Hopeful Homemaker

Today my littlest one is four years old.  I find myself tipping back and forth between how natural it feels and how final it is.  She’s ready to be four years old; it’s what is right, and really, I’m ok.  She still loves to be near me, still loves to snuggle and feels safest with me.  I love that about her.  But her birthday marks things that no one else’s does in our family.  It marks the end of things.  No more three year olds, ever.  And that seems so final and so sad to me while at the same time life keeps me moving so quickly that there’s no time for the sadness of it to really penetrate my heart.  I feel it in passing, and then we’re off and it’s soon forgotten.  I remind myself that I’ve enjoyed three year olds EIGHT times!  I am so blessed.  But even with the knowledge that this world has been mine for much longer than is common, there’s an ache that is real.


We started the day with early morning cinnamon rolls and four pink candles.  She got a new dress from one of her grandmas and we made time to curl her hair the way she likes it.




Her sister painted her fingernails, and she got to wear the birthday hat in Primary while everyone sang to her.  The look on her face for that song was classic; I can’t tell you how much I wish I had a picture of it!


Smiles like this – the pure joy on her face – swallow up any feelings of bittersweet for me.  She was so happy and it made all of us happy.


And we ended the day as we began it, with four more candles and more birthday songs.  {I wish I knew what was reflecting the candle light onto her face like this, but at my house it’s snap the picture or miss it.}


There were two ice cream cakes, actually.  I made one for her big sister who spent her birthday at soccer games and at a campground and never got a cake.

And there it is.  My youngest is four and loving it.  I’m sure I will, too.
Happy Birthday, Puddles!