I kept journals from the day I learned I was pregnant until Claire was five years old.

At 3-1/2, Claire was leaning precariously on a hoppy ball against the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed. As I smoothed up the blankets: "Mo-om! You're breaking my idea."

"This apple juice is full of tummy aches."

"To Claire with love from Mama" I wrote in each journal. With a full heart, I finally mailed the two journals to Claire, 29, today. A sentimental person, she will love it.

Of course I made copies. The journals are fun to read.

Oregon Coast Vacation, age 4

Last night we improved on the previous night's aborted attempt at sunset-watching. (We had settled down on a log and you promptly got smelly brown poop on your hands and jacket. We about-faced and marched you home toward soap and shower).

This time, we took beach chairs down to the water's edge.

You ran back-and-forth between us and the water, asking questions. The tide was going out; it was a shallow spot. We gave you repeated permission to go up to your ankles in the ocean. Still you hesitated, asking, "Can I go this far? Is this far enough?"

When the orange sun slipped below the horizon, we rose. This gave you sudden security. You ran toward the water.

The tide had receded, leaving shallow pools encircled by higher peninsulas of sand. The pools glowed orange in the reflected sunset.

Barefoot, you skipped along the peninsulas of sand, leaping from mound to mound. Your footprints created small puddles in the wet sand that quickly sprang back like piano keys pressed in ascending order.

Terry and I stood watching your footprints fill. You had just showered, shampooed and cleaned your nails. Squatting, you sank your hands up to your wrists in squishy, wet mud.

"Do you want some chocolate cake?" you asked, running back to offer us a bite.

"Mmmm... delicious," we replied, pretending to taste, smacking our lips. You giggled in delight. Skipping and tripping, laughing and singing, you carried handfuls of wet sand. "I'm taking the wet sand up to the dry sand!" you shouted and ran back for more.

Terry laughed. I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "She's a kid; it will wash off," I said. "It's her job to get dirty." We watched you kneeling in the mud.

"Every day I ask myself the two questions we leaned at Barbara Coloroso's parenting workshop," Terry said. "Is it physically harmful or morally threatening?"

You rode back to the house on Daddy's shoulders, wearing a grin.

Each night when we tuck you into bed, we ask you and also personally answer four questions:

1. What was your happiest moment today?

2. When did you feel sad?

3. When did you feel mad?

4. What was the funniest thing to you today?

Usually you pass off the questions by saying, "Oh, I had a neutral day." We always answer ourselves to model expressing feelings. ( "I felt sad when..." etc.)

"Tonight Claire said her happiest moment today was playing in the mud," Terry announced as he came downstairs.

You had been afraid to sleep upstairs in a bedroom alone with us sleeping downstairs.

It was my turn. I walked upstairs and looked out your window. "Look at the moon, Claire," I said, pointing out your window. "You can see Jupiter right there. There's Mars."

I settled you on the bed where you could fall asleep looking at the moon reflected in a silvery trail on the ocean.

"A half moon in a moon window," you said delightedly.

"Mom, why can't we live closer to the ocean?" you asked before falling asleep.