saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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And Taylor is her name-o.
My daughter�s name is Taylor. She has middle names like flowers.
She is named for her great-grandmothers, and also by a stunningly beautiful, wonderful and strange friend of mine.
Taylor looks delicate, but she�s not. Oh, no. Don�t you even think it.[1]
She is so beautiful that sometimes it could take your breath away � all ivory and satin and chinadoll blue eyes.
She is six years old.
What an interesting little mixture of elan and angst she is. Tearing across the sand for a swing. Crying inconsolably at the tiniest scratch. Admiring and jealous of kids able to ride bikes without training wheels.
She loves sparkly hair ornaments and nail polish and lip gloss, but I�ve never known her to keep any of it on for more than 10 minutes (all that girl stuff gets in her way, you see).
Insistent on what it is she likes. Oh, my, cats � this child KNOWS what she likes.
You should see her argue. You really should.
She has certain songs she likes me to sing to her. And certain songs that we are supposed to dance to together.
One afternoon, when that Britney Spears Pepsi commercial came on the TV I was watching, she stopped in the middle of her play to turn and pantomime vomiting at the screen.
Oh, my my. You all will never know how much I love that child.
[1] Name the movie this line comes from, kids. Play my little game. It will make you in with the in crowd.
5:44 p.m. - 2001-10-02
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