I heard you were a wild one.

Like ur mama.

That u raise hell.

That u cause chaos.

That u pepper people with questions and bombard them with ur singing.

That u don’t need much sleep.

That ur favorite thing to do is eat.

That u only know one volume - LOUD.

That u’re a one woman circus.

That u don’t do anything for peanuts, ‘cause ur kind of antics deserve a standing ovation, and by golly, u’re gonna gonna stand there and keep going ‘til u get one.

That one is not enough for u…of anything.

Snacks.
Hugs.
Kisses.

That u play HARD,

and love HARD,

but that you work

EVEN HARDER.

That u’re “that one.”

The one they need to worry about.

I heard u were a wild one.

Like ur mama.

And this is me

telling u

that ur mama isn’t worried about a damn thing.

It’s the people who worry about u doing ur damn thing that I’m worried for

‘cause,

baby girl,

u don’t ever need to stop.

I heard u were a wild one.

Like ur mama.

That u can be “too much.”

Well, let me tell u this:

There’s no such thing as too much of a good thing, and u, sweet girl, are goodest of good things.

Remember that always.