Monday, November 16, 2015

She is Six

Dear Delilah,

In the blink of an eye, you are six years old. You're considered a leader in your Kindergarten classroom, so much so that you occasionally decline to participate in the teacher's activities when they don't mesh with your own desires. You've made great progress with this in the past few weeks, largely due to your deep empathy and your developing understanding that your behaviors impact the experiences of others around you.

You love telling stories, through words, song, or dance. You make up to stories to go along with your books, often making up words or meanings to fit your plot. The other night, you grew frustrated as my laughter crescendoed with each conjugation of "defecate" in your story du jour, which you explained to mean "it's when you try your best!" Much to your dismay, my laughter did not subside when you went on to explain how the character wasn't defecating very well and needed to defecate harder.

You delight in teaching others, and your ability to command an audience's attention to learn your latest dance move or game is unrivaled.

You sing with abandon, loud and proud, often punctuated with exaggerated leaps, twirls, and jumps. You demanded to sing 'Happy Birthday' to yourself, by yourself when presented with your birthday cake.

Your love for your brother knows no end. He is your best friend, and you, his. You greet and depart from him with hugs, kisses, and assurance that you'll see him soon. The other parents at school pick up "oooh" and "awwww" when you rush to embrace him after your day. The two of you make up silly games together, and he is a willing pupil for your many lessons and activities. He adores you and looks up to you, and it makes me swell with pride and gratitude for you both.

Your favorite food is pasta, and your favorite treat is ice cream. You love apples and carrots and preferred fried eggs to scrambled. You recently started eating chicken after more than 5 years as a vegetarian child. You've decided that chicken is okay with you, but are not comfortable eating fish, beef, or pork. You recently asked me where the chickens are at your school and were somewhat horrified to learn that the chicken served at school lunch is not raised right at school.

It is such a joy to watch you grow and learn. You are sweet and sassy and always planning ahead. Your drawing is becoming more detailed, your rendition of written letters and numbers more legible. Your love for music and animals has continued to blossom. You are sensitive to the feelings of others and will stop in the midst in of your own tantrum to comfort someone else who needs it. (Usually me.)

I love you, and am so grateful for the adventure that is being your mother.