Roo. You are a living dynamo. Always moving. Bouncing. Talking. You speak honest-to-goodness the thoughts that pass through your mind. There is no disguise. No concealment. This morning you grabbed the house keys and the car keys and pronounced, “I’m going to work.” Last week, it was “Piglet is aggravating me!” The irony of all your three-going-on-thirteen talk-and-do is that you still clamber up onto my lap during story time and tell me, “I love your milk. I love it so much and so much and so much and SO MUCH!”
Piglet. I often find you curled up on the couch or sitting on the bed, reading. It always interests me to see what kind of book you’ve buried your head in, rapt with attention. Every day you’ll check our home schedule on the kitchen wall to see how best you’d use your time. My heart warms to see you enjoy chapter readings from the Gospels and take reflective journaling so seriously. Could you really just be six?
Lamb. I’m finding you taking household chores up a notch these days. Like trying to remember to help fold and put away laundry. It isn’t easy, I know, to have a “first-things-first” attitude when you’re nine, with that fat book you simply want to finish by today, and bursting with energy. So watching you grow daily in the area of servanthood makes me thankful, as much as I’m enthralled watching you swing that tennis racket.
Puppy. At eleven, you are changing. We laugh about it girly-like during our private moments together, and you especially like hearing stories about the time I was your age, all clumsy and confused. I’m delighted to share this part of your journey with you. We’ll still snuggle in bed sometimes after the younger ones are asleep. After a busy day of attention given to so many other things, I sense you still enjoy having my arm around you as you drift off to sleep. Somehow, the silent comfort of a mother’s arm makes the changes easier.