Grace, my feisty beautiful happy little birthday girl,

Happy 4^th Birthday peanut!!! Where to even start? Maybe with gratitude. Thank you for loving me the way that you do. Thank you for looking at me as if I’m the sun and moon and stars all wrapped into one flawed package somehow deserving of being your Momma and of your adoration.

You. My blue eyed athletic creative kind little girl. From the time you were born, you had a Grace smell to you. It’s most noticeable right at the edge of your hairline above your forehead; it’s part chocolate chip cookies and part fresh laundry, which is a strange combination I know. But you smell like home, in the sweetest and warmest and newest and most comforting beautiful way. Katie and I used to talk about that smell when you were a baby, how sad I would be when it went away. But you still have it. And sometimes, I tell you, “I need to sniff my Gracie girl,” and you’ll say, “Because I’m your little nugget,” and tip your head forward so I can inhale you. Sigh.

You have thick hair that you always want me to put in an Elsa braid. This taxes my beautification skills, but I seem to be getting better. Just yesterday, you even got a compliment from a woman in RiteAid who said she liked your braid. You smiled at her and tilted your head. Then she said is made you look like Elsa. Well, that was it for you. You grabbed the end of your braid and did your strange little pose – one hand on the hip, hip jutting out, further head tilt, batting eyelashes. I don’t do that, not any of it, so I don’t know where you picked it up. I love your little modeling personality though, and it made everyone in the store laugh.

You love fruit, and so I call you my fruit baby. I’ve seen you eat an entire container of raspberries and ask for more. You don’t have a sweet tooth, and you are not an adventurous eater, preferring to stick to things you know; then you eat them in abundance: pizza, yogurt, peace pasta, and hot dogs. Some days you eat very little, other days, you eat so much food your belly sticks out like a round little beach ball. And you love smoothies. This morning, I made you a regular fruit smoothie that turned out a deep red color. You descended into tears (it was early, and you were still waking up) because you wanted a green smoothie so you could be strong. I had to add protein powder to convince you that the red smoothie would still make you a strong princess. And you ARE strong, you pull yourself up onto chairs as if doing a pullup, you hang from railings, you hang in the bathtub, you can hold yourself up on the parallel bar at the gym and flip upside down. I love watching you in gymnastics, the way you fly across the floor on your toes, your feet barely touching, you remind me of a sandpiper. You are fast, for real little girl, your legs turn over at a rate I find astonishing. And your body shows your athleticisms as well. You are petite, but you have muscles and definition in your little deltoids and hamstrings. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me proud.

In the last few months, you and Kalvin have fallen in love with a girl on the big girl gymnastics team named Seneca. You literally started petting her one day, then hugging her. I think she’s about eleven, and it took her and me by total surprise. But she hugged you back, and from then on, you role-play Seneca at home, by doing splits and somersaults and jumps off the table and couches. After your class, you love to go upstairs to the viewing area and watch the big girls practice. Then you race back and forth, leaping and jumping saying, “I’m Seneca, watch me.” This only becomes a problem on Mondays when the big girl gymnastics overlaps with your class because all you want to do is watch and mimic them. But there are much worse role models for young girls and boys than capable, hard working athletes.

So, you love the gym. And you are fierce at karate, when you decide to go. You stand at attention and scream “yes sir”. You do your kicks and your punches and your guardian stance. But a few weeks ago, Jana took you to karate and you refused to go into class. You’ve never done that before, and I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what initially set it off. But Grandma and Grandpa were at karate to watch and told you a story about me when I was a little girl, about how I refused to bow at Suzuki music came so I never received a piano lesson. I think you took that to heart, and perhaps got a bit confused and decided you weren’t going to go to karate because Momma didn’t like karate (not true, I loved karate) and Momma wouldn’t bow (true, for piano, and I was eight years old). So….the next time I took you and you jumped right into class. But last week, you decided you didn’t want to go into class again, that you wanted to sit with me instead. I tried to talk with you about it, but all you wanted was for me to hold you. It ripped my heart out to see you cry, but I also wanted you to be able to articulate what was wrong. And I didn’t want to reward being a spectator to life versus a participant. I will not reward helplessness baby girl, no matter how much I love to snuggle with you. What I will do, which is what I told you at the time, is compassionately work with you to understand what the problem is and to come up with possible solutions from which you can choose. But I won’t coddle you such that you forget how strong and capable and wild and free you came into this world. And Gracie girl, a look behind the curtain here, it was so hard, SO HARD, not to pick you up and let you snuggle in to watch Kalvin. It was so hard to break your little heart in that way. But I know you can handle it and I believe in what I am trying to teach you about yourself and how to be in the world. And, right now anyway, your forgiveness comes fast and sweet, and so I lean into some courage myself to try to give you the skills to remain the fierce little girl that you are.

Truth is, I don’t worry as much about you as I do about Kalvin, which isn’t fair. I also expect more of you, which also isn’t fair, to either one of you perhaps. But you seem to just get it. You seem to have come knowing how the world works. For instance, while Kalvin asked questions upon questions about the mean woman and what happened, including if she ever hurt you, you just laughed when I told you both that she pinched and bruised your cheek. You laughed and held your hand up to your cheek, and then laughed again. Thank you for that baby girl, thank you. It’s not that you aren’t processing, because you listen to everything, but life just doesn’t seem to stick to you much.

You love all things princesses and pink, you love to play dress-up in your Elsa, Merida, unicorn, cow, and mermaid costumes. You LOVE water. Even as an eighteen month old, you always migrated toward the water playing station at Montesorri. Now, you will stay in the shower or bath or pool or hot tub long past the wrinkly finger and toes stage. We’re talking forty minutes in the bath, staying in the shower until the hot water runs out, staying in the pool until your lips start to turn blue. Sometimes, I’ll leave you in the bath to grab something. When I come back, you’re usually singing and happy, just splashing and playing, as if you were always meant to be in the water. And, you are a good swimmer. You can float on your back and swim across the pool. You love when Daddy and I play “toss the baby” at the pool, which is as it sounds, tossing you back and forth. We literally cannot throw you high enough. You love to jump off the side of the pool or diving board, you show zero hesitation, even when half the time you belly flop, and I know it has to hurt. But you push me away when I try to help you, preferring to flip yourself in circles in the water like some swirling fish dervish.

You love to run and jump and be physical in the world. You hate to wear shoes and clothes of any kind, at every time of year. Even though your hands and feet get cold so fast, even when you’re wearing clothes, the first chance you get you strip down to be ‘naked baby.’ That includes when you’re outside, by the way. A few months ago, we were on our way home from school when ADT called to say the alarm was going off at home and they were sending the police. I got home a few minutes later, let you both out of the car, ran upstairs to check the kitchen door which had blown open in the wind, and to look for Acorn who was hiding from the loud alarm. I was gone maybe two minutes, but when I got back down to the driveway, you had both stripped down and were riding your bigwheels naked in fifty degree weather. Not great. But what made it worse was the kind policeman standing next to his SUV watching you both. “I could write a citation for streakers,” he said. Oh my. Proud parenting moment there. Awesome.

My little peanut, you love love horses. You tried to claim Woody and we agreed that we could share. When you were just three years old, you were thrown by Summit. He got scared and jumped sideways and I couldn’t catch you. But you got right back up on Woody that day, scared but brave and decided that Summit was a scaredy cat who would jump and run, but that Woody was okay since he only walked. I have never been so scared watching you fall off a sixteen-hand horse, nor so proud to see you get back on Woody. Here’s a secret little one, a horse hasn’t yet thrown Momma. I know it’s just a matter of time, but already, you have confronted and conquered a fear of mine. And the amazing part is you’ve made me braver in doing so. I no longer dread the day, because you did it and you handled it. Can you imagine, you, my littlest one, at three years old, showing me the way? Because you do. Every day. In so many realms.

You are so very imaginative in your play, and so dramatic in your facial expressions. You have a thousand different smiles, for real. And you are very serious about your imaginative play at home. Whatever role you are playing, you’ll stay in that roll for thirty minutes or even an hour. And if I call you by any name other than your role-playing name, you will not respond. If you’re a dog, you’ll bark at me instead until I refer to you as doggie. Or kitty. Or unicorn. Or Elsa. Or “pink Momma Woody horse,” which is my personal favorite.

Lately you’ve gotten really into coloring, even branching out from the pink crayons and markers. You LOVE building things with magnatiles, Usually it’s a home for pinky, but a very elaborate and very color-coded homes. You love to organize and build by size and color. All of your artwork, really, speaks to a certain desire for order. But unlike Kalvin you really needs to make sense of his world, you simply don’t care. You just go about living, not really needing to understand. One more way you’re teaching Momma. And you’re good at math! I swear, you’ve started counting on your fingers, adding and subtracting. You are four. And here’s another secret, math was your Momma’s favorite subject J So you go little girl.

You love music, you love to sing and dance and play and watch music videos. You love to jump on the bed with Kalvin, making up songs. You are becoming such a little athlete. Things just come easy to you in that realm. At the gym, they said you pick things up as fast as any little kid they’ve seen. You are long and lanky right now, but we talk a lot about what being a strong princess means. I buy and read you books called “Rosie Revere Engineer,” or “Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots/Skin Their Needs,” or “Not All Princesses Dress In Pink,” or “Paper Bag Princess,” about a princess who leaves a prince because he doesn’t treat her well. Then I go buy you all the pink you want J I even bought you a Barbie. But for a long time, you’re favorite dress was a blue dress you called your Elsa dress. Awesome little one.

What else, you love Sky from Paw Patrol, Elsa from Frozen, and Owlette from PJ Masks. You have patience for TV or the ipad in droves, and it actually scares me a bit, the idea of you sitting in front of a screen instead of out playing in the world so we limit your screen time more than you’d like. You are not afraid, you are stubborn and independent and fierce, but you are also very thoughtful. You don’t share quite as readily as Kalvin, it makes him so happy to share. But you do share when I push you. Right now, I can talk to you into just about anything.

You get super giddy and silly when you’re tired (whereas Kalvin gets a bit naughty). You have this way of magically appearing in my lap, of molding yourself to my body such that it’s a surprise you’re even there. Daddy thinks you act like a kitty, just curling up in my lap. All I know is I love it. You love to shake your ‘boov butt’ you call it, because it makes me laugh. You like to bite your straws. You’re super protective of Kalvin, tackling Oscar at summer camp when he pushed your brother, or even yelling at Momma when I yelled at Kalvin for pushing you off the potty. You were still crying from where you hit your head, and you’re yelling at me, “don’t yell at my brother. We are not mean in this house, we are nice.”

You are super independent and will just wander off, in crowds, in the woods, wherever. Last 4^th of July, I watched you walk away from us and I followed you, wondering when you were going to look back. You didn’t Grace, you little stinker. It scared me to death and also made me happy you were that confident. And out at Leann’s last summer, you kept wandering between the house and the triangle swing by the treehouse, which, by the way, you rocked as well, pitching yourself out over the hill as it fell away, holding onto the bar with just your hands, laughing the entire time.

What else, sweet girl? Who else are you now? You are feisty and sweet and loyal and happy. Colds hit you harder than they hit Kalvin. You are an amazing sleeper. Sometimes I’ll try to time my night-time check (post story and post snuggle time) so that you’re just falling asleep. That’s my favorite, when you open your eyes in half consciousness and see me and smile such a sweet pure smile. You reach out your hands and hug my neck and then close your eyes and go back to sleep without saying a word. When you are awake, you have this way of holding both of my cheeks in your hands that sucks me right into your blue eyes and sweet soul. Or you run your finger down the bridge of my nose, just as I do to you sometimes. Or you make a baby alligator with your hands and you want me to do the same. Or you rub your whole face against my face, followed by nose kisses, eyelash kisses, we make our heart symbol with our hands that mean we love each other. I love that sweet time just before you fall asleep. Truly. It’s like you just want to crawl inside me.

What else, you overheat easily, even though you have cold hands and feet like your Momma. You are as active as Kalvin, wrestling with him, going head to head when he wants to play, but while he bulldozes his way through the world, you sort of flit about, dancing on your toes. You love your stuffed animals, all of them. Two nights ago, I found you sleeping with momma and baby Twilight even though I put you to bed with a doggie, kitty, and Momma and baby unicornia.

And of course, there is pinky. Tried and true. When we lost her last month (you had put her in a pink castle), I was more upset than you were. Especially after you had a dream that you found her. I came into your room in the morning, and you sat up and said, “We found pinky!” I was so excited. She had been missing for four days. “Where? Where is she? Where did you find her?” I asked. “In the toy bucket with the pink polka dots.” I had looked in that toy bucket a dozen times so I knew you hadn’t found her and as I searched your bed, it dawned on me that you had dreamed that you found pinky. That sent me over the edge and I tore the entire house apart, again, until I found her. That was a very good moment. I love that silly little pink horse because she makes you so happy. Right now, she’s wearing a sweater that was a Christmas ornament that you decided was always meant to be her sweater. And so it is. And then you gave Kalvin the blue one for bluey.

You love the trees, you hug them, and I swear I didn’t teach you that. In the woods, you love to walk off by yourself. It’s as though you’ve found a home there. Kalvin loves to be outside, I think the spaciousness combined with physical activity frees his soul and all the kinetic energy trapped in a little boy body. But with you, it’s deeper than that. You seem at home in the woods and in the water.

You can be a little stinker too, usually it’s directed toward other people when you want to be with me. You are loyal to your Momma, in the extreme. For the Thanksgiving placemat you made at school, Kalvin said he was grateful for the big turkey dinner and for his sister. You said you were grateful for your mommy. Tears.

Because Gracie girl, you are so very aware of me. We have a language, you and me, mostly in looks and slight smiles. You almost never get upset, and when you do, I can always fix it with a hug. And quite frankly, vice versa. Just the way you watch me and mimic me, the way you look at me tears me apart, completely. To you, I am the powerful sun and gentle moon and everything in between, who can make everything okay, always. I am beyond humbled to be that to you, and inspired to be the person you see. But here’s the most beautiful thing, all those things you think about me, that I am strong and capable and wild and loving and free and fun and nurturing, you are all those in their purest form. You are my daughter. You are the best of me and Daddy and more. You are so alive and sparkly. You are so silly and sweet and smart. I don‘t know how I got so lucky to have you, I must have done something very right to deserve you and to deserve your love. Chicken nut, chicken pot pie, chicken nugget, sweet thing, baby girl, peanut, Gracie girl, love nugget, little love, I love you. I love your free happy loyal spirit. To be loved by you is to be completely adored, no hesitation, with easy and fast forgiveness for mistakes (like losing Elsa’s shoes), with conscious awareness, with humility. You are so generous with your love! How is it, Grace, that I feel so seen by a four year old? How is it that you know me? How is that you have me so ridiculously wrapped around your little pink nail polish adorned finger? How did you do that to me? It’s a question I ask you a lot. To which you reply, while wrapping your arms around my neck, “Because I’m your little nugget.”

The only time I’ve seen you lose your baby marbles completely was when your kisses couldn’t make it better. Something happened, I got pushed beyond my limit, and I cried. You tried to kiss me to make it better, and when it didn’t work, your little world fell apart. Fell. Apart. It breaks my heart a little just thinking about that day. I love your empathy and your instinct to want to make other people happy, but like Kalvin, it is not your job. When people are upset, you always want to hug them, and kiss them. You don’t understand why it doesn’t work. And the truth is, 99% of the time with me, it does make my world better. You have a way of bringing me into the grace and beauty of the present moment. So many times, I simply walk away from whatever it is I’m doing to focus on you. The dishes can wait, the email can wait, the laundry can wait, the friends can wait, the to do list can wait. You teach me presence in that way by sucking me into your little joyful little Gracie orbit. And you can do it with just one look.

Grace, my sweet thing, I hope I’m worthy of being your Momma. And what I lean on sometimes when your love is too much, is you picked me. Because in so many ways, you are my little girl, for better and for worse. The stubbornness around food, I get that. The way you swing your arms when you walk, me. The loyalty, yep. The aversion to loud noises and music, Momma. The cold hands and feet, the thick hair, the love of trees, yes yes and yes. And all the stinker sides, the refusal to kiss Kalvin when he wants to be kissed, the independence, the stubborn streak, the roaring at the world, all of that I have as well.

You’re still young, so you still need me to do some things for you, but more and more, you’re learning to do things for yourself, and this makes me so happy it hurts. Because more than anything I want you to be a strong capable little girl who will grow into a courageous, fierce young woman who authors her own life, who isn’t afraid to get in the game and really play in this giant playground we’ve been given the absolute privilege to get to experience.

Playgrounds. Lately, I hear you say, so so and won’t play with me. The next day, you are best friends. So I’m learning not to react to my first instinct, which is to wring any little person’s (*and big person’s) neck who is mean to you, because the truth is, the world can be tough. It and people surprise me every day, on both ends of the spectrum. So what I want more than to protect you is to give you resilience and the tools to go boldly into the world, to pick yourself up when life smacks you down, to know you can feel the pain and still choose to see all the beauty and light. You can and you will, it’s already in you. Your spark, your little internal fire is so alive.

And there is so much love and compassion in our house, I hope it seeps into your soul such that you will never feel truly alone in the world. That independent streak you have can isolate you, but I know your roots are firmly planted in our soil. And like Kalvin, I also want you to have wings. This morning you said you’ll always want to live with me. “You’ll always have a room and a place to stay with me,” I told you. “But someday, you might want a place of your own, and that’s okay.”

You looked at me with one of your little knowing smirks and said, “Don’t be silly Momma. I’ll always want to be with you.” Duh.

Four years ago, you made me a Momma. You came out first, screaming and red, angry and peeing, all 5.5lbs of you. And then your tiny little hand held my finger. Since then, it has only gotten better. My Gracie girl, my little Savannah Grace, you know who you are, you know how the world works, and you are a survivor. You are my daughter. You are Kalvin’s sister. You are Daddy’s daughter. You are Pinky’s Momma. Great Gram T. is your fairy god mom in heaven, and Great Gram Lu is your fairy god mom in Minnesota (sorta the same) J . You have a sense of yourself and your place in the world that is solid. You have a nose that scrunches up when you really smile, a giggle that infects everyone, and an upper lip that curls to reveal sweet little gums when you laugh. You are my love. You are magnetic. Thank you Grace, thank you for all that you are now and all that you will become. You amaze me everyday, you make me so happy, you make me feel so loved, though I repeat, again, not your job. Those are just the happy byproducts of knowing you. You are beautiful. I’m so grateful to be your Momma, you and me kid, love, Momma