Happy Birthday to THEGIRL!

My little girl turns four today. Here she is, checking out her princess-themed birthday cake.

I'll be in class tonight, so we celebrated last night.

She's my princess, my blue-eyed hurricane (the second of two in my household), my fearless child. She's the dancer, the comedian, the toughest one of us. If there is one natural-born martial artist in this family, she's it. Woe be unto the boy who dares to cross her.

She gets out of bed at night and puts beautiful clothes on over her pajamas. She puts shoes on too, pulling high-heeled slippers out of a bag in her closet. We find her asleep the next morning, splayed out in glittery lace.

Sunday she wept in bed when she finally realized that her favorite princess dress was simply too tattered to wear anymore.

She speaks her own language, cursing us in tone if not real words, managing to tell us exactly what she thinks in words that we mostly cannot understand.

She is the thrill-seeker, begging to be carried to bed upside down by her ankles every night (really). I toss her on the mattress and she laughs that big, bluesy belly laugh of hers.

She talks to her teddy bear, telling him when it's time to go to bed.

She's the miniature thief, easing across the living room carpet ever-so-slowly, hoping we won't notice the huge bag of candy she's stealthily trying to drag to her room.

She's the caretaker, quick to bring you a blanket and pillows when you lie still for any length of time.

She's the willful sprite, the independent child who is content to play in some back corner of the house, often under a bed or in a closet. Sometimes.

Other times she's the little showgirl, dancing and singing, shaking her fanny and squealing.

And she is, above and beyond all of that, my girl.