I want that dress. The one you're wearing so well given you have a two year old in your life. Oh, and while we're at it, I want that hair. I know, I know, you'll say I did inherit your hair, and it's true, but it's the way you wear it, Mom- center part, thick and smooth until that bit of a flip at the end. I can't quite manage mine the way you do.
And would it be too much to ask to inherit your way with the needle? I mean, come on. That bonnet? The smocking on that dress? You and I know there's a whole closet more where that came from, and yet I can hardly manage mattress stitch with a needle so thick you could use it to eat Chinese food.
And one more thing, Mommy. The way you're sitting there in the grass, casually, unself-consciously, your legs folded behind you in the dandelions- you look like a goddess. Like a queen. Can I borrow that? At least for a few good photos? You can have it back, afterwards. I won't need it, as long as I have you here with me.
I love you,
PS- Here's a warshrag for you, and some fancy-dancy soap.