I had so much on my mind and going on around me that I didn't get to post what I really should have posted, but then I really needed more time to think about it all, so it's just as well... and here it is.

To A, on her birthday.

Hello, little one who isn't so little anymore. 8 years ago you joined me and your father in the wee small hours of the morning. Those same wee small hours that I currently go to work in, and that you refuse to wake from as the start of another week of school sits in front of you.

Your journey to this day has been an adventurous one - from learning to crawl on cold tile with a big fuzzy Sasha-dog nosing at you, to learning to walk in a brand new house with carpets, to rolling down the stairs the first time you snuck out of your bed...

You've made me happy with exuberant hugs designed to make me fall over as you launch yourself at me when I pick you up from the school playground, or a sweet goofy smile when we're out grocery shopping after a long work day, or just sitting on the floor watching cartoons poking at each other until we end up having a massive tickle fight that eventually pulls in everyone else in the house.

You've worried me with colds, with cutting your finger on a serrated knife when you decided to cut yourself some sourdough bread for breakfast at the age of 3, and with being the most independent spirit that I've raised. Almost more so than myself. It's as if you don't fear trying anything new, my little roller coaster rider. Maybe someday I'll be brave enough to join you.

You've made me sad in telling me you don't love me when you don't get your way, or stomping off when I ask you to do something as simple as putting your shoes and jacket away for the 5th time. Or crying from hitting your head or scraping your knee or falling off your bike. When you cry, I want to take your pain away but all I can think of is trying to make you feel better and forget. And give you that Magical Mommy Kiss that makes the boo-boos feel better faster. Hopefully I can keep giving you those kisses as you get older, and that the Mommy Magic works just as well as it does now.

I've been proud as proud can be watching you master tying your shoes, making your first peanut butter sandwich, succeeding in getting Sasha to listen to your commands at feeding time, seeing you get a Student of the Month award at school last year, and receiving the letter in the mail that says you're going to be Student of the Month again in an assembly on Tuesday. But since you're not reading this, you don't know that you're The Student again for second grade... and you won't until they announce your name at assembly. Which Dad and I will be at, wearing our happiest smiles. I'm saving up as much of my smiling today as I can so that tomorrow's smile will be so bright that you don't notice the inevitable proud tear that will slide down my cheek.

You're a good kid, Dad says. He's partially right. You're a most excellent kid. A great start to a hopefully great person. Someday you'll probably read this and say, "Oh Mom, you're such the goof." And I'll smile a goofy smile and laugh a silly laugh, and hopefully earn a great big hug from it...

... one that will knock me over like the ones on the playground have.