Out of focus, like a dream.

You love combing my hair, Fi. Last year when you did it, you made me sing the song from Tangled while you pretended to be Mother Gothel. Then you moved on to a game where you were my mother, I was a little girl, and you combed my hair again and again. But each time you "went away" then "wolves" would sneak up and mess up my hair. Then you would be cross and have to do it all over again. This particular day, you used a teensy doll comb, soaked my hair with detangling spray, and talked to me about fairies while you combed.

As I turned into our street this afternoon, this is what I saw out the rearview mirror. I had to stop and take this. A light snow was falling, and I loved the way the trees were arranged above the ice that had partially melted and slid to the bottom of the window.

You discovered, not so long ago, that you are old enough to peel carrots. "Now I don't even have to ask you when I want a carrot!" Now no carrot I bring into this house is safe.

When all four of you are home, she usually plays with the big girls. And Saoirse kind of dominates your attention when she's around. But what most people don't see is how the two of you play together when it's just us at home. She's your playmate then. And you adore her. We will miss her so much next year when she takes off for kindergarten.

I could not love this kid more. But next week I will.

My Rowan. One: I'm pretty sure that hot cocoa with marshmallows is at least 50% of the reason she ever plays outside. Two: Those nails! Classic age seven. Big enough to want painted nails. Not big enough (yet...) to care that they're chipped and barely still painted.