Eight

I swear it was only yesterday that you came into our world, but the calendar tells me that I'm wrong, for today you are eight. And without becoming too goopily sentimental about it all, these eight years have been the best - the very best - of my life.

There are so many things I love about you: The way you ask every weekend if you can go swimming. The ways your eyes crinkle up when you laugh. Your boundless creativity (as evidenced by the thread, wool, cut up paper, glue, sequins etc that follows you around the house). How you never complain about walking in the rain. The enthusiasm you show every single type of food ever presented to you. The grin that lights up your face when you thwack the ball at tennis. How Pride and Prejudice is your viewing of choice. How you still sing yourself to sleep with steam-of-consciousness operas that you compose nightly. How any form of slapstick provokes you to laugh uproariously, like a crazy old man. The care you show if anybody falls, or cries, or heck, even sneezes.

Ruh-roh - somebody sound the goop alarm. I'm hopelessly melting into a great big puddle of goop just thinking about how terrific you are, and how lucky I am to call myself your mother. Happy birthday, dearest darlingest Tyger. xo xo xo