My baby is 6 years old.
We gave her gifts as expected. She ooo-ed and ahhh-ed over the scuba gear that she begged for. She jumped up and down about her Elsa get up. But, I think her favorite gift of all, the one she will remember long after the fake chiffon is ripped to shreds and the plastic snaps into pieces is this…
Everyone at the table gave her the gift of one word to describe her now that she’s 6.
Spunky.
Creative.
Fearless.
Cheetah-fast.
Fast-as-a-spaceship.
Brave.
Sweet.
Fantastic.
Adorable.
Playful.
Melting with every word uttered, at the end, as a gift to herself, she called out her own three words to describe herself.
Special.
Good.
Beautiful.
No one cared that a few gifts didn’t arrive in time and that Lydia didn’t even like the cake she insisted I create for her and ended up with a bowl of vanilla ice cream instead. This was the best birthday celebration this family has ever shared.
Truly.
Really.
Seriously.
I’m pretty sure she went to bed with sore cheeks from smiling too much. And, maybe I did too.





There’s something pretty cool about us. You and I look pretty different. You’ve got dimples; I’ve only got wrinkles. You have a freckle on your tummy; the only fun thing I have on my tummy is a turtle tattoo. You’ve got long dark hair; I’ve got short brown hair with highlights of gray. You’ve got Chinese eyes that look like crescent moons; I’ve got big eyes that scrunch up when I look at you because you always make me smile. I like that we’re different. We go perfectly together, and our differences make us a really colorful and fun pair.