1 Mother 2 Another

Dear Cora:

I usually start these yearly letters off
by saying something like, “I can’t believe it’s
time again – the year flew fast!” And while this year
might have been speedy, I can DEFINITELY believe it’s time
for a birthday letter.


You, my dear, are straining at the leash to turn five. I have seen
such growth in you – and I’m not talking physical,
though if you don’t slow down you’ll be swimming nekked
by July because you’ll outgrow all the swimsuits I JUST
BOUGHT YOU – that I can’t help but be aware of how much
you’re growing up. Any traces of babyhood have been firmly
erased, and you are drawing in your new self with bold strokes,
filling up the pages and eschewing any need for an eraser.

When you started pre-school in August, you
could hold a pencil, but it wasn’t pretty, and numbers above
ten were a mystery. Now, though, you’ll count past one
hundred if I have the patience and time to let you, and you firmly
sign your name to everything that gets within reach of your crayon.
More than that, you’re centimeters away from reading –
and I mean really reading. As it is now, you’ll read a store
sign or headline on a billboard, sounding it out and putting the
letters together to make sense in your head. I absolutely cannot
wait to see you truly read, because I think you’ll dig into
that feast and never stop eating.


For you, love, are a voracious devourer of books. On school
mornings you’ll get up and have breakfast after I get back
home from dropping off Maddie, then throw on some clothes before
asking me to snuggle on the couch and read with you. We bring books
to read at the doctor’s office, re-read favorites while we
wait for a friend to come over – there’s no place that
a good book wouldn’t make better. And now you have some
simple readers that you’ll bring into bed with you at night,
and once the parade of adults has passed through your room
you’ll happily spend an hour “reading” your
favorites. By yourself.


Your birthday party this year is Nutcracker themed –
you’re putting on a ballet with a dozen friends. You are,
quite simply, in love with dance. You will sit through a Swan Lake
ballet DVD, contentedly watching all four acts without so much as a
potty break. We watched Coppelia on DVD for the first time
recently, and you broke into applause at the end of every solo.
Even though they were on television.


And I don’t think you love ballet because of the spotlight
– you truly love to dance. Put on any music and you’ll
find a way to match a ballet to it, and truly, child, your
musicality is astonishing. I can’t wait to see how that gift
will develop over the years.


You’re just turning five, and you’ve got plenty of a
five-year-old’s ego to go with it. There are some days when
“Demanding” seems to be your default factory setting,
and I have to grit my teeth and remind myself that you’re
still learning. You’re quick to scream for some slight your
sister’s inflicted upon you – real or imaginary –
and when “injured” you’ll stay on the ground
until someone’s been properly sympathetic over the owie.


But for all your five-ness, you’ve got a heart that’s
even older. If you and your sister are jumping out of the car and I
ask Maddie to bring in her backpack, you’ll silently pick up
your sister’s bag and carry it in for her. When I allow you
to do some sticker mosaics in your bed at night when you’re
not tired, I leave the room saying, “Just a few minutes, then
turn out the light and go to sleep.” Twenty minutes later,
I’ll check and notice your light is out – and your
sticker box neatly cleaned up and put at the top of the stairs for
me to take back down. There’s an inherent thoughtfulness in
you that cannot be taught, and I hope cannot be erased.
“Cora” means “heart” and you’ve
certainly got a big one.


I pray for you in this next year: that you will adjust well to
kindergarten, for one. You are so ready for it, so outgoing, that
I’m hoping you hit the ground running and never look back.
It’s a tough adjustment, though, and who knows how
you’ll take to it. I pray that you’ll make good friends
in your class, that you will find a rhythm to your days and fall in
love with learning, just as I did. I pray that before all this
happens, we have a fantastic summer together, wallowing in our
family time.


Because while you might be ready for kindergarten, I’m not so
certain I’m ready for you to go to kindergarten. This past
year, Li’l Bit, has been one of my favorites with you. Ever.
Three days a week you’d go to school and I’d shop and
clean and fold laundry and get the detritus of family life swept up
and put away. And then those two days each week that you were home
were Mommy and Cora days, and oh, how we’d squeeze them dry.
I will miss our slow mornings, and snuggles, and play dates, and
Exploring Days. I have had you to myself and I am loathe to share
you. In short, my little love, I will miss you.


No, this is not a birthday that sneaked up on me. You’ve been
courting it for months now, and if that weren’t enough, the
day before your birthday you had your preschool graduation. You
were solemn and wide-eyed and joyous and thoughtful, and though you
didn’t complain I could see some conflict in your eyes as we
left your teachers and nurturing preschool for the last time.


And then you declared yourself an official kindergartener.


Cora, love, you are off and running. I only hope I can keep up with
you.


Happy birthday, my love, my heart.


Love,


Mommy