A memory reblog-my daughter has recently turned ten years old. This was from when she turned eight.
My daughter turned eight years old today. On greeting her and wishing her ‘Happy Birthday’ this morning, she told me that she said a prayer last night in bed:
“Thank you for being seven, and thank you for all my remembers.”
I loved that last bit-thank you for all my remembers. Her way of summing up the past twelve months of her life, all of the memorable moments in the cavalcade of chronological events.
The other day I was watching her younger brother James from the kitchen window. He was out in the garden, studying a bird perched in a tree above him. He was serious and rapt, the hint of the handsome man he will be painted there on his face, and I found myself confessing a sad, wistful thought to myself:
I wish I was younger.
I have four children, and their arrival into the world was spaced…
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