Eight

Today, Hannah Ruth, you are turning eight.

Daddy often chides me for making you and your brother older than you are, when I spend the last few months before your birthday rounding up. But I feel like you really are going to inhabit this age well, and eight looks good on you. Particularly this new "with glasses" version of you.

I asked if you remembered me writing you a letter for your seventh birthday, and you encouraged me to do it again. Your own writing has really blossomed this year, and I think you see already see the value in me doing this for you. When asked to write a letter to your new teachers about your summer vacation, you wrote on for several pages. I'd like to think you get that from me.

You loved finding the collection of padlocks people have left along a bridge on the River Seine, and I can see you going back some day to place your own. You looked like Shirley Temple after getting your hair done at a salon for the first time before your last spin as a flower girl. You were a royal window washer. You sewed, karate-kicked, swam, played piano and learned to read Hebrew. You broke your first bone, and stunned me by choosing a bright green cast (the better for which to display signatures). You made a really grown up decision in choosing to spend two weeks at overnight camp this coming summer.

You continue to be a loyal friend to many, nurturing some friendships for years now. You have really hit your stride at Bowen Elementary, and continue to astonish me with the things you're learning there. You are very well-loved by a great number of adults, particularly evidenced by your celebrity status as you walk the halls of the JCC, and by one of the ushers at Temple Emanuel who has a great affinity for you. And though he can get annoying, your brother is still your very best friend.

You are growing up so fast, and yet it's hard for me not to rush you. I love our talks, and though I may roll my eyes at it, I secretly love every time you say, "I have a question." I hope you have lots of wonderful adventures in the next year. I love you, kid.