About five years ago, my cousin Emily said something about Sabrina to her husband. He was confused. "Who?" he asked. That's because for the first year or so of her life, we called Sabrina "Tiny" or "T-Bone" because she had tiny bones. Well, that tiny girl is now six years old!
This past year has sucked for me on all kinds of levels. Sabrina is not one of them. She fights with her brothers, yes, and cries when she doesn't want something or wants something she can't have. But she is tender and sweet, and loves fiercely. She hugs me when I'm sad, protects me from the enthusiastic excesses of her brothers when I'm recovering from surgery (all too common!), and bands with her brothers when they are challenged by any outsider. Sabrina is learning to read and is sometimes giddy with her newfound skill, nascent though it is. She loves her friends and can always be found in the middle of the big group of kids.
Sabrina starts first grade in three weeks. I know she will be loved by her teacher because she wants to be good and do well. She will be loved by her friends because she loves them. (Although as the oldest child of two oldest children she comes honestly by a certain amount of bossiness!) And she is loved by me because she is my precious girl, my Squanto Oglethorpe, my Tiny Bones. Happy birthday baby girl.
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