Oh how I love this little girl!
She's my prickly rose. I wish I could see into her head, see what she really thinks.
These things I do know.
She loves to read.
She's strong in her ability to say no when tempted to do something she doesn't feel is right.
She's a story writer.
She loves her brother. When push comes to shove, she's there for him.
I don't know how many times I've asked the kids to do something, and she's on it.
And then I say, "Didn't I tell you to...oh. You're already done!"
She's my Family Home Evening alarm bell.
She's not a big cuddler. When I give her a hug, she doesn't relax into it, rather she tries to grab my neck and climb up my legs.
But if I take out a book and pull her near to read I can snag at least a book's worth of snuggles.
She loves school, especially the language arts part.
She has developed into a sweet little singer.
She wants to be a mom and an author when she grows up.
Her giggle is the best sound in the world.
She's ticklish. Very. Ticklish. You just have to point your index finger in her general direction and say "tickle tickle," and she loses it.
She's tough. When she is really hurt, she hangs in there and takes it with nary a tear.
But if Adam touches her, you'd think she was mortally wounded.
She likes animals, books, peas, tomatoes, the scriptures, speaking in primary, helping mom without being asked, going to bed with her music on, soccer, choir, baking, pet society and webkinz, making crafts, scrapbooking, dressing up, talking with friends on the phone, steaming hot baths, and running.
She doesn't like hamburger, being cold, math minute practice, being rushed, and
She needs early intervention. It's my responsibility as a woman and her mother to ensure that she learns to love the stuff.
She's my joy.