September 28, 2012

The Moo is 5


Bernard St. Pottamus had a birthday.

She celebrated with polar bear ears and a unicorn, and her Grandma Sharon presented the child with her first pair of clogs. Praise!






She asked me to tell her the story of the night she was born and so I told her my favorite parts – especially that she was so alert and stared right back into my eyes for hours that night. She was a force.

She is the loudest and the most fearless. Comical like Andrew but determined like Trevor. She is herself, 100%.

She is the most aggressive in the house, though in her own way.

Her heart is so near to Jesus that it pushes me to be a better mother to all of my children every single day.

She chirps constantly. She sings every song she hears on the radio. She bounces and dances to commercials on television. Her milkshake is always shaking.

She is uninhibited and passionate about every single thing she touches, loves, listens to, and befriends. Her imagination is great and wide and her mothering instinct makes me so proud. [She breastfed a baby doll the other day.]

Her favorite color is pink. Second would be ‘sparkly’ and yes, that is a color to Mabel Rae.

Every song that comes on KLOVE is met with, “They are playing my favorite song, Mama!”

She loves ‘macaroni cheese’ and asked me to make her a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles this year. She helps me cook as often as she can and she loves doing chores around the house. She wakes easily and goes to bed with the same routine that she did when she was a baby beside me.

She tells me that I am her best friend; I hope that never changes. She reaches for my hand to hold hers and crawls into my nook on the couch to cuddle. “I love you, Mom” while doing nothing.

Her favorite hairdo is braids and her favorite outfit is a skirt and tights. And she STILL wears a headband on her forehead every chance she gets.

There is a photo in our hallway of me and my father. I was about 7 in the picture. Right now, it’s a doppelganger for my little daughter. Her squirrely eyebrows and little smile – oh my. It stops my breathing. Bryon tells me all the time that she is a FORCE. She is the one we will worry both least and most about. She’ll want to dye her hair purple, pierce her nose, and spend a year in Europe. She’ll front a band or boss a lab full of students.

She lifts her hands in church, just like her Mama.

And she still wakes up with crazy hair and nuzzles into my neck while I carry her upstairs each morning.

This week, she turned 5.

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