My dearest middle daughter, Buttercup, friend of sea lions and the sprinkles on the cupcake of my life, turns 9 years old today.
Buttercup’s birthday is on Beltane and is shared with Mother Jones, and both these things kinda sum up my precious child. She is as wonderful as a warm spring day bursting with flowers and butterflies and as fiercely defensive of justice as any activist that ever lived. Plus, she is funny and silly and adorable and loves animals.
I’m telling you, I won the motherhood lottery.
She is also the most stubborn, you-won’t-tell-me-what-to-do child to have walked the face of the earth. She can out-stubborn her father and that takes some doing, let me assure you. If I tell her to do something she demands a reason, and “because I said so” is weak sauce she will not tolerate. She has been fighting me for role of Alpha Female since she was four. She has come closer to winning than I have ever been crazy enough to let her know.
Buttercup is also the daughter who tried to convinced me I didn’t REALLY see her drawing on the window and that I’d be the best mother EVER if I allowed her to have dessert three times a day. Then she gives me the cheekiest grin in the world, twinkles at me to let me know she’s (mostly) joking, and gives me a big hug before scampering off to think of new things to challenge … especially the injustices of the world.
I love her so, so much. I am so grateful to have her in my life.
Happy Birthday Buttercup!