The baby of the family.

Eve is four years old.  When the others were four, we had either one or two kids younger than they.  I've often wondered why we dote on Eve, watch her every adorable little move, take note of each cute utterance.  I've always chalked it up to the fact that she is still the baby, holding onto that designation with her sweet ways.

But really, I think that her place as "the baby" has opened our eyes to the fact that age four is a truly adorable stage, one to which we were somewhat oblivious with the others, they being eclipsed by a younger sibling (or two).  My one-on-one time with her is awakening me to the tenderness of these preschool years, reminding me to hold on to them a little more tightly.  Eve is my little helper.  On a Saturday a few weeks ago, Tim was fixing the brakes on my car in the garage.  I was planting flowers in the front yard.   Eve flitted between the two of us, carrying on conversations, asking countless questions, holding tools, digging holes, and basically captivating both of us with her personality.  It was a magical hour.   Love this girl.