Today, on Valentine’s Day, you, our daughter celebrate your thirteenth year. Thirteen wonderful years of great memories. Even through the years which were so hard on you. The years during which you endured so much with a grace and poise which belied your age. I’ve always said you are an old soul. And if a child can be a parent’s soul mate, you are surely mine.
I love your wicked sense of humor. Between being raised by me and your father, you were doomed to it. We all have a very quirky sense of humor and I love the long drawn out dinners when we all sit together, talk and laugh.
I love your mature taste in movies and TV series. When you beg and plead with me to watch just one more episode of Downton Abbey, I smile inside. And I love watching Sherlock Holmes, Being Human, Bones, etc. with you. But I will NOT watch Vampire Diaries. Sorry. Not happening.
I love the mixture of childlike innocence and maturity with which you view this world.
I love your growing taste in good food. PB&J was never on your plate.
I love watching you with your beloved dog, Archie.
I love being your mother.
Happy Birthday! I look forward to celebrating many more.