A girl named Grace turns three today.
She lives too far away to reach for a hug, but I’m hugging her nonetheless. I have a memory of her in my arms from when I hugged her about a hundred times in a precious week this summer. She hugged me back, nice and tight around my neck.
Grace lives by the beat of a steady drum, at her own pace. She loves hard. Her giggles run deep; her moods swing wide.
She’s made of crackers and teddy bears, bubbles and dollies, all held together with peach stickers on her forehead.
And if she’s busy or thinking when you ask her to do something? Well, you’re just going to have to wait. She’ll think about it, but no forward motion will occur until she exerts a force on her own inertia that holds her firmly in her spot, content and comfortable, still and deep in the world of a preschooler.
You’re like a diamond in the sky, Grace, and I love you SO much.