Dear A,

If I had to choose a fruit of the spirit that describes you most accurately, it would be: goodness.

You practice goodness. You strive for goodness. You are a kind, gentle, and selfless soul.

Going along with that, you are a peacemaker – refusing to take sides during arguments, bringing people together. Both of your sisters would describe you that way, which is pretty remarkable.

I have always said that age four is one of my favorites and you proved this to be true again. Fantastic four. You were and are a delight.

To you, life is a musical. At various junctions in the day, you throw out your arms wide and sing songs of your own creation – typically in an operatic voice.

You remain exceptionally athletic. Whenever people come over, they comment on your speed as you ride your balance bike across our porch. We haven’t given you much time to practice, but you can totally ride a two-wheeler on your own now too.

Every afternoon, you ask, “What’s for dinner?” Regardless of the answer, you usually follow it up with “Yum!” and “Thanks!” I REALLY appreciate your non-pickiness (and your gratitude) when it comes to mealtime. The only thing I can think of that you’re not much of a fan of is – grilled cheese sandwiches. Strange, but true.

Your top hobbies are cooking, dressing up with O, holding your baby brother, watching movies, playing games (alphabet match and UNO), and reading. You leave books like “Anne of Green Gables” and “The Little House on the Prairie” around the house with bookmarks in them – and become distressed if we “lose your spot.” You will sit in your bed for long stints, with picture-less books open on your lap.

Lest we remember the truth incorrectly, I should point out that you are not actually reading. In fact, you don’t even know all of the alphabet – though that’s no fault of your own. You are bright, articulate, and eager to learn. We just haven’t spent that much time going over the three R’s just yet. Academics will come soon enough.

At Halloween, you dressed up in pink scrubs and declared yourself, “Dr. A. Sheaffer” – with zero prompting from us. You wore your surgical mask and stethoscope like a boss.

We went to Disneyland TWICE when you were age 4 and you didn’t even want to ride Winnie-The-Pooh. Oh no! You proudly rode Tower of Terror BLACK-OUT and declared it your favorite ride. Other favorites: Splash Mountain, Space Mountain, and Big Thunder Mountain. You cried when you found out you were too short for Grizzly River Run….which brings me to my next point.

You very rarely cry.  You’ll take a huge crash on your bike, tumble over while hiking, or head into a scary swim lesson – and hold your head up high. Tough as they come.

Speaking of swim, you took a “Swim to Survive” two-week class last summer at barely age 4. By the end, you were swimming solo and diving for rings at the bottom of the pool. Your bravery inspired me.

Tim & I are also impressed by your decision-making skills. You are highly decisive – able to make up your mind regardless of what others are doing. If we say, “Blue or green?” or “Burritos or Chili?”…you can answer quickly and without looking around the room to see what everyone else will choose. I hope you keep this trait forever.

You have wild + angelic curly hair, pensive eyes, and a (toothless) smile that you don’t give out to just anybody. You lost both of your two front teeth prematurely – one from falling off the playhouse in the backyard, the other when you face-planted in the living room a week later (A WEEK LATER). When you received a dollar under your pillow from the tooth fairy, you cheerfully announced, “Now I can get A DOG!”

Recently, we went around and played the question game at the dinner table. One of the questions was: “Who is your hero?” You piped up lickety-split, “God!” You love Him. You love our family. You are just plain good at loving.

Thank you for being exactly who you. We adore you, AJ.

At approximately 6:45am, you bounced into our room. Fully dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, you pronounced, “We’re going horseback riding!”

You’ve been our horse girl for years now so it seemed a very fitting way to celebrate. Tim drove you to a coffeeshop, where you sipped on dark coffee as a special treat, and then you went riding at the El Conquistador Stables. The sun on your shoulders and the reins in your hands, you guided the horse with gentle determination and confidence.

When you got home, we dropped you off for Poetry Club at Sarah Kate’s house. Ever since you could put a pencil to paper, you’ve been writing your own poems (the most recent two that you left on my desk were about “apples” and “coffee”). You have a knack for selecting words, crafting titles, and – especially – reciting pieces with dramatic expression.

As is our tradition, we let you choose the dinner menu. You chose fruit (“just fruit!”) so we served an assortment of apples, oranges, strawberries, and cantaloupe. Dessert was homemade creamy new york cheesecake with crumbly graham cracker crust – your request!

A bit about you at age eight.

You love to read. In addition to Little House, Baby Island, and Mr. Popper’s Penguins, you’ve enjoyed the Magic Tree House series (I believe you are on book #18), Nancy Drew, and the Mercy Watson books by Kate DiCamillo. There are many-a-nights when we call you to dinner and you come to the table with a book in your nose.

On days when you are discouraged or if you are scolded, we often find you curled up in bed under the covers with your Bible open. Soaking in the Word of God. May you always find solace and strength in those pages.

In truth, you’re a bit of an academic. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you pursue your PhD someday. When school is over, you relax by…reading and writing some more.

You like to run (and you’re fast), to hike (you’re not one to grow weary), and to play tag (probably because no one can catch you).

You still play dress-up and make-believe with your younger sister, which I am glad about. Depending on the day, you two transform into princesses, doctors, explorers, detectives, horse trainers, or police officers.

When you get dressed for the day, you almost always pull on your favorite appaman blue jeans – but you also like to wear dresses and skirts. You are very concerned about “matching” and you have an excellent sense of style. Hats and headbands are something you don on most days.

When you grow up, you want to own a horse of your very own. Your career ambitions have stayed pretty steady, but writer and poet are at the top of the list as of late.

You recently told me that you are glad that your birthday is in spring because you prefer warm weather.

Things I appreciate you – you are a very encouraging person (our neighbor told me that she thinks you have the gift of encouragement and I concur). You are brave and eager to try new things. You are outdoorsy and strong – you’d much rather be out in the stables than at a nail salon or (shudder) the mall. You and me both, kid.

Sometimes you wish that you could stay little forever – but I’m glad you are turning eight. Growing up is hard to do, but you are doing it gracefully. You’ll always be our green-eyed girl. No matter what.

At 3:37am on a Thursday morning, I woke up with the chills.

As my body was overtaken by gentle shaking and I lay on my side, I knew today would be the day. “We’re going to have a baby today,” I whispered to Tim across the bed as my contractions began in short order. He knew.

After unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep, we both woke up. On my way to the kitchen, our oldest daughter stirred, “What are you doing?” “I’m in labor,” I replied.

Tim brewed coffee while I bounced on the blue exercise ball – praying and taking bites of cantaloupe (not due to hunger, but because I knew I would need strength for the hours ahead).

I picked up the song lyrics that I had previously printed and stood up to sing whenever a contraction began anew. “Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee…”

Tim called his parents at 4:45am and they arrived by 6. Even though I suspected it might be a bit too soon to go in, I told Tim that I would rather head over to the birth center than labor in the car.

At 6:30am, we pulled up at the birth center. Contractions were still super manageable at this point and they even stopped for a bit while the midwife took my vitals. “Now what?” Tim asked.

We stepped out into the August early morning sunshine. The parking lot and entire complex was quiet, except for a couple of landscapers, blowing leaves + debris with vacuums. We walked at least ten circles and I hung loosely over a tree trunk for contractions (which had begun again).

As the contractions magnified, we went back inside and I leaned against the bureau to sing/hum/groan as they peaked. It was like dejavu from two of my three previous two births.

I never watch the clock during labor, but it was around 8:15am when I dipped into the warm tub. The water felt good, but I quickly became too hot so Tim placed a cold washcloth on the back of my neck.

When the time for pushing arrived, I was frightened (as I always am) by the intensity of the pain. The overwhelming urge consumed my body and my words were few, “I’m scared.” “Lord, help me.” “Baby!” “I love you, H.” Also: “I can’t do this.”

But then I did. I was on my hands and knees, leaning forward and pushing because my body compelled me. With a roar, the head emerged and I heard him cry. 8:40am.

The relief was immediate; the joy palpable. I stood up, stepped over the cord, and brought my baby to my chest. He was crying and perfect.

I walked over to the bed, dripping blood and staring at the miracle of his little body.

Happiness ran through my veins, pumping through an invisible IV.

Five hours later, we were home. The girls had made a sign to celebrate the baby’s arrival and it was fluttering in the wind.

“That’s the strange thing about birth,” I reminisced to my girls a few days later. “Each of your births were some of the hardest, scariest days of my life – but they were also the very best.” They nodded their heads solemnly as they looked adoringly at the face of their new brother. I’m pretty sure they understood.

Dear A,

Has there ever been a more obedient, cheerful, and delightful 3-year-old? I think you’d be hard-pressed to find one.

In fact, I’m somewhat sad that age three is coming to an end because you infuse so much goodness and virtue into our home.

One of your very best qualities is that you are forever grateful. “Thank you” may be the most common words on your lips – you speak them earnestly and without prompting.

When we eat a meal, you will almost always pipe up, “This is a good dinner. Can we make it again?” You also volunteer to pray on all occasions – with a heart of thanksgiving. You pray that we will “not fight” and that everyone will be “safe.” The whole world is on your mind.

Tim and I call you our little philosopher sometimes because your phrases are infinitely wise & beautiful beyond your years:

• “The baby brother is like our sunshine.”
• “Your arms are stronger than mine – but God’s arms are stronger.”
• “God is the only one who makes dreams come true. He is magic.”

You often muse about the greatness and omniscience of God, but you also have a firm grasp on His love for you (and your love for Him). With childlike wonder, you believe.

When you grow up, you say you want to be a “cooker” (aka a chef) – and you do enjoy time in the kitchen. No matter what I start making, you pull up a stepstool next to the counter.

For the longest time, your favorite color was pink – but now you insist on blue (with pink as a second).

Your favorite things include reading books, playing with your sisters, and family movie nights. I would be remiss to not briefly mention your athleticism. You have the grace of a gymnast, the sure-footedness of a climber, and the speed of a runner.

As three comes to an end and four peeks in through the window, I already feel the warmth of the sun and the sweet breath of the breeze. I’m not sorry you’re growing older. I’m just very, very proud of who you are.

With love always, Mom.