You are special to me,
My little hummingbird...
Your happy face,
Screams of delight,
The way you want to hold my hand,
Your silent, thoughtful manner,
Your explosive enthusiasm,
Your ever-present wit,
The way you play together,
Your faces when you sleep,
The way you take pickles off cheeseburgers,
Your excitement over a penny,
The way you stick up for Jetta.
You make no demands of me.
Your creative talent,
The little poems you write,
Your tender feelings,
The way you sing Moana songs,
The way you stick up for yourself,
The way Grandpa is your best friend,
Because you are my tent buddy,
The way you eat cheeseburgers.
I found this poem saved on my desktop, and I don’t know who wrote it, so, somebody confess! I don’t know where it came from. Another sign of my old age, I guess. I could have written those words because they ring so true to me, but I didn’t.
Little things mean so much: The way we do things, unique to ourselves. It’s like Mr. Rogers used to say, “There’s no person in the whole world like you, and I like you just the way you are.”
