Cara, Sweet Cara

November 20, 2007

On Saturday afternoon, I went to a friend's going away party. We're not super close, but she was the very first friend I made when we moved to Dallas, so of course, I'll miss her. Her name is Kate, we used to live three houses apart, and we were in the same church congregation for two and a half years.

Kate has three daughters, and I know that I really shouldn't say this, but her youngest is my favorite--by a long shot. I know, it's a very bold and somewhat terrible thing to say, but I just love that child. She's six months older than James, her name is Cara, and she's the biggest little contradiction that you'll ever meet.

Allow me to explain...

Cara is ridiculously cute. She has bleach blond hair, skinny little legs, and often runs around in red, high top sneakers. She looks like a living, walking story book character and I don't think I'd be the tiniest bit surprised if she sprouted some wings and began to fly around the room like a fairy. She's small in stature, and surprisingly light--like picking up an empty gallon of milk, when you honestly thought it was full.

If you saw Cara sitting in the cart at your local grocery story you'd likely stop, take a deep breath as you place your hand upon your heart and let out a long, loud "aaawwwwww." And then, in response, Cara would probably flash you a nasty little scowl and say something like, "Stop looking at me, Lady.......Now."

She has a raspy, little voice that falls somewhere between a disgruntled bridge troll and an elderly female smoker. Actually, it's strikingly similar to the way you'd imagine the woman in the picture to sound.

Are you beginning to see why I can't help but love this child?

At the party on Saturday, she traipsed up to me and violently tugged on my pant leg. I looked down, and was thrilled to be greeted by her snagle-toothed little smirk. "Put me in the swing," she demanded.

"This one" I asked, pointing to the baby swings?

"Yeah. Put me in it."

"Ok," I replied as I hoisted her into the swing.

"Now give me a push."

So I stepped back, put on the silliest face that I possibly could, and gave her a nice, swift push. As the swing returned, and I held out my hand to push her a second time, she looked me in the eye and said, "Ok. Now go."

"Cara honey," I replied, "I can't just leave you here. You can't get out of this swing by yourself."

"I said go."

"Really Cara?"

"Go."

So I went. I left the kid stranded in the swing. I checked back every now and again, but every time she caught me looking her way, she'd flash her baby teeth and exude a protective little growl. I wasn't about to cross her path. For all I know, that child could still be sitting in that baby swing at the park, threatening to bite any good Samaritans who try and offer up some help.

I sure do enjoy that little fairy-troll-cigar-pixie-child. It's kind of hard to tell, but I think she likes me, too.

(I actually love all three girls the same, but this incident temporarily moved Cara to the top of the list)