I‘m obsessed with this person.
I have many blessings in my life in terms of family and health and wealth, but chief amongst them is the time I get to spend with her. Working from home, I can pop out of a meeting or take a pause from my labours to throw her in the air or kiss her face or sing her a song or go on a walk. It’s the best, and I haven’t stopped being thankful, even when she’s upset. Especially when she’s upset. 

It’s her birthday next month and she doesn’t really care about anything other than quality time with me and Abby. She likes seeing friends and going on walks and singing songs and squeezing Archie’s ears, but none of these lend themselves especially well to celebrations. 

For her birthday we’re hoping to have loads of friends over, We’ll go on a walk in the morning, we’ll sing songs, and we’ll let her tug on Archie’s ears for a second or two longer, poor boy. 

She doesn’t seem enormously concerned with gifts right now, so I’ll try to give her a gift for later, in the future. 

The plan right now is to write her a letter on her birthday every year about how the year with her has been and how much I love her. Abby’ll do it too and she can open eighteen of them on her eighteenth birthday, or maybe her quinceanera.

I think this whole blog serves that purpose, really. Though it’s a ridiculous amount to read. Can you imagine reading all of this in a row after almost two decades? It’s kind of a stupid idea, but maybe if it was organized in a searchable database. who knows!

Letters for now, and Roby, if you decide to read this, you or any of your siblings, hey, I love you so much it’s ridiculous and you’re the only audience I actually care about at all. 

Other than you dear reader who isn’t my daughter. I also care about you.