|On her first day of Primary.|
If I give her a pile of folded socks to put away, she will undo all the sock balls and put them on to make a beefy layered cotton boot. With her eyes rolled back, she sighs, "Oh, I these are so soft!"
Yesterday, she fell while doing something she shouldn't have been doing and was crying the hold-your-breath cry. I ran to her and picked her up telling her quietly, "Breathe, honey. You are turning blue." Once she got control of herself, she opened her eyes really wide, trying to see around the tears, to inspect her hands. "I'm not blue!" Then, she laughed and laughed while the tears of hurt turned to tears of delight.
I don't know the mind of the Lord and she may be my last child. She comes in to my bed during the night just about every night and it makes me so happy. I love her warm, soft skin and the way she sandwiches her cold behind into my lower back. I love her waking up in the morning with her cooing, "G'morning, mama." I know I can't let her get away with bad behavior, but I also know that I can't get too uptight about things that she'll grow out of. She will eventually be four and many of the naughty things that make me pull out my hair now are things that I will miss.
When I am someday coloring with a box of unbroken crayons, I will long for my little trouble-maker to come and break them in two.