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Maggie is six!

Dear Maggie,

On Wednesday, you turned 6! By my calculations, that’s at least halfway to sullen.

(Occasionally, it's more than halfway.)

My big girl, you are brave and always eager to try new things. New this year: bowling, roller skating, archery, Indian food, Kindergarten, short hair (just last week!), horseback riding (full size and  miniature.)

You tried to talk me into letting you try pageants this year, and I demurred, saying that we didn’t have enough time or hairdressing skills. “Besides,” I said, “You’d need a talent."

“Like running really fast?” you responded. Not a surprising question. At first glance, you seem delicate, but you are definitely rough and tumble. It’s hard for you to play in the yard – baseball, Frisbee, fetch with the dog, whatever – without somehow working in a couple of dramatic slides. Grass stains and torn pants are routine. In the pool, you will jump in over and over, not minding a bit the time you spend underwater before surfacing.

On our recent flight to Wisconsin, at one point our plane dropped a bit – as my stomach leaped into my throat I grabbed your thigh on my left and Lily’s on my right with a white-knuckle grip. Lily took my cue and was appropriately alarmed, but you just laughed and laughed at the fun of it.

You have become much more quick to open up to people – particularly people with dogs. You’ve never met a dog you didn’t want to pet! You are still an animal lover, the more prehistoric or creepy-crawly the better. Over Spring Break, you volunteered to keep the class toad, and your other temporary pets have included several bugs, a lizard, a frog and a turtle. You have lobbied for a snake, but haven’t won that battle.

We started an aquarium for you last fall. You have lost interest in the pretty fish; your choices for the fish tank lately have been a snail and several bottom-feeders. This spring, we welcomed Petey. That dog follows you everywhere, always wanting to play. 

Kindergarten was a big success. You hated the homework, which was understandable, but you loved learning to read. I can’t believe how much you learned this year, and that you're starting first grade in two weeks. You still want to be a paleontologist, and you weren’t impressed when I told you I studied English in college. You looked so puzzled and said, “So…you…learned words in English?”

First and last day of school - you lost one tooth and gained two knees.

You are more than three years out of the crib, and you still rarely sleep in a bed like a normal person. You won’t commit to one end of the bed or the other, regardless of what end the sheets are tucked into. You often prefer to sleep on the floor, but when you’re in the bed, it usually takes me longer than it should to find you in the morning. Sometimes you have every stuffed animal you own surrounding you as your “guards.” One day, you built a structurally sound wall of pillows, blankets and stuffed animals surrounding one corner of the bed and called it your cave. It even had a door! Since you had used all your linens in its construction, you had no pillows or blankets for a couple of weeks (bears don’t use pillows or blankets, you insisted) and the space was so cramped you had to sleep with your knees tucked up to your chin.

You make friends easily, and though you get along with everyone, you seem happier with one or two close friends than with a whole classful. We have been blessed this year with a new friend who lives just down the street. The two of you are inseparable, zooming up and down the street on your scooters and dashing back and forth between our houses.

You and Lily still have your ups and downs. You play pretty well together, but it’s not unusual for you two to scrap. Pretty much daily. I know we ask you to concede a lot, citing your big-sisterness and Lily’s ear-splitting shrieking ability. I'm so proud when I find you thinking about what you can do to make your sister happy—you even let her open one of your birthday gifts! Let's have more of that, please!

Oh, Maggie. You're not my baby anymore, but you are becoming such an awesome little person. I'm so delighted to be your mom. Happy birthday!

Love,

Mom

Lily's birthday letter, age 3

Dear Lily,

Today you are 3! I was afraid we wouldn't be able to convince you of that...for the past week we've been trying to get you excited about your birthday, but you kept saying, "My birthday isn't on Tuesday. It's in MARCH!" This morning, though, the first thing you said to me was, "Mommy! What you bought for me?"

You wake up most days with a big smile on your face and greet us with a happy "Good Moa-ning!"  Of course, you still have the mercurial moods of a toddler, so you can switch to bonkers with rage in an instant. Loudly. When you are displeased, area schoolchildren file into the hallway and assume the tornado drill position. Across town, recruits at Fort Jackson snap to attention and begin calesthenics. I am talking about satellites-knocked-out-of-orbit loud. Seriously.

You are a great wheedler when you keep your temper, and it's very hard to resist you. It's not uncommon for you to offer us a slobbery cracker, or some other morsel that has been licked, rolled under the couch, or dragged across a cat. You'll hold it up to my face and say, "You want some? Yes, thank you?"

"No, thank you. Put it in the trash," I reply.

Then you lock your eyes with mine and nod slowly, repeating, "Yes? Thank? You?" I find myself thinking, She's just a child...not a Jedi. She means well. How sick could I possibly get? before finally coming to my senses and turning you down for good.

Another tactic is pretending you don't care. At the grocery store, you gesture toward the fruit snack aisle and say nonchalantly, "Hey, we could get some pony gummies or sumpin'." [shrug] "We could." And you just sound so reasonable, and before I know it I'm saying, "You know, we could totally waste $3 on some ridiculous gummies that come six to a package, so you're always still hungry afterward. We totally could. Best idea ever!"

You are overwhelmingly a sweet, sweet girl, known for your smiles and hugs and good manners. Even Maggie notices...a few months ago, I overheard Maggie tell you, "Great job, Lily!" Then she came running to tell me, "Mom! I jumped on Lily and she asked me politely to get off! And she said 'thank you' when I did!"

As you remind us almost daily, you are no longer a baby; you're a "big gull." It's getting harder and harder to hold you comfortably when I rock you before bed. You're all arms and legs! A few nights ago I told you how much I love rocking you, and that one day you'll be a grown-up and I won't be able to rock you any more. You gave me a sly smile and replied, "When I'm a grown-up, I will rock YOU!"

Oh, my girl! You already rock us every day.

We love you so much!

Love, Mom

A very merry unbirthday!

Dear Maggie,

I'm finally getting around to writing a birthday letter to my favorite five-year-old. You're actually nearer to five and a half, but I've struggled with what to say about you at this age...nearly everything you say makes sense! Crazy predicaments are few (barring accidentally puncturing the air mattress with my good scissors*, then not telling us until after your dad and I spent a night sleeping on bare floor). You are just a really fun kid to spend time with.

You are an asker of questions and a sharer of facts. I had prepared you for your Kindergarten screening by telling you they were just going to ask you some questions to see what you know. When finished, you were surprised and a little disappointed they hadn't asked you any questions about dinosaurs.

Kindergarten was maybe my favorite time ever, and so far you seem to love it just as much. You could do without the homework every night, but you are excited about everything you're learning. You've amazed us with how well you've learned to read already. At our first parent-teacher conference, I nearly burst into tears, not only from pride, but also from relief to find we haven't completely ruined you with TV!

Your attention span has grown this year, and you are more capable of entertaining yourself. You create amazing drawings, and your mind is full of ideas for new projects, usually involving recyclables and other trash. For much of the past year, you wanted to be an art teacher, but lately you want to be a paleontologist, zoologist, or animal rescuer. You often come home with a rock or chunk of wood from the playground, excited about the "dinosaur bones" you've found.

You continue to be obsessed with animals. Chances are, when we try to talk to you, you'll answer as a cat, dog, snake or whale! Much as I want to give you an American Girl doll so we can take her to tea in Chicago, you're really only interested in the pets in the American Girl catalog. I don't know if they'll let us bring a horse for tea, but we might give it a whirl.

You and Lily have been playing together better in recent months (i.e., up to 20 minutes without bickering), and Lily wants to do everything you do, from hunkering down with a pile of books and "reading" (charming) to making poop jokes (not so much). One of my favorite sounds is the two of you laughing uncontrollably together (even if it's usually about poop).

You are sweet and loving, and still very much our girl, treating us daily to spontaneous hugs and kisses and I love yous. And you give me all your orange and purple gummies! Up until about a month ago, you still wanted us to walk you in to school and hold your hand all the way to your classroom. Granted, you usually wouldn't speak to us when we got there, even to say goodbye, but we'd take what we could get. We couldn't be prouder to walk our big girl anywhere she wants to go, now and always.

Love,

Mom

*I'm old enough to have a five-year-old and good scissors? eek!

Lily's Birthday Letter, Age 2

Dear Lily,

You are two, Punks!

You defied our expectations of a second child this year. Per the conventional wisdom, I expected that you would walk early to catch up with Maggie and talk late in your struggle to get a word in edgewise, but you did just the opposite!

You started getting around by scooting on your bottom shortly before your first birthday, and stuck to that method until you walked at 19 months old. I worried, of course, but at the same time, I knew I'd miss my little scooter the day you stood up tall and took those first couple of steps.

While you were ignoring gross motor skill development, you developed a big vocabulary. You narrate every thought that crosses your mind, and you sing all day. You are the Weird Al Yankovic of the toddler set,  always changing song lyrics to make us laugh:

“A-B-C-D-Grandma’s house! H-I-J-K-Grandma’s house!”

“Big Gull Donald had a Daddy. E-I-E-I-OHHH! Wit a Daddy here, anna Daddy dere…”

"Jingle Papa, Jingle Papa, jingle all da way!"

You’re willing to try anything, especially if you see Maggie do it. “Can’t” is just now entering your vocabulary. Up until now, you've blamed anything that gives you trouble on mechanical failure. Having trouble climbing onto the couch or dressing a doll? “Not working,” you'd say. You don’t get mad; instead, you just sound a little puzzled, like these tasks couldn’t possibly be beyond your skill set.

You adore your big sister—even as you maul her—and the soundtrack of our lives is often in full stereo:

Maggie: Watch this! [clunk...tumble...thunk!]

Lily: Watch disssss! [clunk...tumble...thunk!]

Maggie and Lily: [gale of giggles or tears, depending on source of “thunk”]

You are a “rough and tumble” girl. For you, Ring Around the Rosy (Ringapockaposy) is a full-contact sport—if we don’t fall down low enough, you’ll push us down until we’re flat on our backs, then invite us to “Do dat to Lily!” until we tackle you back.

Princesses are of mild interest, but you are obsessed with Dumbo. “Where my Dumbo book? I watch my Dumbo moomie? Where my baby elephant?” are our household FAQs.

You spend much of the day bringing your entire library, one book at a time, out of your room so you can hunker in a lap for a story. These are the sweetest times, as you relax into my chest while, between pages, I pepper your head with kisses and ruffle your curls.

Of course, you are two, and you give "terrible" a try every now and then. There is little we can do to console you when you flop to the floor, kicking and wailing at the injustice of it all. Your latest trick is to shriek like a hypoglycemic condor for 20 minutes at nearly every meal before giving in and taking a bite, after which you happily clean your plate and declare the meal “’licious” as if you’d been a perfectly agreeable dining companion the whole time.

As extra angry as your anger is, your happiness is extra happy. Your sweet smile, with your single dimple, is always the first thing strangers comment on. ”Is she always this happy?” they ask. You win fans quickly—you started your two-year check-up by marching up to the doctor with a book for her to read, and ended it by climbing into her lap to give her a big hug, burrowing your face into the crook of her neck.

Sweet baby, my heart slaps down a sheet of cardboard and breakdances when I see you charm another innocent victim, especially when you pause to claim your turf, gesturing toward me and announcing, “Dat MY Mommy!”

And it does a Triple Lindy every time you toddle up, throw your arms around me, and say, “I lub you, Mommy.”

And it quiets, whispering, “my girl, my girl, my girl,” when you are cuddled in my arms, working your blankie between tiny thumb and forefinger.

My girl, my girl, my girl. Happy birthday, Sweets...I love you so much.

Love,

Mommy

Four and some change

Dear Maggie,

Impossibly, you are four! And, quite predictably, I’m late with your birthday letter again!

 

Your grandma calls you her “big girl baby,” which perfectly sums you up over the past year. There is so much you can do, and your mind is always working. You want to know how everything is spelled, and constantly notify us when you’ve discovered two words that rhyme. You’re equally at home in ballet and karate classes, but most of the time, you act like the girliest girl who ever girled. You want to wear a dress every single day. After three summers of flat-out refusing to wear sandals, you now swoon dramatically when your foot comes near a sock or tennis shoe. And when you went on a run with me a couple of weeks ago, I had quite a time convincing you that brown leather Mary Janes, a beaded purse, and a red silk scarf were not appropriate for the occasion.

You’re still our baby, too. You still love to cuddle, and though you told us for months that you’d be giving up your bedtime pacifier when you turned four, you threw two of your biggest temper tantrums ever when the time came. (Happily for us all, you’ve been much more cheerful—and pacifier free—since then!)

You have become very self-assured, and quicker to get over your shyness around unfamiliar people. You have also become very bossy particular when playing. At least once a day, you will dictate the details of a conversation you want us to have. “Mommy,” you’ll say, “You go sit on your part of the island [gesturing to corner of bedroom] and say, ‘Who is that?’, and I’ll say, ‘My name is Barbie as the Island Princess’ and you’ll say, ‘Oh, you’re so beautiful, and I love your elephant…’” etc., etc. And woe to the actor who misses a cue! Often, all this planning precludes actual playing. One night we were about to pretend that you were going to drive Lily and me on a bus (your bed) to a “fahncy dahnce.” You gave us a 30-minute lecture on the code of conduct for both adult and baby bus-riders, and details about just how fahncy this dahnce was going to be. When, at long last, you finally climbed behind the wheel of your bus, the (yes, invisible) gearshift was stuck, so we had to scrap the whole plan. 

You are patient with your baby sister, who shows her affection by yelling “GAGGIE!” in your face when you’ve just woken up, taking your toys, pulling your hair, and tackling and pinning you to the floor. You seem to realize that these are Lily’s ways of expressing love, and you can even laugh about it some of the time. From one big sister to another, I advise you to keep that sense of humor, and work on your flexibility. Even with your vast two-and-a-half-year head start, you won’t always be right. (Of course, feel free to continue stepping in when Lily is trying her best to pull the trash can over or splash in the toilet—you are 100% right in those instances!)

For most of the year, you told us you want to be a “petinarian” when you grow up. Trouble was, you loved animals in theory, but were terrified of them in practice. You magically overcame that fear a couple months ago, but also changed your career plans. You decided you wanted to be a mommy instead, which you soon amended to a “mommy teacher,” then a “boss mommy teacher.” Just yesterday you told me you were going to go to college to be an “arktist” because you love making “arkt.”

Many of your lifetime memories will begin here, which is both awesome and terrifying. I hope our future petinarian, boss mommy teacher, or arktist remembers just how lovely, sweet and silly she was when she was four. We sure will!

With love, my sweet girl,

Mom

Happy Birthday, Lily!

Dear Lily,

Today at 1:55 a.m., you were exactly one year old. Precisely five minutes later, all the clocks leaped forward an hour. And then you woke up with a brand new tooth. It seems the whole year has gone that way, time disappearing in huge chunks as you hurtle past each milestone.

This year has gone by in a blur, as I knew it would. Your daddy, big sister and I are so happy you're part of our family--it's been a true joy getting to know you. It's also delightful to see you and your sister develop a bond. Recently, Maggie was home sick from school. You were at daycare, but Maggie kept forgetting and asking, "Mom, can you go wake Lily up now?" Maggie misses you when you're apart, and your face glows when she enters the room.

You had a rough start, but quickly rallied and have been a robust little thing ever since. You have only two teeth (three as of today!), but make short work of any food we put in front of you. You have a smile for everyone and you're quick to warm up to strangers. You love to give hugs and make kissy noises.

You have a few words: uh-oh, cat, duck and/or quack (not sure which!), and sometimes mama and dada. While your sister at this age had a quiet but persistent "Eh? Eh? Eh?" for everything else, you rely on an emphatic, ear-splitting "EHHHHHHHH!"

You've recently started getting from place to place by scooting on your bottom. It's unconventional, but effective, and I love to hear the smack!shhh...smack!shhh...smack!shhh of you dragging yourself across a room. You are starting to pull up on one knee, and I know once you find your feet, we are in big trouble! You love music, and any tune starts you bouncing and rocking, clapping and smiling. I can't wait to see what happens when you get your legs under you.

Left: Mel and Lily (two days old), March 10, 2008. Right: Maggie, Mel and Lily (one year old), March 8, 2009

I've often heard women pregnant with a second child worrying that it will be hard to love a second as much as the first. I never for a moment had that worry: from the moment I knew you were coming, my heart grew as you grew, and I have no doubt that it will continue to grow with you forever.

Love,

Mama

Birthday Letter: Age 3

 

 

Maggie's third year

 

Dear Maggie,

It’s hard to sum up the past year in a few pithy paragraphs, because you are full of surprises. In the past couple of months alone:

•  

  You announced, “I need to eat a lot so I can grow up and be a camel tomorrow.”
• You suddenly started identifying several letters of the alphabet other than M.
• You wrote and illustrated your first book, called “Stogey.” It features fish and snakes.
• You asked me what New Jersey looks like, and when I hesitated, told me it looks like a circle with elephants on it.

You have a vivid imagination, and constantly anthropomorphize inanimate objects. Your blanket is a seahorse, the love seat cushions are your cows, the couch cushions are two sharks and a camel (inexplicably, all in a swimming pool together). At a recent dinner, you ate all but one of your egg noodles, declaring that the remaining noodle was a “nice girl dragon” who was sad because she missed her family. We encouraged you to eat the dragon so she could join her family in your tummy, but you insisted on wrapping the noodle in a paper towel blanket and making reassuring sounds at it for the rest of the evening.

At the end of the day, your daycare cubby always has a few “cows” (rocks), “puppies” (other rocks), “chickens” (dried-up grass roots), and other ephemera you’ve collected from outside. You have the dirtiest cubby in the place! 

You are very dramatic, always playing different roles. Your favorite clothes are your "dresses": gauzy nightgowns featuring Disney princesses. You love to be a princess, dancing and sighing and casting your eyes demurely downward. Just as often, you're a lion or a puppy or a sea creature. Yesterday morning as your daddy was getting you ready for school, I heard you say, "I'm a DOLPHIN! Dolphins don't HAVE to wear clothes!" Then, "Dolphins don't HAVE to get their hair brushed, because dolphins DON'T! HAVE! HAIR!" What with all the sheer fabrics, high drama, and wildlife, it's like Dynasty meets Wild Kingdom here most days. 

We’ve loved watching your independence and imagination develop, but it’s been a challenging year, too, as you’ve honed your stubborn streak. You don’t always use it for evil, though—sometimes you use it to mitigate disappointment. For instance, standard M&Ms don’t include purple. So you’ve decided to call the brown ones purple. “Those are brown,” we tell you. “Well, I’m calling them purple,” you say.

On your last birthday, I was newly pregnant with baby Lily, and worried about how you’d handle bringing her into our family. I knew it would be the biggest change you’d ever experienced. So far, so good. You aren’t particularly “hands-on” with Lily, but you do watch out for her. When we drop Lily off in her room at daycare, you always pick out a few toys to lay beside her. One day a while back, I brought Lily to daycare early and when your dad brought you in later, you insisted on visiting Lily to make sure she had her toys.

One afternoon recently Lily beamed at you and you said, “Mom! Lily’s happy I’m here!” She always is. Lily especially loves it when you dance with her, even when you get too enthusiastic and nearly rip her arms out. I know we’ll likely have a few bumps when Lily starts to go after your toys, but for now you two are having fun getting acquainted. I'm so proud of you; you're a lovely big sister.

Love,

Mom

P.S. I’m a little late on your birthday letter this year...my rationale is that you just started in the three-year-old room in daycare yesterday. Does that work?

Two years old

Dear Maggie,

My sweet girl. I look at last year’s birthday pictures and can’t believe that cakey-faced baby is the same person! You’ve grown so much this year, and more delightful by the day.

Earlier this year, we were so excited when you’d identify your facial features by pointing. Now, your daddy will ask, “Maggie, where are your eyes?” and you reply with a withering sigh, “Right here, Daddy. On my face.” Watching you find your words has been by far the best part of this year. Those days when we gazed at you and said, “I wonder what’s going on in that little head of hers” are long gone, as you aren’t shy about telling us exactly what’s on your mind. All day long. I don’t know how your father and I managed to produce such a chatterbox!

Your imagination grows, too. In the bathtub, you announce, “I swim like mermaid!” or hide behind the shower curtain and say, “I hide in bushes!” Outside, you run with arms stretched behind you, shouting, “I fly like airplane!” I’ve seen you transform your favorite blanket into a jacket, a sweater, a dress, underpants, and a dog house. Coasters become pizzas, a bath mitt becomes a “backetball glub.”

When you were (“were”—my heart breaks a little) a baby, a sure way to make you laugh was to say, “Come here!” and pull you close, then say “Go away!” and hold you at arms’ length. “Come here! Go away!” I’d repeat, faster and faster, until you dissolved into a fit of giggles.

You live that game these days. You’ll be playing, all wrapped up in your own important business, then all of a sudden you whimper a bit, come to me and say, “I wanna carryoo.” Sometimes when I reach to scoop you up, you change your mind at the last second, dodging out of my grasp. Other times, you’ll submit to about three seconds of cuddling before wriggling away. And rarely, you’ll relax and rest your head on my shoulder, patting my arm as I rub your back and bury my nose in your hair (heaven).

It’s a frustrating time for you, being able to do so much, yet not everything you want to. A few weeks ago while trying to put your shoes on, you announced, “I can’t do it, Mommy. I can’t do it.” When I offered to help, you shouted, "NO! I DO IT!” and then got more upset when you couldn’t manage.

Be patient, my girl. Know that I’m here, and will be here always, long after you master that pesky shoe business, long after your armpits cease to be carrying handles, through cuddles and tantrums alike.

Love,

Mommy