On glitter and farkles
Dear Maisie,
I love you. I love you on your bad days. I love you on your good days. I love you when you wake up cranky, when you sleep in. I love you when you look up at your dad struggling with the Christmas lights on top of the ladder in freezing cold and say "you are the best daddy in all the land, thank you daddy". I love you when you get upset when Elliot cries. I love you when you have a milk moustache, say the wrong things, and when you are in hysterics over breaking a $1 snow globe. I love you when you eat all your dinner, and when you don't. I love you when your face is covered in fudge, or toothpaste, or sparkles. I love you. All the time. In any weather. In any clothes. On any day. Always.
Lately
Dear Maisie,
Lately you have been blowing my mind. Take the other day for example. We were in the kitchen, you were perched up on that old rickety stool, elbows resting thoughtfully on the counter picking at the bowl of grapes in front of you. I was making dinner. "Mommy, does Great Grandma have a boy?" I had no idea what you meant, and I was thinking "a son? a boy??"
I said "what do you mean honey"
"You know, like Auntie Kaywee can marry Matt, you can marry daddy." My mind started spinning. You want to know where great grandmas husband is. I compose myself.