last friday elle made seven. we celebrated with a family camp-out on the living room floor, pizza and cupcakes and kit kittredge on the screen. she exclaimed over every gift and trailed me all weekend tootling on her yamaha recorder ('i put it on my list, mom, but i didn't think i'd actually get it'). we paired the recorder with a book of beginning songs in hopes that:
a. she might learn to read music
b. she might play something other than tunes comprised entirely of the note of c.
for the past three years or so elle's been an avid book-maker, crafting illustrated stories and pilfering my printing paper and ever in need of stapling services. so we assembled this author's (and illustrator's) kit for her, and oh is she ever in love.
she's already begun work on her first book, and though it's too early to give a full report, i've an inkling that this gift will be a giant hit for months to come.
* * *
to elle, seven things on your birthday:
-you have the best laugh this side of newark. it begins in your gut and ripples up into your throat and infects everyone in a quarter mile radius.
-you ask to be tucked in, every night, no exceptions.
-daily detritus is a treasure in your eyes, from library receipts to the tissue paper that comes balled up in new sneakers and you must keep it all. you are the pack-rattiest kid, and i waffle between amusement and exasperation each time i step into your room of happy clutter.
-you've an awful lot of spunk for your britches.
-you are chattery-sweet and need little prompting to detail every minute of your school day when you get home. (and oh, how i hope this never stops.)
-you mother everyone within hugging distance, whether they hope for it or not.
-you are tender toward God and people and my biggest wish for you is this: stand rooted in how completely God loves you, and treasure Him back fierce and full.