My darling Livvy-Love,
You. Are. Eleven. Eleven, Liv--this is solidly in those tween years, the ones the Disney Channel told you so much about that you just couldn't wait for. Not to burst your bubble on your birthday, but I think Project MC2 and Hannah Montana are about as accurate to middle school and the tween years as Bunk'd was to outdoor sleep-away camp...but I'll keep my fingers crossed that it's all secret stardom and chemistry equations with your besties, and absolutely not hormones and acne and learning to shave. Ahem.
Whatever this year brings you, Liv, I know you're going to rock it. A few years ago, someone described your daddy's personality as "living in his own musical." I think this is accurate for you, too. My darling girl, you are literally always singing and dancing. Your basketball coach this year pulled me aside at the end of the year party and said, "Liv was always willing to be second sub and we really appreciated it. Does she ever get mad? Like, at all?"
I mean, I couldn't lie. Yes, you get mad. Yes, you can be a sasshole. But also yes? You're one of the happiest people I know, simply because being happy feels good. I want that for you this year Liv. I want that to stay--not happiness that is contrived and comes from things, though god knows you love yourself some things, my little hoarder, but happiness that comes from genuine love and appreciation of the people and life around you. Your happiness comes from that musical you're living in, the one where Irish dancing on the way to school, or singing in the shower, or talking a hundred miles an hour before six-thirty in the morning are all things you do because you simply cannot help yourself; there's just so darn much to say and see and love.
I love you, darling girl, even on nights like tonight when you know you hold the power and your choice for dinner was fucking Wendy's. Well played, Liv. Well played. There's no one else I would eat fast food for. Happiest of birthdays, Livvy-Love. I put all fruits and veggies in your lunch for tomorrow, okay? (Who has the power now? Sucker.)
Love you always, even if you completely missed the nuances of dipping your fries in the Frosty.