Three

 

Hello {three}.



 

The littlest lady didn't ask for much when it came to her third birthday.  When prompted she would quickly shout out, "PURPLE CAKE."  So, with purple crepe paper hung, purple paper plates and napkins placed, and her purple layered cake prominently displayed we celebrated {three} with a small gathering of family.  She was bestowed all of her favorite things: tiny pouches of miniature lip glosses, clothing, fashion accessories, and musical instruments.  All the many things that make our little girl's bright personality shine even brighter. 

 

With year two and its many moments of good, bad, painful and beautiful behind us, we are settling into a more predictable, but ever so exciting groove that is three.  To know June is to know the multitude of fantastic faces she is able to make within seconds of each other, to be the recipient of booming shrieks, roars, and cries of delight and sorrow, to be patted (gently or roughly) on the back acknowledging your presence and close proximity, to be mesmerized by her dazzling personality and ability to captivate a room, to watch her long, blond curls bounce as she moves and tiptoes about, to behold her delicate and rhythmic dance moves, to witness her fearlessness as she scolds and bosses older children unaware of her own age and place, to hold her fair and delicate hand as she comes close to cuddle, to lock eyes with her bright blues as she animatedly tells a story or recounts her day, to listen to her prayers always ending with the hope that Jesus "will have a lovely day," to observe her independence as she dresses, undresses, selects and re-selects various outfits throughout the day, to be impressed by her determination to prep meals, groom herself, medicate and pry open the bottle of kid's multivitamins independently, always independently. 

 

 She is the epitome of sugar and...cayenne, our little firecracker, bold and bright. 

 

With the arrival of {three} we finally said farewell to her beloved pacifier, a friend to us all.  With the surplus of available helium balloons in our household due to two November birthdays, Jeff, always the clever one, suggested sending her remaining pacifiers up to heaven to Uncle Brad for safe keeping. (There were three in the house.)  She agreed, and bravely sent the first one up on the morning of November 16th.  Fifteen minutes later she was ready to send papi number two up.  Bon voyage and cue the waterworks.  Within seconds, I found our little lady sprinting up the stairway attempting to scale the shelves of her closet to reach pacifier number three resting (or so she thought) on the top shelf.  Unbeknownst to her, number three had already been pitched.  She sobbed.  I wanted to, but refrained.  In all honesty, she grieved the rest of the day offering up heart-stabbing comments such as "I can't do this anymore."

 

It was a tender day as I watched our girl overcome sadness and persevere.  I hope that I will never forget her fighting spirit that day.  I think it was a big day for her and I, a reminder to acknowledge my children's sadness, empathize with them, offer grace, extend love and be quick to rejoice with them when the tears are gone and they find joy once again.