Eight is a year for third grade in our house. The small changes have started. Her little voice sounds not so little. She can ride all the rides, at just over 4 feet. Independence has always been her way, but now it is accompanied by a stronger sense of confidence and competence.
Eight is a year for really swimming. She has always been a mermaid, and this is a season where her strokes are sure, and the cold does not hit her when she splashes, just the joy of being in water. She rides her bike round and round the cul de sac. Happy to be outside, content with her own company when her sister seeks solitude indoors.
Eight is legos and dragons, some times at the same time when her imagination meets her creativity. The pillow forts and indoor tents are adventures broken only by granola bars and blueberries.
Eight is "momma can I make scrambled eggs?" and "momma can i make grilled cheese?" and "momma can i...?" I am both reluctant to let her lead and excited at her growing skills in the kitchen. We watch the great british bake off and chopped and sugar rush.
Eight is black lives matter, her life matters. I hold her hand tight, adjust her mask just so, we walk into the grocery store because I promised she could leave the house if we went super early on sunday morning when the risk was lowest for the chance encounters of people who mean to cause her harm. We are quick and efficient. No samples from her favorite clerks at the bakery or deli. Outside, we look for our car, not quite familiar in its new to us state since we traded in two and became a one car family who works and schools from multiple rooms in one house. What will she remember from this year?
Eight is waking up to breakfast and presents in bed. Grandpa's pumpkin pie for lunch. Cupcakes and pulled pork for dinner. A small hike with a cousin and auntie nearby, close and far, air high fives and smiles as they run up the hill, then down the hill stirring up leaves.
Eight is zoom birthday parties, and a weekend at an isolated farm, far away from others, close to trails and rivers. Eight is tether ball and feeding horses through a fence. Eight is family game night and family movie night and family. every. night.
Happiest 8th Birthday my sweet Savannah Joy.
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