She's Four on Her Birthday

At a Clemson football tailgate last fall the gal who parked next to us drew a hopscotch on the asphalt for her three-year-old daughter and HB to play on. The other little girl, Ellie, went first: “one, two, four, five, six,” she said.

Then HB, “one, two, three, four, five.”

Ellie again, “one, two, four, five, six.”

Then HB, now a little concerned she was not getting all the way to six, “one, two, three, four, five,” took an extra hop, “six!”

Ellie again, seeing the extra hop, “one, two, four, five, six, seven!”

HB, hands on hips, looked at Ellie and looked at me and said, “hey, what’s going on here?”

How does a mom explain that the other little girl keeps missing “three” and that my own precious daughter is doing just fine?

And I'm her mom

Though I have a good friend who likes to respond to things I say with, “you’re such a mom,” I don’t ever feel that way. I feel like things are different, maybe a little harder sometimes, maybe a little easier sometimes.

I don’t spend much time thinking of myself as a mom. But four years ago today I became one. There’s a little person in my house who was three-and-four-on-her-birthday and today’s her birthday.

“Goodnight, HB,” I said to her last night, “my three-year-old-sweet-girl.”

She grinned and snuggled deeper into Guh-Gus, her elephant pillow. (He’s prone to unprovoked attacks which elicit peals of laughter from HB, more on that some other time.)

I’m partial to birthdays and to birthday posts. I think they are an excellent reason to think about one’s own life, what has been accomplished thus far and where one might want to be this time next year. They’re sort of a New Year’s do-over.

The Year in Review

While HB was three she learned to use the potty, she went to seven Clemson football games and one Navy game, she learned to write her name and to recognize her best friend Maddie’s name, she got really good at counting as high as 20, very rarely missing “three.”

She lost one great-grandmother and visited the other one once a month as she had done since she was born. She went to the Greenville Zoo and left with a pink stuffed snake named Finley.

She went to two baby parties, picked up two new first cousins, and two third cousins. She was a movie star, "Hollie-wood" for Halloween. She was a snowflake in the Nutcracker.

She watched about 1000 hours of Pixar films. She learned to sing Anchors Aweigh and Hail to the Redskins. She got a doll house (we call it the sorority house because there are nine very pretty girls living there). She watched about 1000 episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Come inside. It’s fun inside.

She wore her Minnie Mouse dress, ears, and shiny red shoes to school at least three dozen times. Two weeks ago she wore it to Mellow Mushroom.

She watched about 100 episodes of Scooby Doo. She learned “zoinks!” and “jenkies!” are acceptable expressions of discomfort and surprise. She learned, “nah nah nah nah nah nah,” which she does after saying, “chase me!” and while holding up jazz hands and shaking her rear-end. Yes, taunting, she learned taunting.

She’s a goodkid. She says, “yes, ma’am!” and “yes, sir!” without being prompted (much). She says “please,” and “thank you” without being prompted (much). She laughs a lot. Smiles all the time. Runs when she could probably just walk and declares, “I the line leader!” whenever the three of us go anywhere.

She moved away from the upstate, from friends, from school, from her Ma-Ma and Pa-Pa. And she’s still smiling, laughing, playing, and learning. She says wherever Daddy and I are is home.

She’s resilient and spunky. She’s funny and beautiful. She’s dramatic and creative.

Man, I wish she could read. Maybe next year.

Happy Birthday, HB. Thanks for making life a little bit harder sometimes and a little bit easier sometimes. Daddy and I are glad you’re in our family.