Little-big Six and the Apple Tree

First pigtails, to...

Dear Audyn,
There's a book by Jane Yolen that you like to check out from the library called Grandma's Hurrying Child. In it, Yolen retells her first granddaughter's birth story, relating with alternating paintings the child's parents' rush to the hospital and Yolen's rush on the train three states away to meet them there. Grandma worries she will not arrive in time to meet granddaughter Maddy's entrance into the world.

"Was I a hurrying child?" you asked me the first time we read the book together.
"Oh yes!" I exclaimed. "You were in a big hurry! But first, you were very slow."
"What do you mean?" you asked me.
"Well, you were due on February 1, and I could tell by how heavy you felt in my belly that you were ready to be born. But you just hung out for a couple of extra days, like you wanted me to know it was your decision when you would arrive."
You grin when I tell that part.
"And then, on February 3, I was at a Mom's group with some of my friends, and in the middle of the lecture I started to feel sick. By the time I got to the discussion group, I was in labor. By the time I picked your sister up from her class and got in the car, I knew you were coming soon. And by the time I got home to finish packing my bags, I could hardly stand up."
"Then what happened?" you want to know.
"Well, we drove Emelyn to our friends' house and then went to the hospital. We called Grammy who packed up her things and started driving from New Hampshire. When I got to the hospital you were about ready to be born. A couple of hours later, there you were! Snuggled in my arms."
"And where was Grammy?"
"Just arriving to pick up Emelyn. We told her over the phone you were already here! She couldn't believe it!"
"And I was your biggest baby?" you always ask with pride.
"Yep! My biggest baby, but oh so snuggly."
"So I was slow and fast?"
"You just did things your own way, in your own time. You still do!"

Moms begin learning their babies the first time they feel them move in their bellies. You were an active little thing, so busy at night when I wanted to sleep and peaceful during the day. I knew then you had your own way. Your birth story tells a similar tale. And our six years with you have only convinced us more that you are your own person with your own ideas and that you flourish when given space and freedom within a dome of gentle guidance.

Although it can be frustrating at times (usually when I'm in a hurry and you're not, or you're in a hurry and I'm not) I love the ways you insist on just being you. Don't rush me, but don't slow me down. Don't boss me, but let me crawl into your lap. Don't hold me back, but let me take my time. Don't interrupt my creative process, but help me when I'm stuck. Give me my space, but don't go too far away. I'm not sure about this, but I'm going to be brave. As your mom, sometimes I feel like I'm doing a crazy little jig around all your fancies and whims. Maybe it looks that way on the outside, too. But you've taught me something so important about being a parent. Children don't arrive to fit into our already busy lives. Children aren't modeling clay to be molded into sculptures that match ideals of childhood and family life.

We grown ups sometimes forget, in our focus on needs that must be met and tasks that must be performed; but from the moment they take their first breath in the world, our babies have desires, too. When a little person enters her parents' world for the first time, it's common for those parents to discuss the ways in which they will fit this baby into their busy lives--where will the baby sleep, who will feed the baby, care for it during the day, get up with it at night? And then you arrive and we are content just to sit and stare at you for hours on end. We had plans?

You upend our plans. You turn our schedules inside out. You come with your own desires. And we can choose to nurture those unique qualities or try to squeeze them into our own molds. My Little Pip, you've always made it clear that you are you.

May 2009, your baptism

This past year I have seen you mature and grow in tremendous ways. You started Kindergarten in the Fall. It was hard for both of us to be apart from each other every day. It was hard for your brother to lose his constant play mate. It was hard for me to let go just that little bit more knowing that a huge transition like Kindergarten could potentially be a challenging hurdle for you. There were some slow mornings with lots of coaxing and there was the day I carried you into the building against your will. There were days you came home and just fell apart. But in a few months time, I have seen you flourish. School has taught me so many things about you! You are a meticulous, tireless worker. You always try your best. You are a good and gentle friend. You understand that making people feel welcome is important. But I've also seen you assert your wishes with your friends in very direct ways. "I don't want to do that," I heard you say the other day to a friend. I was worried about the reaction you'd get, but all he said was, "OK." And off you both went. You've learned how to communicate your desires with a directness that reminds me of both your Grammy and your Papa. Not mean or harsh. You just say what you mean. That wasn't always easy for you. It's still a process. You take your time at all things, even formulating your words. Sometimes things happen around you while you're still trying to come up with the right words to say and it can feel like your world is spinning out from under you. I get that. I'm the same way. But school has helped you work on this in ways I never could.

At home, I see your sincere side--You can put your foot down and deliver your demands one minute, and the next minute you're telling me how pretty I look or how much you love your brother. You wear your heart on your sleeve, as the saying goes. This also means you're quite sensitive. Since you always say what you're feeling, you take the words of others very seriously. Thoughtless words don't roll off easily. I have to remember that when I'm frustrated in the moment, when what I want to say and what I should say are very different. Whatever I say, you will quickly absorb.

I also see your inventive side--from the robot costume you created out of a diaper box and two tissue boxes to the houses you've crafted for your "stuffies" and the cards you make for us on special occasions. On Valentine's Day, you left a heart-shaped card on Daddy's pillow. "You're my speasal friend," it said in your precise and measured printing.

You have a fantastic imagination--A couple of weekends ago, you spent hours teaching Papa how to play make believe dinosaurs. When Papa suggested that it was time for everyone to take a break, you put all the dinosaurs down for a nap in their dinosaur world. Papa later told me he never knew there were so many things you could do with a bucket of plastic dinosaurs, palm trees, and little boulders. You take imagination very seriously. 

This fairy's got grit!

I see your determination--As a middle child, it's easy to feel like no one's listening. The oldest does everything first and the youngest gets so much attention. But when that starts to happen, you let us know! You remind us you're here, sometimes in very direct ways, but often in subtle ways. You enjoy taking an interest in things no one else in the family has tried. Recently, you decided you wanted to learn the guitar. For your birthday, Daddy and I got you your first guitar and signed you up for lessons. Then, for the last two weeks, we've had snow storms on the day your lessons were supposed to happen. You've been waiting so patiently. In the meantime, you wrangled Daddy to start teaching you from your lesson book. He knows nothing about guitar! But you both spent hours working on those first three notes. At first, you were a little bummed. You wanted to play a song! But once you realized that's not how learning something new works, you closed yourself in our bedroom and plucked those three notes until your fingers ached.

You're independent and perceptive--"Why are girls' toys always pink and purple?" you once asked me. Later that became, "Why are the Happy Meal toys for girls boring? The boy ones do things! The girl ones are like notebooks and key chains." You hit the nail on the head with that observation. And you've never worried that dinosaurs and trains and cars are "boy" toys. They're fun toys! Your independence and perception go hand-in-hand. You were also the first of my girls to decide you wanted your ears pierced. Then recently you decided you wanted bangs and short hair. Once you decide, there's no looking back. You know your own mind!

You've had many nicknames in our house, but the one that seems to have stuck longest is "Little Pip," sometimes shortened to "Pip," sometimes lengthened to "Pippy-lou." Silly? Maybe. But then one day I learned that a pip is actually the word for an apple seed, that tiny black dot inside the flesh of a sweet-tart apple that pushes it's way out into the world and becomes a tree. It's the perfect image, really, for my second girl. My little pip isn't so little anymore; she's certainly more than the first green shoot. She has a strong trunk and branches that reach. She's lovely and strong. Beautiful and brave. Little and big. I can't wait to see what fruit another year will bring.

...pierced ears!

Happy Sixth Birthday, my sweet, sweet girl.