Seven

My baby girl, my partner in crime, my zombie slaying, alien hunting, Star Wars loving, tutu wearing connoisseur of all things fluffy or furry turned seven years old today.


She is on my side every time I suggest a Broadway musical for our family movie night. She lives in skirts and dresses and sparkles yet she can hold her own among her brothers and their friends in their games of wrestling and football and swordplay. She is equally at home in a mud puddle or performing in a ballet recital.

Sometimes I worry that she will be that girl who people love to hate, because she really is That Fantastic, that talented. Then I see her reaching out to the lonely child in class, or the new kid in school, and I know that she is far too kind and sensitive to be that girl.

She is excited because she received a Fur-Real Friend for her birthday gift. According to her she now has enough for an army (three), and the little guy she received today is going to be her General.

She spent the whole day with her Grandma and her Auntie Sara and they spoiled her rotten, which is just as it should be.

She's my girl and today she is seven.