lulu letters: now we are 6
My Lulu,
Today you are six. I'm parenting a 6-year-old.
That sounds so much older than a 5-year-old.
I got out of bed to meditate this morning, right around the time my water broke. What a powerful early morning silence to breathe in, remembering that day—and the next day, when you finally emerged at 4:24 pm.
I crawled back into bed beside you, marveling at your length. We measured you this morning: exactly 4 feet tall.
Winnie-the-Pooh celebrated its 100th anniversary yesterday, which is fitting, as this is your Winnie-the-Pooh phase. You’ve listened to it on your Yoto every night before bed for the past month or so.
In honor of you, here’s Now We Are Six, by A.A. Milne:
When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six now
For ever and ever.
This morning, I asked, “How does it feel to be 6?”
You replied, “It doesn’t really feel different, but I feel really proud…Proud of all the years.”
Clever as clever.
Your birthday was a raging success. That morning, the fairies left you a pretty magical book (about fairies). I gave you a moon journal that I thought you could use as a daily gratitude journal. You loved it more than I could have ever dreamed.
You were so shy when we brought in treats to share with your class. You turned the same shade of pink as your skirt. I’m so sorry you inherited that gene.
After school, you did a scavenger hunt to find six presents:
green rain boots (like you wanted)
a new Yoto card (Charlotte’s Web)
a Shel Silverstein book (Falling Up) because you love his books
five tiny Pete the Cat easy-readers to inspire your own reading (I hope?)
one of my old necklaces and bracelets
a dinosaur egg from Sundrees that you wished for
That evening, we had Mema and Papa, the Russells, and Amy over for your chosen dinner: mac & cheese, raw carrots, and pickles. We added grilled chicken, green beans, and squash soup. You received thoughtful, beautiful presents, as always—and I presented you with a pair of earrings.
The next day, after school, Zaza and I took you to get your ears pierced.
Finally, your big friend party at Taughannock: chilly, but so full of lively joy. That night, we played Pretty Pretty Princess with the Wolffs. As you said, “The only downside of this game is the Mystewy Ween.” Papa won: he was the prettiest princess that night. (Pops was a clear #2.)
These past three months in a somewhat-small nutshell:
You survived six weeks of six different camps. You were quite unsure, and we had many car rides with a nervous belly. On your own, you found your magic unicorn necklace for camp courage. Here are the takeaways and final verdicts for returning next year:
Girl Scouts (“I don’t like walking so much.”): No
Trumansburg school (where you sat on the edge of the pool during daily swimming and were truly terrified of a very random giant spider decoration by the bathroom): No
Dance camp (the longest days, much more structured—which you seemed to love): Maybe
Hangar Theater (where you performed in your first official production, as a vampire who had three lines: “Boo!” “I’m a vampire. You know what that means.” and “Yay!”): Maybe
*You said that you told the counselors you might not be there on Friday to do the play. I told you a few stories for inspiration, including how acting helped me overcome stuttering. I also told you a meditation about a forest where each tree had a different wig that made you feel a certain way when you put it on. Brave, silly, sad, joyful…My humble/sneaky attempt to insert subliminal messages into your brain. On Thursday morning, on the way to camp, you exclaimed enthusiastically, “Mama, guess what…I AM going to do the play!” My heart soared.
*You struggled to reach out to new people at camp, but you came home from this one on Tuesday and said you made a new friend! I asked how that happened, and you replied, “I asked her to play in the dirt with me!”
Sciencenter (where we only had to pick you up once due to nausea-inducing anxiety): Mixed feelings, but a solid maybe/yes
CSMA (Community School of Music and Art): A solid yes, but somewhat dependent on a friend you made there…
You mastered swimming. At the beginning of the Jacques family trip, you jumped into the deep end with your life jacket on. A few days later, you swam to the bottom of the pool to retrieve rings, jumped off without a life jacket, and basically swam from one end of the pool to the other, above and/or underwater. What a momentous journey to witness.
You held your new cousin Coco, and our new neighborhood baby, Alba—gazing upon them like the Madonna holding baby Jesus.
We took a threesome trip to Montreal. Your favorite day was the first afternoon: a ride on the La Grande Roue (the GIANT Ferris wheel) and getting matching henna tattoos. One evening at dinner, we took turns making objects out of clay. My favorite creation of yours: “It’s you as an Octopus, Papa.”
Chili has become more snuggly. He often lies on your bed while we read and might sleep there with you for hours. He’s quicker to lie next to you on the couch or to come when you call. He’s learning how to love you. I have a mental snapshot of the three of us pulling burrs out of his fur, a family grooming session.
You discovered my old boxes of beads, and we spent a lot of time beading these past months. What fun. Thank you for helping me rediscover that joy.
You still come in our bed at some point most nights. The other morning, I woke early and used my book light to read in bed next to you. I felt movement and rolled over to see you lying silently, making shadow puppets in the light reflected on the wall. The epitome of childhood magic right there.
You started your new school: Trumansburg!! How we all love our morning walk to your friend’s house, where we meet two other families and all walk the rest of the way together. Out of the house by 7:30 am, such a happy start to the day.
I wrote this on your first day of 1st Grade:
We dropped you off on your first day of 1st grade this morning. You wore your K-Pop Demon Hunters T with a long black shirt under it, a plaid flannel skirt, black tights, and mustard-and-white Nikes. I offered to do your hair, but you wanted to do it yourself: a ponytail with a thin side-braid, impressive hair-tie styling. You are truly the coolest kid in town. In your backyard photo, you hold the “First Day” plaque you wrote on yourself, including backward twos in “2026.” Your feet are slightly pigeon-toed, and your grin is about to burst off your face.
You often collect treasures along the way until we have to tell you that we simply must keep going. This month you loved the giant sycamore leaves, which Zaza reminded me look like tree stars from The Land Before Time (a movie you’ll watch at some point, even though the mother’s death still haunts me).
We parents say goodbye at the door, hand you your backpacks, and stroll back home smiling. It’s a real Sesame Street experience, saying hi to everyone we know on the way. We are blessed, that’s for sure.
One morning, you refuse to wear rain boots, and your long pants get soaked. You hate it, of course, and Papa and I suggest that maybe you’ll take our advice next time. That night, you exclaim, “I lohned my lesson!”
The only other barrier thus far is the Halloween decorations, which, for the first time, freak you out. I’m not sure why this suddenly popped up, but we adjust our route as needed to avoid them as much as possible.
Ironically, you want to be a “hairy spider” for Halloween. I get the costume, shuddering because that’s literally the closest thing I have to a phobia. You try it on, then complain about the giant abdomen that sticks out the back. I kind of get it. So now I’m returning it for a black cat. Sigh. At least I don’t have to walk next to it on Halloween. I honestly wasn’t sure how I’d feel about that.
I’m amazed every time I hear you read, which isn’t often (yet). I can’t wait until you feel comfortable reading a book on your own. I’m not sure what you do at school, but I feel like you’re on the verge at home. We love reading to you, though, so we're treasuring that.
Your handwriting has changed so much since you started school! It’s incredible. I miss all the backward numbers, but it’s still precious.
You're taking piano!! We managed to make that happen, and though you sometimes say otherwise, you really seem to love it. You just said, "I have a gweat piano teacho." You taught me two songs, including how to hold my hands and sit. You have a 30-minute lesson on Thursdays, and you recently asked if it could be longer. We try to make a night of it by going out to dinner afterward.
The other activity you chose this fall: Acro! You love to tumble, do bridges, and the like, so it's a great fit. It's also on Saturdays at 9 am, and we can walk there. Another great way to start the morning.
I managed to jot down some winners these past few months, though they are only a taste of daily life with you—filled with words and phrases that inspire silent guffaws, awe, and… WTF?!
Here are some great ones:
I’m so exiged fo camp tomorrow. It’s called Camp Staff. I read it on the counselos shohts.
You: I had a gweat dweam. [closes eyes] Me: Are you trying to go back to the dream? [whispers "Yeah."]
(Mema fumbles over a word while reading) Mema! You’re still learning to read, too!
I don’t need waddo. I’m hydwated.
Me (her ice cream selection): Vanilla with sprinkles! Solid choice
You: What does “solid mean?”
Me: Good, respectable.
You: You’re solid, Mama.
I didn’t see it because I was so fascinated by the leaves.
I like the fahm bluebewwies a pound more than these ones.
(putting your hand on your face) That’s a bum! [short for “bummer”]
I cannot hold spiders. I think I’m allergic to them.
Can I have carrots for dessert? (Honestly. Who are you?)
Stop budging me.
(Texts from Mema explaining something you played at her house)
It’s school. I’m the assistant who takes kids to the nurse’s office and calls their parents to come pick them up. Three of them have spines coming out of their backs that are stinging other children.
Three others just got sent because they were so disruptive. Class size is coming under control 👍
(on a walk, out of nowhere) Is Anxiety (fwum Inside Out) good or bad? (I’m speechless for a moment, before launching into what I hope is a very poignant and meaningful conversation. You are one for deep thoughts.)
Mema: Where did you get the henna?
You: The Pwime twuck.
Remembo my rainbow tights? I was attached to those. Now they’re not my fan.
It’s not something to whine about, Papa.
Mama, I have something to show you…I’m wiping on the toilet! To practice for school. (as opposed to her classic deep-squat-reach-through technique I will miss so much)
Why is it called “coldslaw?” (Why is it called coleslaw? Great question.)
That’s not impressive.
Clearly…
Do you know why you got it, Mema? Because I crossed my fingers.
I’m clevvo.
Pops: So, E and I were playing store the other day. I said, ‘What’s the name of your store?’ ‘Loaves of Mountains” she told me.
Me: Are you married?
You: Yes, his name is Whitehaben Wickowd. (You are the ultimate namer.)
I have to admit I like your French Toast better.
(When asked a question about a recent sleepover) I’m so focused on wunning wight now, I can’t remember.
You really enunciate your “sh” and “ch” in the most adorable way, as if to make sure you hit them after missing them for years. “R” is the last remnant of your vocal mannerisms, as in:
woobowb: rhubarb
ambliance: ambulance
widiklious: ridiculous
ween: wing or ring (We always a few back and forths before we land on your intention with this word.)
buhwd and wuhwd: bird and word (No idea how to write this phonetically.)
“Let’s play cowds!” (The best is when you’re being sly/sassy during a game, and say something like, “I see yo cowds, Mama!” as if you have the upper hand. It takes every cell in my body to resist chuckling.)
Oh—and “instructions” and “construction” are still “destwuckson.” Praise be.
Other you-isms:
Catching us when we say something to signify we’re listening, even if we’re not 100%. Nothing gets by you. For example:
You: “Did you see that?”
Me: “I did!”
You: “Where was it?”
(Likewise: “Did you really see it, Mama?”)
still measuring quantities and size in pounds
“age zero” for babies
me finding at least one tiny stone in every laundry load because you constantly collect stones/rocks/gems/cwystals
doing your own hair (sobbing)—and aging by a decade with the part-up/part down with tendrils
your little knowing smirk
K-POP: obsessed
ROCKING out in your undies, throwing your hair around, screaming The Sweater Song with Papa. The absolute BEST.
leading us through Smith Woods—and telling us to misbehave so you can be stern with us or give us consequences (like the back of the line)
your first FaceTime with a friend, sitting in your room, walking around, gabbing and laughing, sounding so much older than a five-year-old sounds in my mind
a mini-teenager walking to school with your hairstyles and especially-catered outfits and your backpack with keychains galore
You remind me to stop and smell the roses, literally. One morning, we’re hustling to school, and you yell, “Stop pulling me, Mama! This is supposed to be a nice walk!” Thank you for that.
This is one of my favorite juxtapositions of late:
You: Can Papa kiss me goodnight?
Me: He’s working, and he already read to you!
You: Aww! But he’s my real pal!
Me: …Who am I?
You: My real…hmm…that’s a tough one…My real…Mama.
Me: Why isn’t he your real Papa?
You: Because…he’s my EXTREMELY good person, and you’re my REALLY good person.
Me: Huh…Extremely sounds like a little more than really.
You: Just a little bit. (you make two circles with hands, mine slightly smaller) He’s here, and you’re here.
I tell Papa, laughing, and he says, “Well, on the way up here, she said, ‘I love you more than anything…Almost as much as Mama.’ So there you go. We both win.”
Then, a few days later, I say something that upsets you, and you shout, “I don’t like your stupid voice!” Seeing red. I remind myself that you’re trying out all these new power moves on Papa and me because we’re safe. But it’s awful. You’re so quick to take the “tit for tat” approach:
“You’re being very disrespectful right now. It’s not okay.”
“No, you’re being very disrespectful! You’re hohdin my feelings!”
I try to stay calm while being clear about what's acceptable and what's not. My first thoughts are always, “Why are you doing this?” and trying to connect to your feelings. I know you have giant waves of emotion that crash over you, that overwhelm you, that you don’t know what to do with.
Once in a while, I yell. Loudly. Because you just. don’t. listen. And I’m at a loss.
We are all navigating you together. You are at once wise and thoughtful and kind and loving and mature beyond your years—and a raging, stubborn ox of a maniac who just can’t will yourself to apologize and pause long enough to see that, well, it’s not me, it’s you. We do the best we can!
And, on a daily basis, I pause and breathe in the beauty of this chapter of our lives. You in your flannel nightgown (that Mema made for me), or one of Papa's T-shirts that goes nearly to your toes, your hair in two braids, dancing, brushing your hair, singing, or simply choosing a book to read...I have never been happier.
Well, my little bean, I will leave it at that.
I love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.
Love, Your Mama
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