Oh My Darlin',
On one hand, it seems like you were born yesterday, and on that hand I'm astonished--just bowled over!-- that you're seven.
But (at the continued risk of sounding like Randy Travis) on the other hand, I feel like we've been so long together, and hasn't it been fairly wearisome at points? You present as "first born" just like I do, and we get stuck in cycles of bossing and fussing in which both of us can dish it out, and neither of us can take it. Why, just this morning, I yelled: "Clementine! Are you the police?" in exasperation, and in response, you rolled your eyes, which sure enough stay in their proper place no better than mine do.
But hey, now. You're sharp as a tack. Not so long ago, you came skipping into the bathroom while I was in the tub. "Can I read to you, Mama?" you asked, and I waved my copy of My Antonia at you.
"I'm already reading," I said, "but you can take over for me, if you like." I should've remembered: you haven't been intimidated by a thing your whole life long. Willa Cather, pshaw (ain't no thing but a chicken wing); you entered her words like a champ.
Also, you're tender-hearted, especially toward animals. You want a horse so badly, and the secret I haven't shared until now is that I want one for you; I do. I want art and piano lessons for you, too. I guess we'll figure it all out, in time. Meanwhile, your dog, cat, and fish are well-loved critters.
You'll always be okay, I think. You're a leader with a good head on your shoulders and Jesus in your heart. I'd be sorry for all the times we've gone 'round and 'round, but I know I've helped you raise your game...and you've helped me raise mine.
I guess life is all about each of us becoming the best possible version of herself. I say: you're already pretty terrific, so do you, Honey, and I'll always be here to cheer you on.
I love you so much,