Here she is. Our ballet dancer, our Christmas fairy, our pilgrim, our Kitty Soft Paws, our princess, our most festive of the bunch. She packed her Santa hat this morning to wear in the car on the way up to New Jersey, to wear on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, and to wear any other time that suits her fancy. She packed Eric's hat too, and she told him that he should wear it, that it would be fun, but he refused. I'm sure she'll try to convince him several more times, and he won't have anything to do with it.
She won't care that she will be the only one wearing the Santa hat at the dinner table either. She won't notice that all of the other kids are more self-conscious, including her younger brother. Just like she didn't care when she was the only pilgrim at Thanksgiving or the only crazy person wearing face paint in public. (Actually, she convinced Eric that it would be okay and he went along with it at first, but he very quickly felt embarassed and made me wipe his face off as soon as we came home. We went out later, and Sarah wore her cat face with pride.)
I love this about her. I'm acutety aware that, at age seven, her early years are slipping away. It warms my heart to see that she takes no notice of this fact - she just keeps playing, dressing up, and creating magical worlds for herself (and anyone else willing to play along with her.)
Happy Birthday, sweet Sarah!