This evening has not gone well. When I took Elle to gymnastics, I actually had to stay outside in the cool air so the chill would lessen my desire to projectile vomit (Got kids? You know the morning sickness tricks! and NO I’M NOT PREGNANT JUSTNOTFEELINGWELL!!!!) and ended up missing my daughter being singled out as the best straddle-handstander in the class. But as my mother was checking me for lice tonight (Got kids? Don’t judge! You’ll end up getting pinworms if you judge me!), my mini-me threw this little gem in front of me:
I am sorry you are feeling ill and having a bad day but something is hidden in my haert and it’s called love and care. I love you.
Please, oh please, tell me that she’ll always be my biggest, most adoring fan! No? Okay, then lie to me. Seriously, folks. When does this stop? Not that I want it to. I simply want to know when to expect these less and less frequently. Because at our current rate, I’m getting two letters a week. It’s become easier to organize her paper-gifts since she no longer draws me one thousand pictures a week and orders me to hang them on the refrigerator and then store them in the “pretty box” for all of eternity. Or until she deems them too ugly to keep as mementos. No, no, no more of that. We’ve graduated to real letters. With WORDS!