She's the kid who doesn't like donuts. Sometimes when they're covered in rainbow sprinkles, but that's mostly about the sprinkles.
She's already sweet enough.
And today she is unbelievably eight.
There are a lot of conversations about what she'll do when she grows up: a teacher or veterinarian, perhaps. Always a role that helps others, because she already knows that about herself.
On a recent trip to a museum, she caught sight of an old film clip showing the traditional hunting and harpooning of whales from long ago. And so she added marine biologist to her career aspirations, so that never, ever happens to those whales again.
Each day she delivers the same phrase, at least once.
Is there anything I can do to help?
She is kindness and generosity and light and joy -- and it fills her up so much that there is always enough to give away. And she does. Freely and without expectation.
She is what we need more of in this world.
I used to think I never wanted to be defined by my children.
I am her mom.
I am her student.
I am so lucky that she's mine.
Happy birthday, dimples.