4

happy birthday, little girl. welcome to four. what a blast you are. you are so strong and so firm in you opinion of things... like when you decided that pink and purple were your favorite colors and that my favorite colors, orange and grey, were "not cool".



and much to aunt mary the geologist's delight, you fell in love with dirt and sand and rocks and shells, thus making each day an adventure as i continually find the aforementioned materials in you short pockets, in drawers, and under your pillow. "it's just dirt, mama" you say, as if i were the idiot for not understanding that dirt is everywhere.

and speaking of dirt, i don't know how you do it but you manage to be a pretty clean kid. maybe it's because you treat wardrobe changes like you are cher performing in concert. the teachers at school say they've never seen a kid go through so many different outfits in one day. and you love your baths and have gained the confidence to lay back in the water and just be still. you've discovered that some pretty interesting acoustics can be observed underwater when you hum and tap-tap-tap on the side of the tub.

and you make up songs, like:

oooooooh today is going to be beautiful because i have a bagel.

my bagel came from the stoooore and it is not yellow,

no it is not yellow,

it's broooooown.

with cream cheese.....insiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

this was also the year that you told me that you were having a rough day. and that you didn't like boys because they poop in pools. and that it would be better if clouds could just grow inside. it's hard to argue with any of this.




it was also the year you got your first best friend, ruby. ruby this and ruby that, and ruby loves me, and ruby is my sister, and ruby punched me, and ruby is not nice, and ruby is the best, and ruby is the meanest, and i miss ruby. yep. sounds like a best friend to me.

i sure every parent thinks their kid is funny but i know funny and you, harper, are funny. this was the year you took a stack of my bills to school for 'show and tell.' the year you walked around for weeks telling strangers that their body is filled with blood. "BLOOOOOOD" you'd whisper, sounding more like a crip keeper than a preschooler. you insisted that your growing muscles came from target and that my giving you a massage helps you go to bathroom more easily.



the other night when we were finishing our nightly ritual of listing "all the people we love", you turned to me, putting your nose on mine, and whispered, "i love myself, too."

i can't ask for anything more than that.

love,

mama