A Letter from your Mother on the Occasion of your Sixth Birthday

Dear Clio,

We have been playing this little game lately, you and I.  You tell me you have a birthday coming up, I ask how old you will be, and when you say "six" it is my job to fall of my chair in shock.  Six!  Impossible!  Aren't you turning five?  No?  Then you must be just about four.  Right?  No?

You love this.  Love it disproportionately, actually, and the funny thing is, despite all those tropes about time flying and how it all goes so fast, you are, indisputably, ready for six, and I think we are too.

Six!

I think, the bigger you get, the harder these letters get.  When you were little, writing them was a way of creating or preserving memories when you would not have so many of your own.  As you grow, you will remember more, and I think my job is more and more about sharing just this one unique perspective, the mom's-eye view of Clio.  Sorting out what I want you to know about how I see you at just-six is not an easy task, like choosing which of your drawings to put in the box that you will inherit when you are grown.  But all I can do is share what seems important today.  In no particular order, some things I want you to know:

Your creativity knows no bounds.  In your mind, a bunch of toilet paper tubes are far too valuable to be recycled or tossed out.  In your hands, they are kittens, mountains, self-portraits.  An old spool of green ribbon had about 100 uses and counting.  I have started taking books of crafts out of the library and you want to do them all, will do them all, without supervision if that is what it takes.

You are a generous teacher, showing Eleri how to do your projects, reading books to a group of younger children.  Sharing is rarely a problem.

You are a collector.  You love boxes and containers of all kinds, and filling them up.  Cardboard boxes covered in stickers and glitter pom poms, filled with Littlest Pet Shop.  Small bowls filled with shells.  Stacking containers with plastic fruit.  You taped together two cups to collect seeds and pits and things that grow.  The cup contraption is called "Mr. Seeds" and you are intent on feeding him regularly.

You are a gardener.   This is your thing, yours and Daddy's.  Nothing excites you quite like the micro lettuces you have grown in the raised bed, the blossoms that herald the arrival of squash, the tiny yellow tomatoes you eat off the vine.  When anyone comes over, you want to bring them out to harvest raspberries and check for the tiny alpine strawberries that taste so sweet.

You are a voracious reader and a lover of stories.  After your discovery of a certain wizard, each morning began with one demand: "Read Harry Potter."  On your actual birthday, when you got to decide how to spend your day, half of it was devoted to reading, as your dad read you many chapters over the course of 2 or 3 hours.  If the house is quiet and we haven't seen you in a while, your nose is in a book somewhere,  breathing in the adventures of Ivy and Bean or Junie B Jones, or plowing through the recent haul from the library.  You keep your children's dictionary in my car for the not infrequent occasion that you would like to look up a big word (yesterday it was "awkward").  You love movies, too, and demand stories told in the car.

You are a natural athlete.  You are tall and swift and lean.  You run fast enough that it is common to hear people say we should put you in track, fast enough that I might sometimes call you my little Olympian.  You can swim to the bottom of the pool and from one side to the other, and I think you might be happiest in the water.  Slippery fish.

You question everything.  It is exhausting.  But I applaud you and will encourage you to continue.  Seriously: ask as many questions as you need answered.  Fight for what you want.  Think about why you want it.  Also--this is key-- know when to let it go.

You love me to the ends of the earth.  I don't always feel like I deserve it.  Truly, I am bringing out all the cliches now, but you make me want to be a better mom.  It is difficult, motherhood.  If you choose this path someday, you'll see.  If I read back through these annual letters, I know I will see themes, these things that make you who you are, that have been in you since birth.  That is what it is: it won't change.  (If I have learned anything, it is that people don't change.) So I hope I can encourage pride in the good things and acceptance of the things you don't love about yourself.  It's no use to pretend: we all have them.  By the time you read these letter, you will probably have a list forming somewhere in your mind.  The things you wish were different.  At six, I see a tiny bit of it already, the way you try on other traits, talk baby talk with certain friends, try to repeat the funny things that your sister does even when you don't totally get the joke.  So I tell you today, I don't love you in spite of those things and celebrate you for the most wonderful things you are and do.  I love you for all of it.  All of you.  Even if some day you make me crazy. And if you ever feel like you are forgetting that other list, the list of all the terrific things you are, I hope you will come back to these letters and see what I see.

I love you to the ends of the earth, and back again.

Love,

Mom

I am Clio

Billion Books Bash

Bright Water had an excellent goal this year: A Million minutes of reading from the children in the school community.  All year, we tracked out minutes and handed in the numbers.  (Some of us more regularly than others.)  All yea, we watched the volume grow in a special sign at school.

Last night, we celebrated the accomplishment of exceeding this goal.

Clio chose to dress up as Trixie and Knuffle Bunny.

There are many beloved books around these parts, and yet, when asked to dress as her favorite character, Eleri suggested "That Barbie from the first Barbie book?"  I suspect she just wanted to wear a fancy dress.  We compromised on Sleeping Beauty (At least this was a fairy tale before it became a Disney movie, and we have on occasion read the story.)

Dave and I even got in on the action (but luckily I was not photographed.)  I was this:

But most people thought I was this:

Can you guess who Dave was?

If you guess Bartholomew Cubbins, you are correct.  Most people did not guess this.  It was amazing to me how many people didn't know books so familiar to us, and how many children brought favorite books to the event that I had never heard of.  We each have our own family canons, I suppose.

At this point in the year, it is fun to see the girls so comfortable at their school, and so cemented in some relationships.

Eleri sticks to Adele like glue.  (She has been saying she wants glasses, which I thought was because of Clio's glasses.  But then I heard her ask Adele, "how did you get your glasses?")

Clio has become very close with Elizabeth and Ophelia this year.  Both girls dressed as Dorothy, which may explain Clio's original plan to dress as Toto.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed at school functions.  Even though I know many of the families and most of the staff and administration, the noise of the gym and chaos of so many kids at an event can paralyze me.  I had been feeling sort of squinchy all day, and leaving the party in a sunshower broke me out of it.  The resulting full rainbow completely made my day.  We pulled into the dollar store parking lot on the way home to be sure everyone could see their fill.

The Graduate

Tomorrow is Clio's last day of Kindergarten.

On Tuesday, she participated in the flying up ceremony.  (We only just made it: diagnosed with strep and impetigo on Monday, her antibiotics took effect just in time.)

Tuesday evening, at swim lessons, she also graduated to the next level of swimming.  While you have to be 6 to move in to level 3, it is also a skills based move, and Clio's new classes will be longer, and in the "big pool."

That was a lot of growth recognized in one day.  Hard to believe how big and smart and creative and talented this kid is.

Monoprints

The girls continue to create all kinds of innovative art projects.  On Tuesday morning, waiting out Clio's contagion before heading to school, they wanted to use the tempera paints.  Because we only have the primary colors, we mix our own secondary colors on makeshift palettes.  This morning I improvised and cut squares of cardboard.  One thing led to another and suddenly the palettes were being pressed to the giant sheets of paper.

I explained about monoprints, and we cut many "plates" from cardboard so they could print more.

Eleri, in particular, was quite methodical about painting her plates.

Later, they put all the painted cardboard into plastic bags and drew them out one by one, asking me to tell them what I saw.

A sunset.  A rainbow.  A red planet.  Hot lava cascading down a mountain.  A giant chick hugging a girl.  A forest fire.  An oil spill in a puddle.  A slice of a mask.

So many beautiful things.

Clip on earrings

A while back, we took the girls to the mall with the idea of spending a little bit of Christmas money on something they picked out for themselves.  We went to the dollar store with the idea that it would be easy to pick things out with that kind of price equality, but as they grabbed for all kinds of crap, I wondered if it wouldn't be better for the to understand the value of choosing just one thing that you really wanted.  Quality over quantity, you know.  (I'm sometimes still learning this myself).

Clio had been wanting earrings, so we set out in search of clip-ons that were $5 or less.  We found some--faux pearls, so funny for a 5 year old--at The Rack, and of course they promptly broke.  Plus they hurt her ears.

Fast forward to this week, when Nonny revealed herself to be an excellent source of clip-ons.

Clio, naturally, refused to be photographed, but Eleri was happy to model her score with the Nonners.

Nature Center

One of the "Great Gatherings" offered at the recent Bright Water fundraiser was an afternoon at a nature center with a naturalist, who happens to be the father of two of our girls favorite girlfriends.

With a trip to the family day at the Walker preceding our bug-finding fun, some of us were pooped out.