A couple of weeks ago I dropped you off at Kindergarten and I cried as walked out the door. I didn’t cry because I was worried you were going to need me, but because I knew that you wouldn’t. I stood awkwardly next to you in the drop off line, waiting for the doors to open. It was like standing next to a grown woman waiting to be called into a business meeting. Never has anyone been as prepared for anything as you were to be released into that school.
You didn’t need me to walk in with you, but you knew it was something I needed to do – to walk you in and make sure you made it to your little desk with your little playdough that you poked at with eyes that said, “When do we get to the calculus?”
Since that first day you’ve come home and given me the play by play of every single thing that happened, including details like names, addresses and blood types of all your new friends. Once you came home slightly distraught because you had gotten in trouble. “It wasn’t my fault,” you reasoned. “How am I supposed to know how everyone is feeling at rest time if I don’t sit up and yell across the room and ask them?”
You come home eager to practice whatever you learned that day, even if it’s something you’ve already mastered – which is pretty much everything.
At home you are the peacemaker. Between your sisters, between me and my alternate personality, Angry Mom Who Has Had Enough. You see me start to lose it and you’ll put your arm around whichever sister is about to get it and walk them into the other room speaking calmly and lovingly. Last week you gave Hadley two of your “moneys” because she felt sad. Many times I’ll get out of the shower to find you’ve made my bed.
You like to eat “girled” cheese and you tell me nickels, dimes and quarters are “sirvel”. You love to pick out what you’re going to wear every morning; your personal style is a cross between 17th century royalty and homeless person.
You like to pretend to make commercials at the dining room table; you’ll take a slow bite of something, close your eyes in ecstasy and whisper, “So… serious.”
You’ve also started doing what I can only describe as 80’s aerobics competition dance moves around the house, pursing out your lips and going full throttle, as we all laugh to the point of tears. Your eyes sparkle and you literally radiate happiness every time you make someone laugh.
You make me be a better Mom, you make me be a better person. I love your energy, your humor and your sweet little tender heart. Your sisters are so lucky to have you, your friends are lucky to have you, and I thank the universe every day that I am lucky enough to have you as my daughter.
Happy 6th birthday. You are on to great things.