lulu letters: now we are five

Dear Lulu,

You are five years old today.

Well, you were actually five years old about a month ago. As much as I try to write these yearly missives on your actual birthday, October was complete and utter mayhem. Three birthdays—and three celebrations for yours alone (your Taughannock party is epic, I must say)—and we moved out of our house…to the house we bought right next door. Papa gutted the kitchen, and I spent the month painting as much as possible, among other things. Let’s just say that adrenaline is a gift.

So, here we are: five-year-old development. You are five years and one month old. You weigh 43 pounds (72nd percentile) and are 44.5 inches tall (84th percentile). You have the happiest bouncy walk with your size 13 feet. 

According to your five-year wellness visit, your favorite vegetables are peppers and carrots. You love to twirl the hairs on the back of my neck and Mema’s neck. You’ve also started playing with your own hair—a comforting habit to balance out the rather caustic snort you’ve developed. 

I laugh one day, and you exclaim, “You and Zaza have the same laugh!” My heart melts. A dear family friend, Sherri, who knew the OG Emmylou very well, says that you share her cackling, full-bodied laugh. My heart sings.

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We make it to church once in the past…multiple months, and you just want to sit there and listen, no art. You say you enjoy it. They usher you right in. You help carry the offering, and you help April snuff the candles at the end of the service. She shows you all around the altar. As unreligious as I am, I get teary at the sight of you contributing to this special community.

Much to our surprise, you want to try Soccer Shots again. I have to say, you’re much more engaged this year—actually participating, running and kicking and enjoying yourself. What a difference a year makes. You take off during the last session and score two goals. 

I attend your teacher conference and chuckle at some key takeaways:

• You’re a rule follower and want to do things correctly. You like to help others do the same.

• You love math because, unlike the hot mess that is the English language, it has rules it always follows.

• You love helping younger friends, including rubbing their backs and holding their hands.

• You are the teachers’ favorite dishwasher because you actually scrub the dishes completely clean.

• You are working on building confidence to try things that you might not know how to do at first.

• You are known for your fancy preferences.

• When playing “family” with friends, you always want to be the teenager.

Your obsession with Wicked is reignited, including “Popplier” and “Deflyin Gwavity.” One morning, you shout, “Mama! We have to go see the wizohd! So we do. He asks us to collect three things that bring us smiles during the day and share them with him before bed. That night in bed, you suddenly exclaim, “We fohgot to tell the wizohd our free things!” We close our eyes and imagine telling him. You say this: “Museum of Oath [Earth] with you, my fohst evvo cwystal!!...and when I went to the museum with Papa, I didn’t take my fossil home—but this time I did!”

Mostly, you are a champ during our two months of mayhem. 

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As usual, I jotted down random sayings that capture who you are at this moment. Let it be known that I wanted to jot down so many more, but I simply can’t keep up anymore. Every day is just too good. 

For example, yesterday was Daylight Saving Time. Okay, okay, it was technically the end of it…but who can keep track of which is which? You woke up at your normal 5:45/6 am, which was now 4:45/5 am. I somehow convinced you to stay in bed until the first whisper of light about an hour later. Last night you asked, “Is it going to be daylight again tomorrow?” So many oddities in life, aren’t there? 

I explained how we turn the clocks back so it’s lighter earlier in the morning and darker earlier in the evening. “But how does it know?” Great question. I explained how the sun and moon and earth don’t change what they do—we just change the clocks. And then, in the spring, we change them again. 

“That’s weally weird.” I agree.

The next morning, you slept until 6:20 am, which meant it was light outside. I heard you exclaim in delight, and you looked at me with the biggest dimpled expression of glee: “It’s daylight again!” 

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Here are some other verbal windows into your astounding soul:

• You: Can you hand me a stuffed animal? Anyone you want…

Papa: How about sleepy lamby?

You: That’s the one I wanted!…I love you, Papa

• I got some pwotein fo dessoht. (applesauce :)

• You: [eating a fancy macaron] And the gold spowkles oh edible! 

Me: May I have a bite? 

You: Yeah, it’s weally good. You have to twy it. Is it gluten fwee? [You really know my limitations.]

• (playing restaurant) “If we don’t have daiwy-fwee, you have to eat at home.” [Dang!]

• Maybe if I be peace and quiet…

• I’m gonna fall asleep fo real acksual life.

• I was cwyin fo weal actsual life.

• It’s the weal life acksual twoose. [rhyme with “moose”]

• (walking in Boston) I’m wicked hot. [Uncanny! Where did you hear that? From me, but the timing is impeccable.]

• Papa, focus on what you’re toppose-ta be doin.

• [TV not working]: This is not fun. This is wastin my time.

• Tsili, did you get a mouse? Sopwizinly, you got a mouse!

• It hohts my fumb!

• (preparing for a performance for us) Sows don’t stawt wight away. You have to get dwessed…and stuff like that.

• The woosto was cwockin. [Roosters are noisy.]

• We woh covewin the gowlic til spweeng.

• I can’t believe you powked in the powkin lot!

• I’m just goin pee and then I’m goin back to sleep. Because I’m so ti-owed and I have to get sleep for the big twip.

• Mama?…I mean, Mom? 

• Mom?...I mean, Mama? [Thanks for that, now that you know how I feel about Mama vs. Mom.]

• [finding nickels in your room) 

• Look! Silvo pennies!

• Me: Would you like milk on your oats?

You: Just oats. Not feelin milk today.

• I don’t know the twice one.

• It’s THohsday, not Fohsday.

• Sometimes I dwaw pink clouds. Sasha says no clouds ow pink…But there ow pink clouds…But it’s not a competissin.

• Basically…[big word this month]

• I’m sowwy. I’m one-hundwid pohsent sowwy.

• Hewe’s a weeminedo: When I’m hee-ow, I add a little bit of waddomelon toothpaste and a little bit of mint toothpaste because they’re too spicy and too sweet. Evewy mohnin.

• (coloring a gravestone) This is fo human bodies. It lives at the Cayuga Cemetair. 

• Some fwends are full fwends, and some fwends are half-fwends. Because they’re still fwends—and it’s not kind to say they’re not my fwends.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Some great words:

• pwetect: protect

• destwuckson: instructions or construction (as in street work)

• feengo: finger

• foughts: thoughts

• peanut buddo and tselly: PB&K

• wohsoh: worse

• pasently-oh [more patient]

• binoclee-ohs: binoculars

• sope: sharp

• tooken: took

• ambliance: ambulance

• Yeah! So!: Yeah! Sure!

. . . . . . . . . . .

Some precious moments:

• Papa makes you a tiny “blue tree” vase out of a tiny blue tree stick we found at “Loidi Point”: “You worked really howd on this, Papa. It’s beautiful. I love you.”

• Your favorite part of the Jacques family trip: Feeding Maggie (a canine companion)

• Singing Can’t Help Falling in Love together in bed

• You rubbing Papa’s back in bed

• "You said I was going to have a gweat day, and I DID have a great day!…YOU’RE my gweat day…You’re the best Mama. I will never leave you behind."

• Papa giving you a little shoulder massage: Oh, that’s the good stuff.

• Me: It won’t hurt tomorrow, I promise.

  You: I twust you, it just weally hohts.

• Me: When I’m better I’m going to give you a million hugs and kisses

You: Well, that sounds fun! Because I LOVE hugs and kisses.

• Papa: Your birthday’s right around the corner! (You run around the corner looking for it.)

• Singing Baby Mine together, my hand made to wrap around you perfectly…We sing it together twice, then I say, “Okay, time to close your eyes” and start singing. You say, “Okay…Can I seen [sing]?” And we sing it again.

• Reading The Invisible String, we talk about all the people we’re connected to. “But yo my biggest streen, Mama.”

• Playing “I spy something that starts with TK” with Mema:

  • “stowts with ‘sow’ → (Mema is quickly stumped) → ..Sowlet! [Charlotte]

  • “Stowts with ‘tsah’...’cha’ → (Again, Mema is stumped. “Cha?”) → …Yes!...It’s tree!

• Me: What about Christmas are you excited for?

You: Pwesents!

Me: What else?

You: Zaza! Zaza is the pwettiest pwesent. 

. . . . . . . . . . .

And a few more:

You: I’m gonna wear this ween [ring] when I maywy my husband on my weddin day…Papa, will you be my husband?

Papa: Well, I’m married to Mama. But I’ll be there!

You: Will you ever die?

Papa: No. You don’t need to worry about that.

Cam: What’s your favorite color? 

You: Lavendo

Me: Snuggling with you is one of my favorite things. 

You: That makes me love you even more than I did before

…juxtaposed with: 

Me: Time for bed!

You: OKAYYYY! How many times do you need to tell me this?!

I give Pops a funny card for his birthday that includes the word “narcotics.” Trust me: it’s a good one. You’re very interested in reading lately, reading random words all the time now. (“Mama, this popsicle box says ‘Good Pop’!” What?!) You try to read the card and end up reading “narcotics” by dividing it into syllables as you do with other words. “Nar-cot-ics…narcotics.” We all try so hard to stifle laughter.

But, the winner this month…“Nice boobs, Mama!”

Guess I’ll wear that shirt more often. 

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Mema finds some of my old clothing: a beautiful puffed-sleeve sweater t-shirt, blue with purple and pink hearts, that I helped design; a flannel nightgown that quickly becomes your favorite sleepwear; and my puff paint t-shirt. You pronounce, “It says Jamie Wolff!” I reply, “That’s my name! Well, it used to be my name…” “Now your name is Mama.” Pretty much.

You connect with my childhood baby doll, “Cowly Wolff.” I watch you hold her and sing to her (“My pwesus liddle dahlin I’ve evvo had…”) in your braids and my childhood nightgown that Mema made, and I try to imagine what I might feel if I were Mema, watching her granddaughter reliving her daughter’s world. These days are truly magical.

On the Hyde side of things, you whine more than ever before and are prone to scream and possibly hit me when you’re upset. A volcano that erupts—sometimes from a slow roll, other times with a ferocious BOOM! out of nowhere. Every so often, my patience taps out. I have nothing left to give other than words like, “Stay still and close your eyes, or I’m saying goodnight and leaving.” 

How I wish I were one of those mystical mamas who never raised their voice. It’s rare, but it always leaves me hollow. You are such a spirited being, my Lulu. How I treasure that about you…and how it drives me to madness at times. Mamas are the greatest comfort, and the most comforting punching bag. We do the best we can.

Even with all these words, I fear that I won’t remember exactly who you are at this moment in time. All the tiny things: the way you shrug your shoulders and raise your eyebrows, your carefree “booty dance” before you get dressed, your so-particular ways—including your fashion choices, your encouraging words like “Yoh a gweat helpo, Mama!”

Your idealistic vision, so like my own, and your crestfallen soul when the vision isn’t the reality. 

The way you dance and sing so proudly. Those little hips and shoulders, the skipping feet, the serious expression as you sing a serious song from your heart.

I love you in all the ways. And, though you won’t believe it, I love you more.

Love, Your Mama