Her special skill is in opening bags, undoing zippers and turning out boxes. You can not leave a purse, backpack, grocery bag, or really anything you want kept together within her reach. She loves to find out what’s inside and I think her favorite birthday treat was being encouraged to open boxes and spill the contents out.

Her laughter fills the house and more than the other girls she loves to sing. Her speech is still coming–shes working so hard on words that just aren’t quite there yet–but man she makes up for that with singing. She’ll bop around the house humming or singing snatches of songs from our Music Together classes. At times, she tries to use song to communicate with endearing results. Of course, after starting our preschool activities she loves to sing the ABC song and is starting to recognize some letters.

Stella’s tantrums are epic. The screams. The tears. The kicking of strong little legs. The spitting. The hitting. And the calm after the storm accompanied by her wonderful hugs complete with back pats from her little girl hands.

And the best times are when we’re walking and she slips her little girl hand into mine. I can feel her strength and her fragility in her soft, warm embrace. I can not believe that in two years she’s grown from a teeny-tiny infant smaller than my forearm to a solid child. she is her own person. Stronger in many ways than we give her credit for. I am blessed with her as a little daughter and I can not wait to see what the rest of her “terrible two’s” will bring.

You’re mommy made you a most delicious pumpkin spice cupcake for you to do with as you pleased after dinner. And, while you were very happy smashing it up at first, you quickly realized that the sticky gooey frosting did not, in fact, come off of your hands; at all. To which, you sat there and made the milk sign repeatedly with that frosting covered hand. Not that you were thirsty, no; I’d imagine that sticky sensation was something entirely new to experiment with and you had the most quizzical look on your face while doing so.

And then, it was fun no longer. It made a lovely moose in your hair as you tried desperately to get some of the frosting off and wailed insistently with displeasure in that way that only you, dear Stella, know how to communicate to others your unhappiness.

Props to ya kiddo — your mess required serious detergent to clean up all that butter cream.  You have a future as a grease monkey helping your dear ole Da in the garage.

Happy birthday, Stella!

Complete pictures can be found *here*.