Her cheeks still red from considerable exertion in the bounce house she threw herself on the ground and pronounced she was not having any fun.
More to the point, she would never have any fun ever again. Never! Not Ever! and a few more superlatives thrown in just for (ahem) fun.
Of course then she popped up, dusted the seat of her pants and ran back up the hill and toward the house of air, yelling "I'm going to beat you there, mama ... I'm winning the race."
Sometimes I feel like a walking cliche. I wonder if it's possible to love a child more than I love her at this very moment?
As I complain about my general dislike for the things that are common at this age -- the tantrums and the tests, the non-stop jammering until break out in a screaming rant of my own pleasebequiets -- I am totally in love with the round-faced girl sitting placidly in her car seat when I turn to back out of the driveway. I'm taken with the child who smiles back at me when I catch her frowning, and I'm smitten with the kid who kisses my cheek with a slurpy smack.
On top of it all, she still loves her brother with a ferociousness I can neither explain nor truly understand. I just know it's real and it's complete.
I imagine this love she has for him will last until he touches her stuff.
The only thing I know for sure is that it won't surprise me if she surprises me.