Friday, January 11, 2013

Evelyn's 2012

Dear Evelyn,

And now you are six. Six! I watch your joyful stride as you walk out of school, hear your long narratives, and feel your weight as you climb into my lap, all elbows and knees, and wonder at how you grow up so quickly.

This has been such a big year for you. You graduated from preschool and started kindergarten. You love everything about school. The bus, the hot lunches, the school work, friends, classes, and teachers. Every day, you come home a cauldron of excitement, bubbling over with stories of what happened and what you learned and what you saw and heard. We would listen to your tales, and pepper you with a million extra questions so that we can learn as much as we can about your experience at school. Thing is, your stories snowball and grew with each telling, embellished with your abundant imagination until we are not sure which parts make up the true happenings. There were tales of how you all get to play a violin in music class (at kindergarten?) after the teacher closed up all windows and doors; of how each child would get a different colored bracelet for their lunch choices (pink for choice one, blue for choice two, green for choice three, and brown for undecided); or how you played with two friends, no three, no four, actually, it's five of them. The classic case was when we had that snow day in October (or was it November?). You came home and told us about a snow ball fight. How someone threw the first snow ball and how the others responded. Later that week, we received the newsletter from your teacher. In it, it read "The children were so disappointed that they didn't get to play with the snow."

Other than your stories, you also act out scenes in the classroom. You'd play school and assign your sister the role of line leader, leading her to gym and teach her yoga. Or, you'd have circle time. You'd sit on the chair, channel your kindergarten teacher, and begin with something like "Today, we are going to read two books, the first one is xxx, by xxx." You would read the story, and then turn the book around so your audience can see the pictures. From time to time, you would interject a question or a personal observation, such as "what do you think will happen?" or "do you have the same experience?" or "look at this locket here, isn't it beautiful? I hope I have one like it." You'd even lick your index finger to turn the page. I can imagine dear Mrs. H. reading stories, turning pages, and asking questions just the way you do. Speaking of reading, you've started to really read this year. Not by memorizing the text anymore, but sounding out new and sometimes complicated words. Just tonight, you read most of Ms. Rumphius by Barbara Cooney yourself. Sometimes you get inpatient at your slow progress though, and would tell me  you are going to read the book your own way, as in making up the sentences as you see fit.

It was never difficult for you to make new friends, and that continues to be the case. Before you started kindergarten, we worried that you would cling to old friendships and have trouble bonding with new friends. Silly parents, not giving our own child enough credit. Very quickly you started adding names to your best friend list. Apparently, anyone whom you've talked to or plays with  at recess qualifies as a best friend. You have regular play dates with friends who live close by, and constantly bring home requests for play dates with other classmates. Unfortunately your schedule is so packed, there's precious little time for free play and play dates. You have ballet on Monday, gymnastics on Wednesday, piano on Friday, swimming on Saturday, and a monthly Daisy troop meeting. You love all of these activities, and I dare not sign you up for more.

Of all the activities, you love swimming the most. You said the only problem with swimming lesson is that it is too short. Your least favorite is piano, which you are doing very well in the group lesson.  You are doing so well, in fact, that your teacher who recommended you skip kindergarten level has asked for you to discontinue with group lesson and start private lessons instead.

During this year, we see you completely shedding any trailing bits of toddler hood. Yet from time to time, you would remind me just how heart-achingly young you still are. So curious about the world, so ready to take things on, always rushing to check things out, to start something. So anxious to be perfect. Always needing reassurance of our love to you.

Growing up can be hard sometimes, especially when you don't get cuddled as much as your younger siblings do, or when you are asked to do more. But you have to remember, we love you just the same as we always did, if not more. No matter how you try our patience or shock us with your antics (scaling the pantry to fix yourself and your sister breakfasts that start with two pieces of chocolate, for example). I may not like your behavior, but I love you always. And as you grow and grow, we need to help you become more and more independent. In time, you will need to take care of yourself, and the best thing we can do for you is to make sure you can do a good job of it.

Growing up can be hard sometimes, but don't forget the joy that comes along with it. Think of how you can ride a two wheel bike now, how you can swim by yourself, how you can read and write and play music, and how you can take care of your younger siblings.

I hear you monkeying around with your sister and laughing the big, unrestrained laugh of yours. Such happiness. So open and honest. We are so proud of you, and love you so very much.