Today, you've suddenly reached your ninth birthday, though it seems only a year or two ago that we were all at the hospital, waiting for you to arrive. When they brought you out to show you to us, and we learned you were a girl, I knew right then that I'd never be able to help myself; I knew I would always love you best.
Your three older brothers, blessings that they are, were charmers, but we all longed for a little girl to buy pretty dresses and dolls for. Thank goodness you loved them, too. None of us believe in teaching little girls that they are princesses, but we had a good time playing at it with you and seeing your tender heart moved by stories where the good, moral girl is the one who wins in the end.
From the first moment you were born, you had your daddy's perfectly round blue eyes and blond hair (much to your Grandma's delight, if you didn't know). But your brothers nearly made you absolutely rotten. Logan was your protector, a ten-year-old knight at your crib to pick you up if you whimpered or cried. You were Chris's girl; though he called you Trouble early on and for a lot of years, he was your devoted servant. Even Nolan, seemingly hard-hearted Nolan, knew everything about you and could recite what you would and could do, what you wouldn't and couldn't. I'll never forget the night your family got to Grandma and Papa's house the Christmas you were about 18 months old. You tried to climb up on the couch, and by golly, you were NOT going to take help. You threw your doll and her blankey in the floor to give you more room and hauled yourself up, turned and sat, and pointed to your things on the floor with a "Uhh!" Three boys literally DIVED toward them to get them for you. I laughed so hard I cried, and you were a little put out with me for it. I'm still smiling now as I write it.
Your sweet side developed as soon as you could talk and laugh. Your Aunt Sheri still loves the way you laugh; we talk about how you have the most infectious giggle there is. Once when Sheri and I were bringing you down from South Dakota to Oklahoma, we passed through some storms. Soon, Sheri pointed out a rainbow to you. Riding in your little carseat, you said, "Oh, it's booful." It was so cute we got you to say it over and over again, until you hit your limit and refused to say it again.
You've got your own opinions and nothing and no one will change them. I have to admire that; it's not an easy quality to stick with. Sometimes it's aggravating, but others it cracks me up. I remember one time when I was saying goodbye to you at the door of your house, coming back to Oklahoma. You were four, almost five. You hugged and kissed me and said bye. But you did NOT like the fellow I was with---you were not fond of most men back then---and when he said, "Bye, Katie," you positively looked daggers at him with those ice-blue eyes and slammed the door in his face. We laughed over that one, too. Now, of course, you have better manners, but I hope you'll always have the tenacious sense of self to stick by what you believe.
You're so smart that it's a little frightening sometimes. One day shortly after you finished kindergarten, you picked up a set of stickers I had on the table doing bills, and read "Happy Anniversary" out loud without so much as a stutter or stumble. Shocked, I asked you, "How do you know what that says?" A little defensive, you replied, "I just read it." Ever since then, I've made sure I get you at least one book for Christmas and have even been buying books ahead for you for the future. All of your brothers read, too, but I love the fact that you seem born to it.
I think what I love most about you is your exuberance. Few sights will ever bring me as much joy as the memory of you running to greet me, long hair and long legs flying, with your arms flung wide open. Then, too, there was your heartfelt, immediate acceptance of Emeri, your new cousin---in fact, you seemed to fall right in love with her, and the first Christmas when she had to leave before you, you cried so much I thought I would have to break down and cry with you. I had worried that your status as the only girl might make you sensitive to having an older girl come into the family, but I should have known that your wide-open heart would take her in. This spring, a few weeks ago, you were on the radio during a class trip, and the DJ asked what you were going to do this summer. "Ride bikes with my cousin Emeri," you said. No matter that Emeri lives in Texas, nearly a thousand miles from you. That's nothing to your traveling genes and your exuberant will. Even though you just spent a week here with us, I'm sure you'll get your bike-riding in somehow.
The day you were born, Papa called one of his friends on his cell phone to let them know you were here. I happened to be sitting close to him, and I heard him say, "We got us a girl! Yep. Everything's fine. She's a jewel." No one could miss the pride in his face and voice. I hope that you'll always, always remember that from that first day, you were the sparkling gem, the blue-eyed queen of our hearts.
I love you!
Aunt Cathy
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