Rachel is 5!

My darling, incredible, has-never-given-me-a-moment-of-trouble daughter turned 5 today (well, technically yesterday, since it is after midnight now). 5! Really!

I also gave notice at work. So now it is official: I am leaving Willamette Aug. 2nd (three years to the day that I started there) and heading to Washington, DC to join Drew, who has taken a job at the Pew Research Center as a senior writer. I was really stunned by the reaction at work: Curtis, my new boss, and Norman, the associate dean, could not have been more gracious or supportive of me leaving. They said the nicest things about my work and the void my departure will leave; Norman called me "irreplaceable." I promised to help make the transition as smooth as I possibly can, which means I'll likely be working a fair number of late nights before we head out on Aug. 9. Happy to do it, though, because I've had a great run at Willamette and I want to leave them in good shape after I've gone.

I made Rachel her favorite dinner tonight -- baked chicken and shells (my favorite birthday dinner, too), and as I was setting the table I had a flashback to my birthdays, when mom took out a lovely little carousel candle holder with four candles underneath. You lit the candles and the heat from them caused the gold horses to spin around. I wish I'd had something like that to put on our table. I also wished that I'd been far more imaginative with Rachel's birthday, like setting out all her animals on the kitchen table to wish her a "happy birthday" as she ate breakfast, or waking her up with a chocolate cupcake to eat in bed, or...something. (This morning after I woke her up singing "happy birthday," Rachel answered, yawning, "I wish I could sleep five more hours. And eat cake in bed.")

(I didn't even buy her presents from Mommy; that will have to wait until next week. But after three months of being a single mom and managing everything I've been managing, I am too zonked to be imaginative. I'm practicing Life Triage right now, folks. Just keeping straight every day what I have to get done is a challenge).

Tonight Rachel spilled some water from her cup onto the bathroom floor after brushing her teeth, and I scolded her a bit before calming down. She was solemn as she got into bed and then started whimpering a bit.

"Why are you whimpering?" I said.
"I don't like it when I do things wrong," she said. "You're perfect."
"No, I'm NOT perfect," I said.
"Yes you are," she insisted.
This went on for a while, until I crawled into bed and cuddled with her. As I was sliding in next to her, I accidentally clonked her on the eyebrow and had to apologize.
"See?" I said. "I'm NOT perfect."
"Yes you are," she said. "You're past perfect."
"Um, what does past perfect mean?" I said.
"It means you're beyond perfect," she said.
Then a discussion ensued about how nobody's perfect, perfect people are boring, anyway, and that I accidentally hit her in the eyebrow, so how can I possibly be perfect? (I spared her the liturgy of how non-perfect I've been the last three months).
"Yelling and scolding don't count. Or teasing," she insisted. "You're still perfect."
We both agreed that teasing is, indeed, OK, as long as it's not mean.

Sigh. Looks like Rachel has set some very high standards for Mommy. I hope I can meet them.