You are now a bright and shining eight year old with a gleam in your eye, unicorns and fairy dust under your feet, and a world of imagination no adult could comprehend. Your hair is always a mess (no matter how often we spray/brush it) and there is always dirt under your fingernails. Stains litter your clothes like you are wearing a permanent napkin. And yet, you are always smiling (unless your sister is bothering you or you are bothering your sister--you know which one I'm talking about!). I often slap my forehead in disbelief of what comes out of your mouth and what you think of next. Your mind is complicated, as evidenced by the plot of your current Young Authors' story, that involves the intrigues of magic, burglary, abduction, and the list goes on. Your handwriting is very nice when you want it to be, just like you know the answers to questions when you want to know them. Although frustrating, I admire how you miss most words on the spelling pretest and yet you get most of them correct when you take another test at home later that day (psst...I think you just don't want challenge words so you purposely get things wrong!). I don't understand how you can hate ice cream now, but to each their own. I just know that I love you, and you will forever be my baby.
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