To Annaliese,

One day, when you are older, you won't remember this day, January 25, 2008 won't mean too much, but to me it meant something, so I thought I would put it in print for you to read.
Today was a hard day for you, one of the worst you might have had yet. But you handled it with grace and dignity, and I am so proud.
You started off the day by waking up to a dead fish. A fish that you purchased last year when mommy and daddy came back from Las Vegas. You named "her" Goldie, and everyday you reminded me to feed her. Because you knew, from watching my track record with feeding you, your brother, and Milsap, that if you don't speak up you may not eat. Knowing she was voiceless and couldn't at least catch crumbs when they fell to the floor, you became a good little activist and every morning said "Mommy, Goldie". Just two words, but I knew what it meant. "She"was a good fish and it taught you a little bit about responsibility and taking care something else. It wasn't easy seeing her floating, face in the rocks, today. You cried for about 15 minutes. Although selfishly, I didn't mind you crying too much. Because that is one of the rare times,when I ask if I can hold and hug you, you actually let me.
You then went from your dead fish house to Ginny's, where you got overly excited, blurted out the word penis, and had to embarrassingly sit in time out. God, that word is going to be the absolute death of me. At the rate you use it, people are convinced that your father and I walk around, saying, "Well penis head what would you like for dinner?", "I don't know penis butt, what would you like?" Well, maybe we do, but not when you and your brother are awake.
It kept getting worse, when on the way to school you told me to not forget to sign you up to go see Nathan next week. I constantly forget how much loss you feel over your uncle. He has left a void in all of our lives, and we struggle daily to come to terms with the reality of it all. You are so little and yet you seem to be the strongest of us all. You have only cried one time since he has been gone, yet you talk about him everyday. In everything he has done, he never realized the effect it could have on you, and he tells me to tell you how sorry he truly is. Unfortunately for both of you, sorry doesn't mean as much to a five year old, as having her uncle running through the mall and buying her candy at the store does.
Lastly, once you got to school, Mrs. B, greeted you not with a smile but with a talk in hushed voices. I knew that you had done something wrong, but I couldn't hear the conversation. Once you walked into the classroom, with shoulders slumped, she proceeded to let me in on the news. Yesterday, in your classroom, you said that there were no boys in the class yet. Then, once a few boys came in you said, "Oh great, now there are boys here. No boys allowed." Wow. The horror. Ms. B, apparently forgetting that she taught pre-k, told me that she told you that everyone is welcome and we don't talk that way. That I have no problem with, but bringing it up the next day, to embarrass you in front of you mother, I don't get it. She made the most upset and disappointed face. I stood there speechless. It made me so sad. She thought that what you did, was so bad, it was worth it to her, to start your day off on a bad note. I went straight to you, hugged your tiny shoulders, and told you you would have a wonderful day, and you could have two cookies at the mall tonight.
I love you so much, little one, and I am sorry about today.
Mommy