends are here for a birthday slumber party you make simple rules that you are sure to enforce. . . 1) No one feels left out; 2) No one gets their feelings hurt; and 3) Don't be nervous cause you're not at your house. Simple rules really. But so telling of your spirit.







You love to be outdoors riding your bike, jumping rope, swinging on a rope swing or playing with your hula hoop. You love hiking and blazing new trails. And building new forts and bouncy trees far up in the woods. You love to draw and create things with paper. From cards to critter homes to crowns or doll clothes. You love making up new songs and singing them just right. You have a quick wit and easily make those around you laugh. You are competitive yet gracious. Proud yet humble. Compassionate. Thoughtful. And kind.

And breathtakingly mine.

Happy birthday.

Love,
Mom