Happy birthday to my sweet Zoë, who turned six yesterday. (SIX!) We celebrated with a dinner out last night and cupcakes, and this weekend she will have two parties (one for kids and one for family), so I’m getting into crafting/piñata/cleaning mode.
My little Z is a dancer. As soon as our house fills with a thumping beat, she’s off, twirling, leaping, sashaying across the floor. She could spend hours (and sometimes does) choreographing a daughter daddy dance with flips and spins, ordering Donny around and running back to the computer to start the song over “just one more time.”
She’s fearless in the water, diving to the bottom of the pool pretending to be a mermaid or running full speed down the dock at the cabin and flopping into the lake (regardless of how cold it is).
She can get under her sister’s skin, pestering for attention. But if Stella agrees to play (and Zoë follows Stella’s rules), they can spend hours in their room, setting up their doll school rooms, teaching math and art and science to those attentive American Girls.
She’s fiercely loyal. If Donny or I have scolded Stella, she’ll glare at us and go straight to her sister. “I love you, Stella.” And if we’ve scolded Zoë, she’ll turn again to her sister: “I only want Stella.” (I’m glad they have each other since we are clearly such ogres.)
She’s a ham and loves to make people laugh. I can imagine her on the stage—she’s able to mimic anyone’s facial expression and loves accents, which she slips on as she flounces across the room.
She’s a cuddler and will climb up onto my lap as soon as I sit down in the comfy blue chair or on the couch, sometimes falling asleep in my arms if it’s bedtime and we’re watching a movie. She still comes into our bed a couple nights a week, snuggling between Donny and me, then throwing off all our covers because she’s burning up, my little hot pocket.
I love this girl, who is funny and sweet and smart. Happy birthday, Zoë!