three years old

We had a little bit of free time on Tuesday night before Brooke Allen went to GiGi’s and I went to a meeting, so I decided it would be the perfect time to take Brooke Allen over to a big park and let her play for a few minutes. We talked about it all the way home, and while we were upstairs changing clothes.  She was so excited to go the park.  Halfway down the stairs, Brooke Allen realized that we were not going on a walk to the park here in our apartment complex.  We were getting back in the car.  And the conversation went like this: NO MOM!  I want to go to the pwaygwound! We are going to the playground, sweetie. NO!  We getting in da car! Well, yeh…we have to drive there. NO! WE HAVE TO WAAAAAAALK! No, baby.  We’re not going to the little park.  We’re going to the big park! NO!  I WANT TO GO TO THE PARK!  *sits down on the steps* WE ARE, Brooke Allen.  We won’t go to ANY park if this attitude continues. NO MOMMY!  I WANT TO GO TO THE PARK. Brooke Allen, just get in the car, and

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I pray for you.  I pray for you every day. And not just during my regular study time during the day. I pray for you all throughout the day.  I pray for you when I drop you off at school.  I pray for you when I put you to bed each night.  I pray for you when I kiss the top of your head.  I pray for you when you crawl into bed with me every morning at 7am.  I pray for you when I pick you up when you are crying because something imaginary touched you.  I pray for you when we are both in a frenzy and frustrated with each other. I pray.  I pray hard. I pray that whatever it is causing you to be upset or hurt would stop.  That it would all go away.  I pray that you will never be hurt again, but I know that won’t happen.  I pray it anyway. I pray for your heart, that it will be strong and kind.  That you will be open to loving all those around you, but still be protected from the predators who will seek it through your life.  That your heart will never

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Dear Brooke Allen, You are three years old today. I’m not really sure how we got here, or why time had to go so quickly.  I’m in a bit of mourning over the past three years, wishing I could go back to specific times in your life and relive them over and over again. Like when I first held you when you were born.  And when I used to rock you at night, and you would gaze back at me while I sang to you.  And when you found your love for Mouse.  And when you smashed into cake for the first time.  The first time I heard you laugh, and the first time I heard you say my name.  The first steps, the first falls, and the first time you asserted yourself with your own opinion. But I can’t go back.  I only have those sweet memories.  Instead, I can talk about who you are. You are brilliant.  Absolutely brilliant.  You are so observant of everything around you and you soak it up like a sponge.  You can talk about everything you see, hear and do, and you talk about it with confidence. Your memory is amazing – you

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