It’s hard, sometimes, to put into words what it’s like to be your mama. Folks who know us like to joke about how tired I must be, or about how maybe I’m a superwoman. But just in case you have overheard that stuff, let me set you straight: I am tired occasionally, but usually that’s because I’ve accidentally had too much caffeine and couldn’t fall asleep. And I am SuperWoman. Shhhhh! Don’t tell – I need to maintain my secret identity. Why do you think I sport these spectacles?
You are a bullet, whizzing through the air. You are a rainbow that effervesces and sparks and radiates. You are a firecracker. And I love you, my darling beautiful daughter. I love the way you love us. Being the middle kid isn’t always the easy row to hoe, but your brother and sister are your biggest fans – and you, in turn, are theirs. The three of you are on the greatest team of all time, and I’m so glad that God gave you each other as cheerleaders, companions, and confidants.
Five-and-three-quarters is AWESOME-SAUCE. When you are breathlessly “almost six,” as you always phrase it, everything is an adventure. Speech therapy for articulation? It was the best thing evereverever in the whole world and you were SO sad that you had to graduate. When your speech therapist’s office threw a large “grand opening” event to celebrate their new building, and it coincided with the weekend following your last visit, you were pretty darn sure that it was your Graduation Party. (Note to myself: when you’re 18, I need to find a pony, some balloons, face painters, bouncy houses, and girls willing to dress up as Disney Princesses.)
And this summer was full of adventure. Parents’ Day Out and Vacation Bible School, tennis lessons and swimming lessons. Your cousins from Georgia visited us, and we spent a weekend in Georgia for your aunt’s engagement party. (Which reminds me: you are going to ROCK that tutu when you’re in her wedding party, kiddo.)
You are about to take a giant, flying leap into your next grand enterprise. Maximilian Montessori is THE place to be, as your delighted screams have informed us ever since Daddy and I decided that you and your brother would be enrolling for the fall term. Our refrigerator now sports a red and gold chain-link countdown so that every day you can rip off a strip and announce how many agonizingly long days remain until your FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! (Life with you, my child, is filled with lots of caps lock and exclamation points.)
I’m so proud of you, Susannah. You are a budding writer and an emerging reader, but you are overwhelmingly a bright and engaged learner. You are a lover of life. You grab everything with both hands and wring every drop out of each experience. Your classmates and your new teacher won’t be able to help it: they’re gonna love you.
My prayer for you, sweetheart, is that you’ll slow down and quiet down juuuuust enough to learn and grow and gain every positive there is from your new environment. My prayer is that you’ll navigate a way to be YOURSELF and still be a part of your community. It’s a big job, and you don’t have to work that all out this first go ’round. You have years and years; case in point: I’m thirty-three and I’m still trying to figure out how to be true to my INFJ personality and also contribute a piece to the big puzzle of life.
I am praying for you every day, and that won’t stop until my heart stops beating. I love you, Susannah, and I always will.