Danica's review here.) Have you seen it?
Y'all, I liked it. We all did, in fact. "Mom, I can tell you liked this movie, because I see tears on your face," Eliza commented with typical matter-of-factness, while wiping away her own.
I cry at every movie I ever watch, pretty much. Blame my mother. My daughter will be saying the same thing any year now.
I was a little miffed about the whole blonde-hair-turning-brown-when-the-magic's-gone idea. It just seems so old school -- and not in a charming-antique-shop sort of way. But our swashbuckling hero, Flynn Rider, saved the day by admitting to a preference for brunettes.
Afterward, I asked the girls, "So, Rapunzel and Mother Gothel have this little ritual where they say:
'I love you.'
'I love you more.'
'I love you most.'
... do you think Mother Gothel really loves her?"
"No," Eliza answered with certainty, "She only loves her hair."
It occurs to me that my girl gets what millions of adults still do not. How many people grow to middle age never knowing that they're loved unconditionally -- and never passing that kind of love along?
For how many people does that pain color their view of who God is?
My daughter has moments of tender affection, and moments of knowing just which buttons [of her sister's, usually] to push. She still speaks a bit more slowly than average, and stutters over some of her words. She has days where she'll pick up a book and fly through the pages, and days where I despair of the reading fever ever taking hold. Most days she looks decently fetching in a color-coordinated outfit. Then there are days of head-to-toe stripes.
I have hopes and dreams for her, as with all my children. Some of them may come true. Some she may toss by the wayside, if only to test me a bit: "Do you love ME -- or just something about me that works for you?"
Here's what I hope she'll always know:
No matter what ...
I see YOU
I love YOU.