Friday, July 12, 2013
Lots and lots of people tell you how very much you're like Mommy. You look like me, you whine like me, you pout like me, we even share mannerisms.
But make no mistake: You're incredibly, giftedly different.
You are so compassionate. You stand up for your friends and animals, begging us parents to not get too mad at Mustang when he poos in the house or chews through the ottoman, spreading fuzzies all throughout the house.
You're sweet. You think of other people constantly, wanting to draw them pictures to brighten their day and let them know you're thinking of them.
You're challenging. In a fabulous way. You never accept "just because" as an answer. If you're asked to do something, you want to know why. Status quo doesn't work for you. You like to find new ways, new ideas. I ask you to clean your room and you fight back, asking instead, How 'bout we make it really, really, really messy and then pretend we're in the "Elmo in Grouchland" movie?
You're silly. Mommy moved the couch to sweep underneath, sadly turning down your never-ending requests to go outside to play. Ten minutes later, you had the cushions piled high in towers and you were jumping, flying, from one to another.
"This is the best playground in the whole world!" you shouted.
You lift people up, never cut them down. And for this, in particular, I pray it continues, that as you get older you always remember to find the good in people and the positives in life. It's harder than it sounds. But you're so good at it.
One day you wanted so badly to go outside and I kept telling you it was raining. But that was just fine with you, "We can play with our umbrellas!"
You're so optimistic, always finding the silver lining...
You're also incredibly supportive of everyone, our little cheerleader. Mommy and Daddy spent a lot - a lot - of time focusing on Millie in the last year. Never once did you complain. Instead, you were right there, encouraging her and applauding her victories, sometimes louder than us.
You predicted several months ago that she'd be walking on her second birthday and no matter how hard I tried to explain that she might figure out how to walk while she's 2, she likely wouldn't be doing so by her actual bith date. You insisted I was wrong.
And she proved you right, learning to walk a week beforehand.
You just smiled, "I always knew."
Maybe you did. It wouldn't surprise me. You and Millie seem to have your own, unspoken language. You two sign back and forth, sometimes real signs, sometimes just pretend made-up ones and you both laugh hysterically, sharing private jokes.
I suggested once that maybe we - just you and I - should have a special Mommy and Lola day.
But you got sad, "Millie would miss us."
You're a great big sister, Lola. The absolute best.
But even better, you're a wonderful girl.
An incredible person.
Five years ago, you made me Mommy and brought into out lives countless laughs, tickles, hugs and kisses.
Huge, incomprehensible, limitless love.
Happy birthday Princess.