When you were little, you were easier to capture. I could easily catalog and summarize details into the whole of your day or the affects of a phase. At 7, you are full of random brilliance on a daily basis that isn't as easy to pigeon-hole. And that might be what I love most about you right now. I take great pains to guide you rather than control you. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible to express your ideas and opinion as full, as bold or as unfinished as they may be. I want to give you what I did not have. I want you to be able to live up to your potential. Last year, your teacher discouraged us from giving you chapter books because you had already gone through all of the Advanced Reading buckets in her classroom. She said there are still plenty of picture books in the library with good vocabulary. I agree, but I will not prevent you from growing. If you are interested ina chapter book, we will read it. Aunt Manda Lou sent you a giant graphic-novel-style bible last year. Over 500 pages. You've read it five times.
What a doozie of a year. When the coronavirus began to take hold of the U.S., Grandpa was in bad shape with his hip. So bad that we cancelled our plans to see Tonya, Zella and fam in S.C. in order to be with Grandpa over spring break. Little did we know that we would be zooming to every Walmart from her to Dodge City taking supplies to weather what we didn't know. At that point we didn't know that school would be cancelled, er, virtual for the rest of the year. We didn't know that birthday parties would be cancelled and soccer and playdates and restaurants and talent shows and graduations and summer vacations.
In lieu of all those things, we made pancakes and planted impatients. We watched the making of Disneyland and played Uno. We hunted for Easter eggs and Grandpa's and read Little House in the Big Woods. You learned to ride your bike while at Grandpa's. You have had a great big smile and an authentic giggle every single day of quarantine. I agreed to let you use Messenger Kids to video/text your friends. That was the furthest thing from my mind in February. Never would I have wanted that. But in those early days, when things were scary and unclear, connecting with your friends was good for everyone. I spent most evening/nights trying to find farms from which I could purchase groceries. Dad braved Costco each week, and I'd wipe everything down with bleach water. Mrs. Feldhaus and Grandma made us masks. We didn't get to see Gram from March to May.
This summer we hired Chloe, a soon-to-be high school senior to come babysit you while Dad and I work from home. Together you have made bracelets and backpack charms, made slushies, doused each other with water guns, painted rocks, planted a fairy garden, read books, played piano, made a rocket ship from cardboard boxes. made plarn, made some sort of liquid/solid slime, blown up Ziplock bags with baking soda, made brownie and pancakes, played tennis, went on nature walks to the creek, played dolls, learned to braid, made Lego stop-motion movies, made a movie where your stuffed dog comes to life, watched Dogs 101 and turned the house into a live version of Mario Brothers video game. You think Chloe is the coolest.
You love playing with Ali, the neighbor and her little brother JR. Ali is 9 but probably a foot shorter than you are. Last week, I looked outside and you had set up a tea party with beach towels, umbrellas, vanilla wafers, tea and honey.
Most days you tell me you love me at least five times and you give me twice as many hugs. You've spent a better part of the last year trying to convince Dad that you are responsible enough for a puppy. You have made lists, schedules and letters to express this desire. You think he is unconvinced. However, what you don't know is that I've already put a deposit down on a micro mini golden doodle who will be joining our household soon after your birthday. Because we love you.
You have matured so much in just the last five months. The way you enter conversations. They way you manage your emotions (mostly). The way you can laugh at yourself (most days). The way you make yourself a cup of tea. What 7yo does that ?! However you still feed yourself like a savage. Always eating with your fingers instead of utensils and rarely bringing the plate close enough to your face. I don't know what that's about. You will eat again. And last night for my birthday, curbside pick-up meal, we ordered from BRGR. You ordered a cheesburger with a side of pea. Peas. Not fries. Peas. We've had to cancel a lot this year. No more swimming lessons. No more gymnastics. No more soccer. But we chose instead of full-on homeschooling, to microschool with the Hubbell's. Orientation is tomorrow in Mrs. Hubbell's basement. She will homeschool her own three, two other 6th graders and you with the Kolbe Academy curriculum that we were already choosing. She's going to love you. In light of Grandpa's recovery from hip replacement, we had to balance the safety (let's not send you into a closed school building with 150 other kids) with the threshold of how long an only child should be in isolation (virtual homeschool in our dining room). So we chose this. Riskier than being in our home alone, but better than wearing a mask for 8 hours a day. I pray we made the right decision.
I can only imagine what 8 is going to bring you. I pray that you are protected, blessed and guided every step of every day. I pray that you grow to love your faith and that the truth roots deeply into your heart. I pray for your first reconciliation and first holy communion this year--an event that Grandpa plans to attend in person. I pray for our country, for common sense, for compassion and for the ability to choose good over evil. I pray that you are who you were designed to be and that I can be the mother that you need.
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