happy birthday mosely. today you turn twelve.

Mosely Elliot Claiborne.

She’s turning twelve and we all know that sounds like a big age when your previous decade has been full of littles and single digits and learning how to ride bikes and read books and bake cookies.

Twelve is a big deal.

She gets to sit up front (and now London has competition for that privilege) and she is basically the same height that I am and practically the same shoe size and her brown eyes twinkle when she laughs and she wears her frustrations on her sleeve and across her expressive face and I am pleased and humbled and proud to call her my girl.

She was born in the exact same hospital as more than half of her siblings were and we didn’t even know that on that December day in 2003 that one of our daughters was being born in our own hometown and the reality of that tiny nugget of truth is so bizarre and comforting and confusing and incredible that my brain can’t handle it most days.  It’s the evidence of the truth that God knows the details of our lives and is orchestrating events and situations in manners we cannot even fathom while we are usually completely unaware and often moving in a different direction.

She gets attached to a few articles of clothing and then she never wants to change them.  Like that sweatshirt.  I have no recollection of ever purchasing that hoodie.  Which means it probably arrived at our home from a friend’s hand-me-downs.  Which I love.  But I also love that Mosely is completely unconcerned with where an article of clothing originated.  She cares deeply about comfort.  And that is all.

She wakes up earlier than anyone in this house and she’s ready for bed before anyone in this house and she has her own internal clock to keep up with – or to fall behind with – and if we are ever in a hurry you can bet that Mosely will still be inside looking for her shoes or reading a book or knitting a blanket while we are all waiting in the car wondering where she is.

She isn’t picky and she’s almost never demanding and she doesn’t insist that all things go her way.  She’s happy with simple gifts and she’s the most agreeable sibling on movie nights and she’ll eat her pizza with pepperonis or without and she doesn’t complain when her restaurant of choice is not chosen in the line up.

She’s a diligent worker and her chores are nearly always finished before anyone else’s and math is hard for her and her train of thought wanders mid-sentence but she smiles easily and laughs with abandon.

She cuddles only when you catch her in the right mood and that’s pretty much just right after she wakes up so you better make time for it if you think Mosely cuddles are valuable. (Unless you are Ryder or Abraham Lincoln (one of our resident cats) and then she cuddles every second of the day.  Fiercely.)  She adores one-on-one time and she can walk through a store without running into the shelves while still reading a novel the entire time.

All this I know.

And this:

I love her.

Happy birthday Mosely.