eight years

Happy birthday, Morgan Grace.

You are eight today, and it's the first time I've really felt the cliche about kids growing up so quickly. I don't know if it's because we can legally ditch your car seat or because the distance to double digits seems imminent, but it's quite alarming how fast this day has come.
























The past year still has all the freshness of your newest endeavors, and yet, we've started waving goodbye to milestones and I wonder how that can even be possible.

More teeth have been lost, although for you, that is not a thrilling landmark in your childhood. Rather it's more of a nuisance as you forbid anyone to go near near your mouth when those teeth dangle. And so we watch and wait for weeks on end as you eat awkwardly one-sided and speak with a funny lisp until the day you can no longer bear it.




















Your lovely blonde locks have grown longer than ever. It took some convincing to trim just a couple inches over the winter as you've become more particular about your looks. You may not be the girliest in the room, but it's clear that your appearance matters to you. On some school mornings, I'll knock on your bedroom door to check your progress, and I'm reminded of my days as a little girl in front of my bedroom mirror. I don't know when exactly you'll encounter the pressure of measuring up to others, but  you need to hear and know that God made you in his likeness. You are beautiful and special, not just because your parents have told you so, but because you are His.




Your brothers sure do think you're something special. Andrew asks for your companionship daily to shoot hoops or play Legos or whatever interest you might have at the moment. Anything to be with you. And Matthew. You definitely have the big sister thing going on with him - the kind of bond that teeters on compassionate motherhood with all your first-born, in-charge wisdom. He falls for it every time, and you soak it up. I truly believe you will always view Matthew as the baby that needs rescuing. And Andrew will always be the brother that fails to meet your exceptionally high standards. You often forget the distance between your age and Andrew's, and lack compassion as he navigates all the learning you've already obtained. And yet he's one of your best friends.

Also topping your list of favorites is your father. You love to challenge him when I'm not around, to see how far he'll bend before he breaks. But it's not just shenanigans with the two of you. On Sunday afternoons you work together on your comprehension homework. You share a love for the NFL and college basketball. And Daddy is still the one who can teach you and reach you in ways I'm not always able.

As with most of your external relationships, you need time. This has been evident with our special neighbors from Trinity. While you dearly love both sets of your grandparents, you - and our entire family, for that matter - have developed a unique grandparent-like relationship with Mr. and Mrs. B.  I had no idea when I sent you off to preschool that we would be so close to your teacher and her husband. But it wasn't always this way. I think for a long while you could only see Mrs. B as your teacher, and that respect for her couldn't translate into anything more until you were far and away removed from the preschool years. Now? Our families are attached in a special way that goes beyond friendship.


















One of your favorite school friends is Addison. Second grade has solidified your friendship with her, and I'm glad you've found a connection. Your teachers have also told us that you are a good friend to others - observing first and choosing playmates second. On Wednesdays I'm able to catch a glimpse of you in the cafeteria as your brothers and I walk from MOPS to Young Five's. You smile and I wave and the moment passes. What I love most about that Wednesday exchange is the few seconds before we actually meet. From the hallway I see you surrounded by girls, laughing and conversing in a natural way, a way that Daddy and I aren't allowed to see when both of your worlds attempt to co-exist. There's an awkwardness that bubbles up inside of you when a good friend says hello in front of us. Or likewise, when one of us comes into your already-established domain of school or friends. I've always wondered why that compartmentalization happens when, in so many other areas of life, you're able to multi-task so easily.

Sometimes I remind you about your former self - the one who shared in detail about her day at preschool, repeating every line to every song, every schedule and routine during our separation - and when I do, you are utterly amazed at the girl who would be so forthcoming and open. I crave to hear about school, and now you're much more guarded about what you share. "I don't know" is a common answer to our questions, not because you lack the knowledge, but because you choose to stay silent.

I remember asking once about one of your friends, possibly about something she had worn for Casual Day. And it was your response that explained so much: "Why are you asking, is it inappropriate?" Your assumption that I was going to immediately pass judgement stopped me in my tracks. Sometimes Daddy and I are guilty of being critical without realizing. I never want our initial reactions to the information you actually share to prevent you from speaking. But I'll be the first to admit I don't have a poker face and I'm quick to speak (and slower to think). Unfortunately I can already see the apple falling in close proximity to the tree. I hope we can look back together someday and see this change for us.


















You are still an avid reader, and often have three books going at once. I'm not sure how you keep the stories straight! You love Odd Squad and American Girl and sports - watching and practicing whatever's in season. Daddy is always so impressed with your love of the game. But participating? It's not until you've prepared and perfected your skills that you're willing to play sports with others. Pep Squad is the only athletic activity on your resume for now, despite the other opportunities that have come along. My guess is that will change as you get older, and I hope it does - you're coordinated, determined and so capable at anticipating. These skills will take you well beyond the court or field.
























In January you started piano lessons which frustrated you immensely in the first few weeks because of your desire to achieve perfection right out of the gate. The expectations you placed on yourself were great, and when notes didn't come easily or immediately, we saw the side of you that hates struggle. I wish you could understand how good those challenges are for you, how the frustration will shape your character. Someday, Morgan. Someday.























The funnel is growing wider now. As you increase in age, so does your independence. And while I've shared with others before the analogy of holding sand too tight, it's time for me to remember that gentle cupping of the hand every now and then. Like the sand, I don't want you to find the quickest escape possible just because I'm squeezing too tight. Even at eight years old there's a delicate balance between holding on and letting go.

I know right now it seems crazy that your own mom could have ever been a little girl once. But I continue to tell you stories from my childhood, stories that connect us, stories that let you see I was once in your shoes. I talk about the smelly boy next to me in second grade, about my experience with piano lessons, about the teacher I was most frightened of becoming my favorite. You see, Morgan, while you are growing up nearly 30 years after I did, there are some things that never change. Navigating relationships, conquering fears, learning life - you aren't alone.

As you run off into the year ahead, may you remember WHOSE you are so that in all things you can feel God's presence and the safety net of the family who loves you.

I love you dearly,
Mom