Eleven

Miss Splenda was a junior bridesmaid in a family wedding this weekend. Isn't she lovely?


I love the way her dress has that extra hem on the bottom. That wasn't part of the pattern, it was because she grew 4" since her first fitting. But, her auntie did a fabulous job of correcting it.

She's growing up so fast. This next picture was shortly after I met her:


And then there was that other wedding she bridesmaided:


(She was trying so hard to look contrary at Uncle NinjaJohn, but her complete adoration shone through anyways.)

Today she turned eleven.

ELEVEN.

I can hardly believe she was barely nine when I met her. She talked my ear off about Queen Elizabeth and Henry VIII. Only she didn't say it Henry the Eighth. It was Henry V-I-I-I. Pronounced with a Kentucky accent, it sounds more like Henry Vay Ai Ai Ai.

Today she called her dad and reminded him it is her birthday, and she is eleven, and did he know that in two more years she'll be a teenager?

Yes. We know. WE KNOW. Can we have just a few more years of little girlhood?

She'll never read this, because she doesn't have access to the blog, but I love her so much. And she gets on my everlasting last nerve. The very last one, the one over there hanging by a fraying thread. But I still love her.

My heart aches with joy when I see her be so sweet to her little brother. When he first started laughing and cackling, he would be so much more laughy with her than anyone else. He can pick her out of a crowd already.

The Momma dress buttons bust off when she sings in church, and when she remembers to say please and thank you, and when she confides in my best friend.

I know we are entering into a season of life that is certain to be tumultuous, but I also know that this stage will pass. It has to pass, because that's what time does.

Eleven. May it be a sweet year, Splenda. Happy birthday!