To My Darling Nora Jane,
On your last eve of Threenagerdom, I’d love to tell you some marvelous things about yourself:
You’re an adventurous eater; eggplant, blue cheese, mushrooms, anything Middle Eastern…but still look suspiciously at macaroni and cheese. (It’s pasta and cheese, Nora.)
Despite your outward trappings of independence (locking the bathroom door, deciding just how your bangs and hair should fall- or be “stretched”), you still require that crazy beat-up Doc Bullfrog…inside out in a froggy ball…against your nose to sleep. And you look just like my impossibly tiny baby each and every night.
Moxy for days.
The caution and shy reserve with which you approach life can be cast off in an instant- if the gain well outweighs the risk, or if “the rules” dictate a certain behavior. Like in school. Or in line for a roller coaster(!)
Your sweet tooth rivals your father’s…and matches your compassion. Sometimes they go hand in hand. (“Maybe that friend needs a lollipop. Maybe we should all get lollipops? You like lollipops.”)
I love watching you devour books and stories and onstage shows- and I marvel at your love of words. Especially the ones you know you shouldn’t say. Which you say to me. While sternly telling anyone within earshot about how no one should say these words. Which you then repeat for educational purposes.
You’re fancy and practical, calm and passionate, my incredibly young daughter and the gal I can easily see becoming a dynamic woman. (God bless the fortune of your future partner- and God help them.)
Although I know many things will change (the way you pronounce aminal and perfic, the fact that you’re taller than your sister), I hope some things never do (your heartbreaking sweetness, the way you’re quietly content to sit and “do work” with me each afternoon)…but either way, I’m so thrilled to spend this fleeting time with you.
And wish we could do it for a hundred more years. Happy birthday, kiddo.
Love,
Mom
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