Happy Birthday, Iris

Iris in Paris, France

My little woman turned 8 today.  She who reads biographies now, and snuggles into bed with her Big Book of Science at night.  She who brings ailing family members bread and a banana because they're good for you, now eat up.  She who builds complex machines to do simple things. She who deems her sister's use of underwear as a hat "disconcerting."  She who has always loved moving silently in the midst of strangers, free in the absence of the obligation of having to say something.  She who spoke not a word until she was two years old, and then it was "I do it."  She who was born on her own, sparing me any pushing at all, and brought the delivery room to delighted laughter in that primal act of independence and pluckiness.  She whose assertive use of intuitive spelling in a report resulted in the pilgrims "unforchintly" not finding a suitable port on their first go around. She whose friends wrote her a birthday song which includes the lines "you're smart as a dictionary," and "everything we see from you is like a star shining in the sky."  She who rescued a frog and took it into a movie theater to show it a good time.  She who loves so deeply and silently.  She who treasures her two grown up friends, Mademoiselle Marnie and Daefid Stein.  She who still puts her head on my shoulder sometimes when she needs time to think.  Oh Iris, I'm so glad you're here.