And I don’t even have my permit yet.
I haven’t taken any classes, received any of the certifications, attended the per-requisite courses and on top of everything, I think I managed to lose the brief.
The manufacturer forgot to include the user manual with the original packaging and 1-800-What-Now just rings and rings and rings. I hope I didn’t wake up some little old lady.
Those who bestow 9-year olds on the responsible and capable individuals who will raise them best have not yet stopped by. I’m not sure if I should be thankful or concerned.
The grandparents spend equal time laughing near/with/at us as they do wishing us luck in the future. I think they mean it.
I have a 9-year old. And I don’t know how to make her work “the right way.” I don’t know how to change her batteries or make her speak my language. I don’t know how to fix everything. I don’t know how to make her life easy. I would if I could and I think you would, too.
I don’t know when to take her in for the 120-pt check and I haven’t had to replace any belts yet. Shoes, however, barely last a few months and I’m considering leasing the next set. If you can get me a good deal, let me know.
I question myself with every decision I make, and twice with the decisions I don’t. When she faces a challenge or an obstacle, we try to help her get over it or around it, but deep in our hearts, we would do anything just to take it away. This is life, however, and so very little of it is smooth.
I love her more than I know how to say, or write. When I try, the effort is so insubstantial, my eyes send tears and my heart pounds to emphasize the mumbling.
When I tell her that I love her she always responds the same way. “I love you more.” I believe her.
Today, I have a 9-year old. Happy birthday, Emma. May we approach each and every obstacle together, strong and united.
Today, I have a 9-year old. And I am blessed beyond measure.