From the Back Seat

Little Mama-Sister in the back seat: "Hey Davis, remember when you fell and hurt your arm and had a lot of blood dripping at soccer practice?"

Big Brother from the middle seat: (pause) "Yes"

Little Sister: "Well, try not to do that again."

Z at 3

Zoe. It means "life" in Greek. Life with a capital "L," as in "I have come to give you Life, and Life to the full." We call you Zoe-belle. And sometimes just Bella. Or Bella-boo. Your little sister says your name with great confidence: "Weezy." And so we all call you Weezy now as well. You seem to enjoy your various nicknames and hear them with the affection with which they are said.

I'm afraid you have aquired a bit of a reputation as being "strong-willed." It is true that you have pitched some fantastic fits in your first 3 1/2 years. You hold the distinction of being the only one of my three who I had to carry out of Target, screaming, under one arm. When you are worn out, you get ornery, by which I mean you scream a lot and you become irrational and pretty much impossible to calm down. The car seems to bring out particular frustration for you; strapped in, unable to retrieve things, and stuck is not your best scenario. I have a lot of memories of stressful car rides.

But Weezy, my dear and beautiful girl, this side of you, while memorable, is not Who you are. You are sensitive and observant. You watch and watch and watch some more, so that you know the names of all of your friends and their siblings and parents and your siblings' friends and their siblings and parents and Davis's classmates and whose turn it is to bring snack in Davis's class. You are cautious initially, slow to engage, but you love from a distance even as you watch. When you do engage, you are kind and thoughtful, allowing a friend the first turn, the better seat, the requested marker. I am so proud of your kindness toward others, including your brother and sister. You love to talk about your friends: Ann Elizabeth, Lindsey, Audrey, Haley and the "Big Girls," Elissa and Julia.

Your are affectionate. Your favorite phrase of late: "Mama, I have not had a hug all morning!" And whether the last hug was actually five minutes or several hours prior, nothing but nothing beats a true Zoe hug, sweet and strong. You and Davis sometimes get cuddly with each other as well, nuzzling cheeks and snuggling to read a story.

Oh, and your reading. You do love books, always have. The same stories, again and again until they are memorized. You are swift to correct us when we miss or modify a word. You know your numbers and letters and can write many of them, including your whole name, with the Z perfectly reversed. I love it.

You say you love pink and princesses and Dora. What you really love is to color. And to read. And to play outside. To talk. To pretend. Often at dinnertime, when we're sharing our favorite part of the day, your answer is "When we were all home together as a family."

Love your imagination, playing pretend in your room at rest time. Love your swinging these days- pumping those legs high and flying through the air! Taking showers. Brave at the lake with your face in the water. Just about potty trained, though still using a diaper at rest time...you say you'll probably be ready to poop in the potty when you're five. No more paci. That was a hard, hard transition for a couple of weeks, but now it's like you never had it.

Your mind is strong. "Mama, did you know that Jesus is God?" "Mama, Eliza died." "I know what plus two plus two (two plus two) is!" The words of the Lord's prayer, the doxology, numerous hymns, memory verses.

My Zoe-girl is getting bigger, and I have to say that my love for you grows bigger and fiercer every day. I'm so proud of the little person you are. You make me laugh, you make me smile, and I really enjoy being with you. There's a lot of Life in you, Weezy. I love you so very much.

More on My Big Guy

As we pass the empty lot, my five year old asks me what the big, complicated sign says.

"That lot is for sale," I answer. "Someone can buy it and build a store or a house in that space."

"Maybe the homeless people could buy it!" he suggests.

"Well, perhaps..." I begin to answer, not sure where to go with this conversation.

"Yes," he adds, growing more excited about his unfolding plans. "And then they could build a house and get married and have children and be happy."

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Last night, the children were safely tucked into bed and the garden needed water. I snuck out to enjoy the cool evening air and took great pleasure in caring for my thirsty plants. Upon entering the house, I noticed that Davis's light was on and his room was empty. His sisters' door was a ajar. I pushed it open to find Davis sitting in the dark on Zoe's bed. "Mama," he explained, "Zoe was sad, and I knew you were outside, so I just came to sit with her until you came back."