lulu letters: 5-year-old winter
- Feb 6
- 12 min read
Dear Lulu,
I have been procrastinating a bit with this letter, as I’m afraid that I’ll forget something dire about this three-month snapshot. Note: “Good enough” is a valuable North Star.
For example, when it comes to our new house, Papa and I agree that we’re going for 80/20—relinquishing our idealism for the reality of an old house, knowing that we are making it what we want it to be within reason. It is and will be beautiful.
So, in the spirit of “good enough,” here’s my attempt at your current snapshot.
What does five-year-old development look like? Where to begin, my beautiful, fiery, heart-led fairy child…
You’re a goofball. You crack yourself up. You’re a cheerleader and a caretaker. You’re wise and curious and thoughtful. You’re all the things, somehow.
You have grown in so many ways—including physically. I didn’t believe it when I measured you yesterday: you are about 1 ½ inches taller than you were in October. That might explain part of the…colorful attitude.
These past few months were an adventure and a half. I know you also desperately clung to any semblance of control in a rather topsy-turvy environment where you had very little control overall. We lived with Mema and Pops from November 1st through January 5th. It was, in a word: a gift. The greatest gift to have them here, welcoming us and helping us immensely, as your Papa worked tirelessly to make our new home livable (and as I spent 90% of my brain power trying to juggle logistics and schlepping us, our belongings, and meals).
I was your biggest punching bug, to the extreme. And, though I completely understand why, it was rough. Yikes. Such vitriol oozing from your tiny sting-bean body! The dagger eyes, the screaming, the punching in the belly. I significantly raised my voice more than I ever have before—three days in a row at one point. Not my favorite time in that way…
…but magical in so many other ways. Dinners together, reading, adventures, quiet afternoons…such a time of gratitude amidst the chaos and stress.
I have to ask/tell you about seven times to do most things. You’re so easily distracted, drifting to this or that, suddenly completely absorbed in exploring your accessory drawers or treasure boxes or struck with something you need to do right now.
Add a stroke of defiance just because you’re you (and you’re also five in general), and it’s a constant test of patience. I sometimes try to make a game of it, but you rarely buy that approach—unless it’s putting on pajamas. I have yet to “win” by getting mine on first, because the thrill of a win motivates you like no other.
That said, we seem to have turned a corner this past month. I know part of it is us actually living in our new home together, but you also grew 1.5 inches in two months after a slower-growth autumn.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all sunshine and roses.
You still slam doors when you’re angry. (I also see red sometimes, I get it.)
You are prone to absurdly explosive after-school meltdowns. Seriously: the intensity in your eyes as you sob wide-eyed borders on horrifying at times. (Mema shared a social media post with me that this is a sign that I’m succeeding as a parent: You suppress emotions all day at school, and you feel safe to let it all fly the moment you see me.)
You still express your frustration with words like, “You’re not evo kind to me!” and “I don’t want to hug you evo again!”
Still, in terms of overall trajectory, mornings are much happier, outbursts subside more quickly (most of the time), you’re slightly better at accepting help, and you demonstrate more maturity in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Your hair is so much straighter, and your legs are so much longer. I look at you and think, "Still a little girl, but so much a bigger little girl..."
You also eat like an elephant lately. There’s a lot going on in that little body.
The other morning, you wanted to show me a fancy leaning-back move—on the stairs. My response was not the best, as stairs scare the bejesus out of me: “Oh! No! We don’t play on the stairs!”
Your response was probably fitting: run to your room and slam the door with all the fire in your belly. You wanted to show me something “coo-oh” [cool], and I essentially pooped on your joy. (Next time, I’ll acknowledge the cool thing first, then calmly remind you that we don’t play on the stairs. I’m just trying to scare you out of that habit.”
Anyway, you slammed…and I yelled. I was sick and tired (literally), and the slamming doors irks me like no other. I immediately regretted yelling, and we ended up hugging on your bed. (Parents from older generations: I see you rolling your eyes at my millennial parenting skills. I’m proud of them, and they honestly work beautifully overall. Let’s agree not to judge each other.)
So, there we are, sitting on your bed hugging, and you say tearfully, “Mamas aren’t supposed to yell.” I hope I black out this memory, because it pains me.
All of this to say: Your maturity astounds me. What a thing to say.
On another occasion, I fill your fluoride mouthwash cap, and you scream that you wanted to fill it. I basically say, “Tough shit, it’s filled,” and you refuse to take it. This eventually leads to, “If you pour it out [out of spite], then no books tonight.” I regret this, as I don’t want “no books” to be a punishment. So, I ask you about a possible consequence. You think about it and reply, “No dessert tomorrow.”
Two nights later (because we forget one night later), you say, “Dessoht time!” and I say calmly, “No dessert tonight, remember?” You smile and say, “Oh yeah!” before getting ready for bed. Love that.
Your heart is so wise. I overhear you and Papa chatting in your room one night, about his mom and grandmother.
“Ow you sad they died?”
“I am…”
“Me too. But, things don’t go on fo-evo.”
Some great lines of late:
Yo my most important person…I’ll always protect you…like, if you fall in a pit or somethin.
Me: I’m sick.
You: Yo eyes ow fadin…(rubbing my face)
I used to love you more, but now I love Papa a little more. Since I don’t see him very often. But when we all live together again, I’ll learn to like you both the same.
You: Can we call Blake?
Me: He’s still sleeping. He likes to sleep in.
You: He learned that from you, Zaza.
I know you are anxious to dance, but it’s time to draw.
Tonight I am being so delightful.
Papa: Why did the chicken cross the road?
You: To get to its babies.
Peniddle! [Padiddle, aka one-headlight car]
You (strategizing, as always): How about this: We start the music while we chowge the car. If you say no, I’ll be glad…
Me: Why don’t we just start after we charge?
You: Yeah…
Me: But that’s a good idea!
You: Actually, it’s not a good idea.
Do you wanna be in my nook? This is the bestest way to be togetho.
Please don’t look at that. That’s called not twustin me.
(Playing Hues and Cues game, you give the color clue) Wed unicohn haiw [red unicorn hair]
What the heck in the wohld is that?
I love you more than anything could be possible.
[commenting on a bathroom moment] I must have had too many veggies this week!
I’m going to sleep on the crouton! [futon]
Sowwy sowwy alligadoh!
Peniddle! (car with one headlight)
cabinies: cavities
You: [measuring floss] Is it pohfect?
Me: (trying to backpedal because I’ve said it was “perfect” in the past) Well, nothing is really perfect…
You: But is this one pohfect?
I love you infinity infinity.
Some other tidbits and interests:
Paper airplanes with Papa—so competitive
Noticing my morning breath (new development, not a fan)
Making the garage door open with magic “Abracadabra” words (It will be a sad day when you realize we hide the remote in our pockets.)
Outfits. Hair. Accessories. You continue to be known as “fancy.” Such a trendsetter with multiple headbands, so many unexpected layerings, and even what I call “ankle scarves”: wrapping a small cloth headband around each ankle so it trails behind you. Not the most practical statement, but, as always, I respect the experimentation.
Self-correcting “s” to “sh” and “ch”: You’ve been working on this for about a month now. It both lights and shatters my heart, mourning the loss of another quintessentially “little Emmylou-ism.” You’re so focused as you exaggerate the mouth movements to form those new sounds, repeating words that you miss the first time. It’s tough to imagine anything more endearing than this, watching you teach yourself in the moment.
Yoga: We try four weeks of kid yoga, and you love it. We try another four weeks, a few months later. You do sun salutations in your black leggings and do belly breathing with a rubber duckie on your belly. My little stretch.
“Do you want to lie in my nook?” Papa and I are never as blissful as we are when lying in your nooks, snuggling. It feels like part of a “happy memory montage” in a heartwarming movie. You know, those ones we always roll our eyes at—except we live many similar moments daily.
Ice skating: We go a handful of times mid-winter. You love how Gordie, his first time skating, lets you hold his “walker” the entire time, staying close to you. You do not like when a friend skates away with her Mama (also her first time skating).
Puzzles: You love them, and you’re so good at them. Mema buys you a few 100-piecers for Christmas, but ends up returning two of them for a few 300-piecers. You need some help with these ones, but not much.
Sharing dreams: You love to share your dreams, and we love to hear you share them, waving your little hands and nodding like, “It was kind of silly, but…yeah, that’s what happened.”
Wicked: Still going strong. Soundtrack every night at bedtime for at least three months now.
And Chili has become more snuggly with you, falling asleep on your lap. Thank GOD.
What a magical time this is. The other night, you discovered your pretend play box (hiding in our garage for a few months), and spent about 15 minutes talking on your pretend phone. You spoke quietly, kind of mumbling, and smiled a bit sheepishly when we made eye contact. You continued to talk as we sat to dinner, and Papa asked you to put the phone away. “It’s a very impohtant call, Papa.”
We obliged, and you held the phone wedged between your ear and shoulder as you ate. I caught something about an upcoming “powty” you needed to attend. When you finally hung up, I asked who it was. “Mema!” You later talked to Pops about the birds they see in their new birdfeeder.
A five-year-old teenager in all your glory.
We have a beautiful Thanksgiving here with the VB family and the Russells—a true celebration of joining different branches and simply enjoy being together.
We journey to the Rochester Museum of Play with Pops for a festive adventure, complete with meeting Elsa and Anna.
We manage our second NYC holiday trip, just the two of us! Zaza, Abigail and Michael, Amanda, a perfect movie night w/ Blake, Sierra, Arline, and Josh…the tree, Bryant Park (where you decide to spend the coins you found in Zaza’s apartment on stylish brown earmuffs, of course)...Pure delight.
We have a quiet Christmas, 100% healthy for the first time. What a win! VB overnight, fire feature, Russell White Elephant: we blessedly make it to all the events. The greatest gift.
On your Santa list:
A long-sleeved shirt with Harry Potter and Ron, which I spend days looking for (a sweatshirt it is, but you love it)
Dresses
And, topping the list by far, the ($50) blue bunny from Sundrees. Thank goodness I decide to return the slightly cheaper alternative and go with the OG because you spend Christmas morning looking for this bunny.
However, when asked which gift is your favorite, you reply, “The bell from Santa’s sleigh.” A rather last-minute purchase that ended up as magical as Santa had hoped.
We have a blizzard for my birthday, with “A pound of snow!” We have the best quiet weekend at home together. I pull out my clarinet, and you want to try it. You manage to make sound. BRAVA!! We go sledding on Rice Hill (two runs, because it's about a mile uphill). You give me two breakfasts in bed on my birthday weekend because you just can't wait.
Those nights, you tell us in bed, “I had such a fun day today.”
Your “nurturing Mama” persona remains strong. We make bracelets together, and you cheer me on as I go: “Good job, Mama!” and “You’re wohkin so howd on this!” My Mama heart beams. You learn several bracelet crafts this month and say at one point, “I like this more than watchin TV!” WOW.
You take care of me when I’m sick and say one morning before school, “I’m going to have a horrible day because you’re sick, and I’m worried about you.” My little empath. You’re also a feisty Mama defender. Poor Papa.
We have a sweet car conversation when you express frustration that a younger friend helps you. “She tries to be my Mama, and she’s not my mama. You’re my only mama.” You’re also upset because you want to help her because you’re older. I share how friends help each other, how it’s a sign that you care about each other. You take it in, but don’t fully buy it.
We have more playdates, now that we have a home for hosting. Sharing can be challenging, and you tend to dominate at times. You’re an only child, after all. But I can see your pride in showing friends your space. So special.
You are officially reading. You’ve just started reading more to us at home. One morning, you read me an entire picture book—and all of the Bob early-reader books, sight-reading them all. You read titles like, “Good Day, Summer” with few pauses. Incredible. It’s happening.
You mostly like to read chapter books with grown-ups. Some current favorites: Junie B. Jones, Ivy & Bean, and The Boxcar Children. I miss reading all your beautiful picture books, but they still appear at times. Mostly, I marvel at the fact that you prefer chapter books already.
You’re learning addition and subtraction in school, which blows my mind.
And you love to write. You write on your own now, sounding out words to create masterpiece letters that we can usually read at least most of. The morning after your Tuesday Amy time, you write her a letter:
Dear Aymey I hop you dol cech the cold forum me. I love you. Love Emmylou.
I go to your school to do some group activities.
The first visit, I lead the fledglings in drawing a safe space. Most friends draw their houses and families. You draw your closet. The therapist in me would flag that, but I know why: it’s cozy, and your special treasures (and fashion accessories) live in there. Sometimes you sit in there for half an hour, looking through things.
The second visit, I lead the entire class—in three shifts—in two activities. We make breathing wands with pipecleaners and plastic beads, then we do a group drawing to music. Talk about sweet.
You’ve begun a life of crime. Okay, you took some buttons home from school. But, as Papa (very graphically) said the other night, “It starts with buttons! Then it’s more stealing, and drugs…and murder!” We try to talk to you about the buttons, which you know you weren’t supposed to take home, but you want nothing to do with it. “I don’t want to talk about the buttons anymore! It’s boring.”
Finally, Papa shares a story about his first steal, a pack of gum, and how he got caught. After a few minutes, you sigh and say, “Fine. I’ll return the buttons.” You and Papa agree that you can just put them back this time. But if it happens again, we’ll need to tell your teachers—who will appreciate that you told the truth and brought them back.
In other stealthy news, I brush your hair one morning and see a small clump of bluntly-cut hair fall out.
….“Uhh…what happened here?”
…Silence.
…“Did you cut your hair?” (trying to remain calm, smiling ever-so-slightly)
“No…”
“No?...”
…“The fairies cut it.”
The story later changes to:
“Emma did it when she cut my hair last time.”
“Because she cuts layers?”
“Yeah.”
Papa regales you again with a story, this time about a friend of yours who once cut her hair so much that her Mama had to cut it all off to try to fix it.
Papa’s not one for subtlety, but his heart’s in the right place.
Okay, wrapping up here, I promise. The last beat in this missive: dancing. You. Love. To. Dance. We all love to dance. So much so that Papa added “Dancing” to our morning to-do list, which we have to do by 8 am if you want to play a game before school.
Snuggles
Feed Chili
Breakfast/Dancing
Shower (M/W/F)/Clothes
Teeth/Hair
We introduce you to a wide range of music. Papa covers more of the rocking and rolling, while I cover more of the singing and dancing. One morning you exclaim, “Tohn on the soundtwack of Hand in My Pocket.” You’re a new Alanis fan, and you are so good at that song.
I introduce you to my favorite movie of all time, and we spend many evenings post-dinner dancing to the Singin’ in the Rain soundtrack. These are my wildest dreams come true: braiding your hair, watching you dance passionately, sitting on the couch as you perform a play for us while holding a microphone…Unreal.
Yes, “Good enough” is a valuable North Star. So, 2979 words later…this is good enough.
I love you infinity infinity.
Love, Your Mama
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