Dear Caroline,
Today you are twelve. I feel like every year I say that I can’t believe how old you are and wonder where the time has gone and I guess this year is no different. Someday, God willing, you’ll be blowing out the candles on your fortieth birthday cake and I’m still going to be wondering how the years passed so quickly while hopefully looking incredibly youthful for my age.
This past Saturday afternoon I found myself in a full blown fit of nostalgia and went down a rabbit trail of old videos and found this gem that has always been one of my favorites.
Fishing Story from Big Mama on Vimeo.
You were not quite five the day I recorded that video, but it’s proof that you have never been a shy, quiet type of kid. You have always embraced all that life has to offer and certainly have never been afraid to talk about poop.
This year you started junior high and honestly I think you handled the transition better than I did. I worried. I worried about you making new friends, I worried about you being at school with all those big kids, I worried that you wouldn’t ever figure out how to organize the enormous binder you have to carry around all day along with a million other little things that I can’t even remember now.
Then you moved to a new soccer team where you didn’t know most of the girls. It was a huge transition to a coach who demanded a lot more of his players and pushed you harder than you’d ever been pushed, but you met every single challenge and made new friends and ended up being the player of the year for your team. And I was so happy for you because it was something you achieved through a lot of hard work and dedication to becoming better.
When we went to the pediatrician a few weeks ago for your annual well-check, the nurse measured you and told us you’d grown three inches over the last year. But you’ve grown so much more than that.
You have fully transitioned into a preteen with your own thoughts and opinions and sense of humor. You are fiercely loyal to the people you love and not interested in trying to impress anyone. Sometimes I watch you and think you have more self-confidence now than I had when I was thirty. I think you get that from your daddy, neither of you worry too much about what other people think of you as long as you believe you’re doing the right thing and I have to say I admire that.
And that’s one of the things I love about being your mom. You challenge me, you surprise me, you keep me on my toes, and, maybe most of all, you make me laugh.
This summer you’ve been my late night buddy. Daddy goes to bed about ten and then you and I stay up until the wee hours of the morning reading our books or watching a movie, all snuggled up on the couch. And I love to hear you laugh when you read something that strikes you as funny or when you stop to ask me a question about something that may or may not be related to what we’re watching. I’ll miss our late nights when school starts again in a few weeks.
And your heart. I love the way you get teary-eyed when you’re overwhelmed with joy and the way you cry real tears when someone you love hurts. You are a kind, compassionate soul and that matters to me more than anything else.
It was your faithful heart that challenged Daddy and me to take a leap of faith when you asked one night during dinner a few months ago, “Why don’t we just start a church?” I knew with everything in me that God was telling us to do exactly that and it was your simple, heartfelt question that made me realize we were going to take that leap because I want you to know that the only life that matters is one that runs after who and what God is calling you to become.
And you are doing a great job so far.
Happy birthday, sweet girl. Daddy and I love you more than you’ll ever know. You make our world so bright that we can hardly stand it.
Love,
Mama