We are, of course, astounded that Elsa turned 3 yesterday. Mostly because we were sure she should be turning 4. Or maybe 5. Because it was certainly years and years ago that her favorite phrase was “dobby!” (“stop it!”), she was stealing my shoes, and she couldn’t ride a balance bike.
But that was only a year ago. Now she converses fluently, makes funny jokes, wows the world with her cruising speed on the bike, and . . . has taken a break from stealing my shoes.
She is also very good at finding ways to be helpful (much better than I am) and does an excellent job of moving the chopped veggies from the cutting board to the roasting pan, loves to make sure her brothers get a little bit of whatever she is taste-testing, and hopes to one day be a good little runner in her little running clothes and little running shoes. (Like mine, but smaller.)
Her only request for her birthday was a purple cake with purple frosting. I did my best. But when I asked if she would prefer her purple cake to be made with blueberries or blackberries, she looked at me like I was crazy. “Purple berries!” Of course. (I used both blue and black and she didn’t seem to notice a lack of purple.)
I could go on about my favorite things about her, but suffice it to say that she is my favorite thing about her. All of her. From her messy curls to her cute little overbite to her love of flip-flops and toenail polish. She’s pretty much the best.