The Spectacular Ordinary: Day 3
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There was nothing ordinary about today, because today we celebrated this girl.
Julia, my baby, the youngest of three, turned 16 today.
And if that isn't spectacular, I don't know what is.
At our house, you get to pick your birthday dinner (tonight it was "Pasta Supreme," salad, and thick Italian bread). And your birthday cake (red velvet bundt cake with cream cheese frosting).
There are always (OK, usually) streamers hanging from the kitchen lights and candles and the blue plate that says, "Today is your day! Celebrate!"
And the birth story, it must be told. Every year it's the same. You'd think we'd all be tired of hearing the same three stories every 365 days, but no. Even though the girls can recite most of the details for themselves, I think there's something about hearing Mom tell it and Dad chime in his two cents and the two of us looking at each other remembering that night like it was yesterday that brings it more to life, more real for my daughters than anything. We were there. They were there. We remember.
It binds us.
Tonight we all gathered around the table for dinner, all five of us. Even though it was kind of quick (there was homework to be done and commitments to be kept), we all looked with deep appreciation around the table at one another, knowing deep in our hearts that these traditions are not to be missed. Rushed, maybe. But missed, never.
Because this little girl?
The sleepy,
always smiling,
almost driving one?
She's worth celebrating.
So today, we're remembering the day Julia joined our happy clan. The all-grown-up, cheerful, rejoicing, grace-giving, loving, achieving, playful Julia.
We love you, sweetheart.
There's nothing ordinary about you.
Julia, my baby, the youngest of three, turned 16 today.
And if that isn't spectacular, I don't know what is.
At our house, you get to pick your birthday dinner (tonight it was "Pasta Supreme," salad, and thick Italian bread). And your birthday cake (red velvet bundt cake with cream cheese frosting).
There are always (OK, usually) streamers hanging from the kitchen lights and candles and the blue plate that says, "Today is your day! Celebrate!"
And the birth story, it must be told. Every year it's the same. You'd think we'd all be tired of hearing the same three stories every 365 days, but no. Even though the girls can recite most of the details for themselves, I think there's something about hearing Mom tell it and Dad chime in his two cents and the two of us looking at each other remembering that night like it was yesterday that brings it more to life, more real for my daughters than anything. We were there. They were there. We remember.
It binds us.
Tonight we all gathered around the table for dinner, all five of us. Even though it was kind of quick (there was homework to be done and commitments to be kept), we all looked with deep appreciation around the table at one another, knowing deep in our hearts that these traditions are not to be missed. Rushed, maybe. But missed, never.
Because this little girl?
The sleepy,
always smiling,
almost driving one?
She's worth celebrating.
So today, we're remembering the day Julia joined our happy clan. The all-grown-up, cheerful, rejoicing, grace-giving, loving, achieving, playful Julia.
We love you, sweetheart.
There's nothing ordinary about you.
