When Maggie woke up on the eighteenth and I told her it was finally her birthday, she was nearly bursting with enthusiasm . We made her a yummy birthday breakfast and let her open a present before Dad left for work--a Cinderella dress and magnetic Cinderella playset. She couldn't have been more thrilled. She played with them all morning. For lunch, her dad called and asked her if she wanted to get "China food" (as she calls it), go out for pizza, or eat peanut-butter sandwiches at home. After some brief discussion, in which we explained what it meant to go out for pizza (we don't eat out a lot), Maggie decided that was her pick. We sweetened the deal--literally--with Dairy Queen ice cream cones afterwards and Maggie thought she was in birthday heaven. Later we had a quick dinner and then headed to mutual. But Maggie made sure that we still had her cake when we got home. She was not going to miss out on being sung to and blowing out those birthday candles.
I love to hear her happy greeting each morning. I love that she still calls us Mama and Dada. I love that she is always using words like testimony and covenants and "reading" the scriptures. I love that she always wants to help and hold her little sister. I love that she laughs when I laugh and cries when I cry. I love that she is ever singing. I love that she is timid on play equipment and in large groups, but won't stop talking if you get her in a small or familiar setting. I even love her little "angry" voice when she says things like, "I'm just frustrated at you right now." And most of all, I love when she says things like, "I'm so 'yucky' [lucky] to have you and Kate and Dad" or "You are such a good Mom" or "Thank you for making this good dinner for us--that's so nice of you!"
No Maggie. I'm the lucky one.










