Celebrating Ellen

What I remember: long, thin fingers, reaching. Chin stuck purposefully out as if to dare me to not love her.

That first year was long and hard. Crying, crying, crying from colic. I cried too. I couldn't stop her tears. I couldn't help.

Then, she emerged as if she'd been waiting to catch us off guard. She watched her brother walk and she wanted to walk, too, no matter if she was only 6 months old. So she settled on sitting up struggling to hold the Tommy Tippee cup up even though she couldn't yet hold herself up. Watching her teeter in her chair, defiant and sure, I knew that had my work cut out for me.

Videos of her reveal a playful side. Like when she was being fed by her mother, she'd turn her head. But when 2 year old brother fed her, she'd be ecstatic, joyful and she'd laugh at her parents as they tried to understand that a one year old could have such a sense of humor.

She doesn't like being late, hates coming in second, is impatient with anything less than. She is dogged in her pursuits, devoted to her family, deadly on the ball court.

She has many loves -- her cherished pet, Phoenix, who passed away this year, her family, her ball. How she loves basketball.

I've seen her go up against girls twice her size, taking the charge full on, plunging to the ground only to rise up, undaunted. I've watched her small body fly across the court, arms and legs flinging, only to arise and march with purpose to the free throw line.

She is no stranger to injuries. Even now, she is wrapping up a stint with crutches with a fractured foot which was suffered at ball practice. I'm glad her father was with her when she got the news because it hurt her to think that she'd be out of practice for almost six weeks. "It was like the doctor stabbed her!" Dan said after bringing her home.

She could be sitting in her room pouting. Or whining that life isn't fair. Instead she has kept busy learning to cook, hopping around the kitchen on one foot, hopping between the stove and the sink.

I would be foolish to stop her, though I have tried. Worried about her falling, I've insisted she sit down and let me or her dad finish preparing dinner. We seen, then, the same look that is given to other obstacles in her path -- the eyes squint, then warn, then calm. We see the unflinching sureness that says, "just try to get in my way."

She is joyfully determined and tomorrow she turns 15.

Happy Birthday, kiddo.