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| Little girls in a nutshell. |
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| Giggle and laugh...got it down pat. I've been hearing some new sounds around my house. She whistles now. Loud and clear. Can even carry a tune. I'll hear her whistling to herself...singing a song too. It's breath-taking in its lack of self-consciousness. She's seven. And I don't care what people tell you about five, or six or even eight. Seven rocks. She is itching to play games. She's an Old Maid card shark, that one. I'd teach her poker but I'm pretty sure I'd lose my shirt. She loves board games and counting up her money, saving up her get-out-of-jail free card and rounding the bend. She's creative and sassy and funny and full of joy...bubbling, oozing, crazy joy. She's tapped into that divine source, effortlessly, and I try to stand right by her just to rub shoulders with the source... sometimes it works. Seven. A reader. A thinker. A curious cat. Asking questions. Yesterday's: "Mom, when you go on your walk with Buddy, can you pick up that litter? Me: Huh? "I want to have this...and she points to a sticker that says "pick of the litter"." (Our world is so confusing. How do I explain that this litter is good and that the "pick of the litter" is the best of the bunch, regardless of the word's proximity to trash?) I smile at her and try not to snicker. "Oh baby, you definitely have the pick of the litter. Buddy's the best." Careful, trusting acknowledgement. She knows. On Sunday, we had a few minutes together with no one else around. I asked her if she wanted to go out to lunch...but the enthusiasm was lackluster. Pause. How about a tea party? Eyes B.I.G. Instant hug. *Jackpot* Houston, tea party it is. So we made our egg salad sandwiches but improvised with tortillas -- we had run out of our delicious sourdough bread -- California problems. We steeped our ginger peach tea. We peeled baby oranges. And found ourselves pausing and resting and truly being leisurely with our tea. |
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| Must.do.this.more. |
Seven.
It's a little slice of heaven.
So tonight I'm grateful for the dancing, singing, twirling little girl that graces my days.
Grateful for her exuberant love of living in our amazing world...
where shoes can get tied, mouths can whistle and little girls finally learn
how to flatten the gum just right to blow a bubble.
There are so many tricks to know. So many games to play.
May we always stop to dance and sing.
Spinning, laughing dancing to
her favorite song...
Eyes wide open
Always hoping for the sun
And she'll sing her song to anyone
that comes along.
Fragile as a leaf in autumn
Just fallin' to the ground
Without a sound
Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
That's all her own
Spinning, laughing dancing to
her favorite song...
Beth, this made me smile. I so remember mine when they were seven and eight...sometimes I find myself starting at their faces, shining out from school photos, and then search for that innocence in their teenage images. It's still there, but never so brilliant as when they're in the single digits. Thank you so much for helping me remember today.
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