It has been so long since I wrote you a letter. Our days get busier as each week passes, as you race the sun to grow up (too quickly, in my opinion). You are five now. A joyful, insightful, curious, and emphatically loving child. You amaze me on a daily basis.
You wake each morning early and tumble into our room, where you crawl in bed with me and we have long talks about your dreams the night before and any number of other things — science questions, kids at school, books, cartoons, and the big goals you tell me you have for your life. You want to be a paleontologist, and sometimes a ballerina. You tell me that you plan to marry 1,000 people: every one of your friends, even the ones you haven’t met yet, because you love them all so much. You tell me I can come live with you and your 1,000 spouses, because you don’t want to be away from your mama — but you tell me we’ll need a really big house. Your pragmatism cracks me up.
Your best friends are Maeve, Annabella, Lyla, and Payden. You love school to the point that you get upset when there’s a snow day. You’re doing really well in school. You are reading on your own now, leveled readers from your teacher as well as your own storybooks. You like math, and are doing addition and subtraction easily now. Your favorite way to spend your day at school is making art, though. You come home some days with three or more finger paintings, a craft, and a crayon-drawn picture for me. You color mandalas in your yoga class that you insist must be perfect. You bring them home half-finished, and spend hours at the dining room table with your colored pencils creating masterpieces.
You are my star, bright and fearless. You love riding horses and skiing. You seek out the tiny “jumps” we let you go over on your skis in the kid terrain areas, and love winding your way through the trees. When it’s warm enough, you race down hiking trails with the dogs; the third in their little pack. You love all animals, from snails and snakes to horses and goats, and everything in between. Somehow, already at five, you have learned to stand up smiling whenever you fall. I wish I could say I taught you that. I wish I could say I did it myself. You operate on the principle that people are good and the world is joyful, even when bad things happen, and for that you are my tiny hero.
Sometimes I miss the baby you were not so very long ago, and other moments I see the person you are becoming, and am so filled with joy and pride and eagerness for you. I am so proud of you always, little one.
I love you.