Let me count the ways.
I love the serious conversations we have.
A few weeks ago, Adelaide came up behind me while I was doing dishes and said, "Mommy, I need to talk to you." She was very solemn, and I had to work to school the expression on my face. She doesn't like it when she's being serious and I am smiling, laughing, or acting at all lighthearted.
We went and sat down together on the couch.
"Okay, what did you want to talk to me about?"
She took a deep breath and declared, "I don't think I'm getting enough protein in my diet."
I love that when you were two years old, your favorite song was "Sister Suffragettes."
I can still hear you marching around the house, singing,
"Cast off the shackles of yesterday,
Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!"
I love that your other favorite song was "Strangers in the Night."
I love how concerned you are when you think your friends and family don't "know God."
I love how you disturbed you were by that scene in "Beauty and the Beast."
Not any of the scenes with the Beast or the angry mob, but the one where Gaston gets Belle's book all muddy. She wipes the mud off with her apron and Adelaide then exclaims, "Mommy, Belle wiped that book off with her apron, but look- her apron is still clean! And the only people who's clothes ever change are Belle's and her Daddy's- everyone else always wears the same clothes. What is the matter with these people?"
I'm not sure if "these people" are the good folks at Disney, or some other villain.
I love that you sigh in disgust every time we find weeds in the flower beds.
She recently asked for a flower bed of her own to care for, and has already started plotting her choices- hardy english primroses, lewisia, and sweet pea.
I love how you burst into tears over the weirdest stuff.
Okay, so I don't actually love that, but I have a theme going here, people. Let's see, yesterday's outburst was due to the fact that Atticus had given her an outlet cover (you know, one of those child-proofing thingies), she had touched it, and was now afraid that electricity had gotten into her body and was going to kill her. Several days before that, all she managed to get out between sobs was, "I think there's something wrong with me!"
I have to wonder: if she's like this now, what's going to happen when puberty sets in and all those crazy hormones take over?
Pray for us.