I found this note on Christmas Eve, next to the plates of cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer, and as the girls were brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed, I had to step into the kitchen for a quiet cry into a dish towel. J. came in and I showed him the note and he let me collapse onto his shoulder as he squeezed me tight. His eyes said it all—she is special and we just couldn't be prouder of our girl.
I know that other 8-year-olds are this sweet and sensitive and caring, but as her mother, it's hard for me not to think of her as the most sweet and sensitive and caring one.
As much as I'd love to take credit, I don't think it has anything to do with us, and that's what makes me cry those happy tears.
