eLLe: 4 years old

Dear Luciya,

You are four years old today.

You are a miracle.

That is all for now.


I love you, Luciya!

Love,
Mama

eLLe - 43 months

Dear Luciya,

Happy 43 months. Let's have a little talk.

Luciya: "Awight!"

Luciya: "I love you, Mama."

Mama: "I love you, too."
Luciya: "I love you so much you get burned by a walrus."

Luciya: "Say dilly dilly doe."

Everyone in the car: "Dilly dilly doe."
Mama: "What is that?"
Luciya: "It's a new word I learned in preschool.
Mama: "What does it mean?"

Luciya: "It means you don't eat the trees, you just climb the trees."

Luciya: "Mama, I ate your armpit."
Mama: "You ate my armpit?! How did it taste?"

Luicya: "Like watermelons."

Luciya: "When Halloween comes again next year you know what I'm going to be? I'm going to be a building. The building where Dada works. And Mirabel is going to be a little tiny fish."

This year, they were a Rainbow Fairy and a pink kitty

Luciya: "Puke was at Kindergarten."
Mama: "What was Puke doing at Kindergarten?"

Luciya: "Puking."

Mama: "Ah."

Luciya: "I'm the Kindergarten teacher."

Mama: "How many students do you have?"
Luciya: "Five."

Mama: "What are their names?"

Luciya: "Puker and Kinder and Nala and Nobody and Nama."

Forty-three months, three years and seven months, closer to four. Thank goodness, because the topic of conversation that dominates 99% of conversations - aside from getting burned by a walrus - is "my next birthday!" When Grams and Grandpa Peter head to the store you're sure to request "party hats for my next birthday!" The outfits get planned and changed. The menu has gotten quite extensive. So far it includes, sparkly cake, purple cupcakes, muffins, and chicken soup with cream and guacamole.

Age forty-three months is when we've started giving up the daily nap. It's been so very much easier than I ever thought it could be. I like the two-hour space in the afternoon. But nighttime had turned into a near-bloody brawl and left everyone pulling their hair in exasperation with your feisty refusals to fall asleep before 9:30 pm. And now, evenings are peaceful. And the days really aren't so long!

In fact, the afternoon hours, coupled with the cold-cold days, has meant crafting hours galore. In the past couple weeks, you and I have created stained glass jars, picture frames from Popsicle sticks, homemade play dough (and ornaments from the dough), gift bags, and spent endless hours with stickers, markers, crayons, puzzles, paints, and clay. It's my goal to have a completely homemade Christmas this year, and things are looking charmingly good.

When you were two years old, I can't tell you how many times I got warned about how much worse three was going to be. But I've got to say, I'm not going to be one handing out those warnings. Yes, you're deliberate, and feisty, and demanding, and rebellious, but more than that you're adorable. And sweet. And kind and smart and helpful and creative and funny and endearing. You love to love... so much we often find ourselves getting burned by walruses. My heart is effervescent when I think of all the delight you bring me. I love you so.

Love,
Mama

eLLe - 3 years old

Dear Luciya,

Today you are three years and three months old.


In honor of the magic that this trinity of years is brining upon us, let's look at all the ways you're celebrating in triplicate.

Three is the number of parties we had to celebrate your big day. The first was at your preschool, which we're taking a break from for the summer. You brought chocolcate cupcakes (which were RAD, I must say -- the gluten free cake mix was the way to go), wore a purple paper crown, and got to walk around the sun three times. The second party was the quadruple-threat toddler birthday bash, which turned our backyard into a squriming, bouncing, tractor-riding swarm of little bodies, and which was a blast. The thrid party, on the day before your real birthday, was a family dinner in which you received art supplies, clothes, and a purple sleeping bag that's just your size. Needless to say, when you awoke on your actual birthday and I announced the fact you said, "No, it not my birfday, It already happened."



Three is the number of hair lengths you've had since your birthday: Down past your shoulder blades; chopped - for the first time ever - to shoulder-length; and, most recently, bobbed to... a bob. It's a perfectly adorable summertime cut on you. I love it, and so do you.


Three is the number of states of being you have about you:
1) The loving, warm, sweet and helpful, intelligent, huggy day-maker who says and does the cutest things;
2) The incorrigible, irascible, fiery stinkpot pill monster who makes me want to pull my teeth out; and
3) Asleep.


You've grasped the concept of favorites, and if asked your three favorite things are:
1) Animal - Monkey
2) Color - Purple
3) Person - Little Mirabel


Your three favorite questions are Why, Why, and Why. "Why, mama? Why do it do that? Why is it like that?" It can go on forever... and ever... and if I try to turn it around and say, "What do you think?" You'll say "What do I think, Mama?" Stinker.


Three is the average number of outfits you'll go through in a day, especially since when (or IF) you take a nap, you insist on wearing jammies. And when you wake up from said nap, you've selected a new outfit to wear. Your creations are really pretty fabulous, and if they're not necessarily cute, they're very Luciya.


Your three favorite things to do are paint in your art table, jump on your mini trampoline, and roar. I don't know where the "Raaawwwr" came from, but we've had to have some serious talks about appropriate roaring time and place, so now you'll look up sincerely and ask us if you may please go outside and roar (since it's only an outside activity). And we'll say yes, and you'll go outside, and raawwwrr, and then come back in.


Three is how many feet tall you are (plus 2 inches), and you weigh 37 pounds. Your pediatrician warned me about your bmi being too high, but I'm taking that with a grain of salt. You eat very healthily, and rarely have juice or sweets. You are active and happy. You're just... solid. (But, I am more concious of the number of snackies we have in between meals).


Three is the average number of times a day I laugh at or am charmed by the things you say. Some recent favorites:

"When Tutu was born at the hospital you feed Tutu and she started to grow."

"I'm trying to get my hair patches off. I have hair patches like Daddy."

L: "When I was a little girl I live in Heek with my daddy." Mama: "Where's Heek?" L: "You take a left and you take a right and you find Heek!"

"Tuna on the tata! Tuna on the tata!" (After watching a few minutes of Lion King for the first time).

{When viewing the whitewater tumbling down the Payette River}: "It looks like lotion."


And three is the number of bounds it took me to get up the stairs and into your room when you cried painfully out in your sleep a few weeks ago. I laid down beside you, curved you into my arms, and said "Mama's here."


You know it.

I love you, Luciya!

Love,
Mama

eLLe - 35 months

Dear Luciya,

You are going to be three years old next month, and I figure that since I have totally slacked on ANY eLLe posts this year, you're due for some shout-outs.

Ha! Shout-outs. Like how I did that? Of course, you do it much better. Ol' Screamy McYelper the Demanding Foot Stomper. Ol' I-Can-Do-It-All-By-Myself. Ol' I-Need-A-Hug-I-Need-A-Kiss-I-Need-One-Sip-Of-Water-Before-I-Sing-Myself-To-Sleep.


Ol' I-Want-To-Give-My-Baby-Sisser-Hugs-And-Tisses. Because that is the big stuff, the huge love that's filling this home to the rafters lately (do we have rafters? No, I guess not). You are a REMARKABLE big sister, just let me get that out of the way right off the bat. You're delightful with "Little Mirabel" as you call her. You're helpful and sweet and gentle and soft. You're not quiet, necessarily, but I think that just comes with the territory: your voice is decibly on par with the neighbor's rototiller that we're using to turn up the garden we hope to nourish this summer.


But I digress. Sisters. You literally inform just about every stranger we meet: "I have a baby sisser. My baby sisser name Little Mirabel. Ina big sisser." You are so proud. And I am so proud of you. You are a big, shining, warm, wonderful little person, and after the worst month your father and I have ever had with you (ahem, February, ugh), you finally seem to be settling more comfortably into your big sisser body (all 36 pounds of it!), and my nerves aren't constantly threatening to go on strike 'cause this baloney ain't even worth it any more.


Hoo, February was tough, child. I'll lay it out there: you were a monster. A terror, threat level code orange, an embarrassment, a ticking time bomb. Screaming, flailing, disobeying, being naughty, pushing at school. The pusher at school! My child. My lovely, confident, plucky little Maui-born nature babe -- the pusher. I can't tell you how hard that was on me.


And then, your dada and I started going to therapy. And then, warm sun came out. And then, you were better. And Miss Lynn started giving consistent "good day" reports. And there you were, my sensitive little soul: you were back.

Thank God.


Because when things are not well with you my heart is sodden. Because I love you fiercely. Your happiness is truly my penultimate goal, and if your sensitivity to the qualms around you means that I have to rediscover my own peace, then consider it found. I send you all my thoughts of calm, and strength, and that unbridled giggling happiness that makes the world a better place. May you be the embodiment of Joy for as long as I can help it.


I realized I totally miss posting any January haikus a couple months ago. You'll have to forgive me; I was kind of in the NICU when your 33rd month came along. But that's not to say the haikus weren't writing themselves in my brain. Ahem:

You laugh in your sleep
Late-night guttural chuckles
What is so funny?

Mirabel is here
Wond'ring why you can't see her
You're a big sister!

Sweet sick little girl
"My voice went bye-bye" you say
"But then it came back."

Say "All by myself,"
And, by Jove, that's how it's done
Miss Independent

Did I say Independent? I'm beginning to think that's an understatement. In the past week you have washed your own hair with shampoo, clipped your own toenails, and applied a Band-aid to your scraped knee. And you did these things very well - like, better than I would imagine a not-quite-three-year-old would do. You smoothly got the gauzy pad of the Band-aid on the owie. You maneuvered the nail clippers and trimmed your big toenails just right. Sounds awesome, but I'm not really bragging. I sometimes wish I could still pick out and put on your clothes for you. I sometimes wish you still needed help getting in and out of the bathtub.


My darling Luciya, it is such a pleasure to watch you grow and love to live. It is so fun to have full-on conversations with you and to try and remember all the touching and hilarious things you say (Lately, we've noticed you can't say the "sp-" sound at the beginning of words, so "spoon" is "foon" and you announce that you're "phecial an' important" - thanks to a statement in one of your favorite books, It's Okay to be Different.)

You are such a special and important little person, such a wonderful way to start a little girl, and on such a delightful path of promise.


I love you, Luciya!

Love,
Mama

eLLe: 31 months

Dear Luciya,

What' s up angel?

You little talkie-talkerson, smirky floozy, helper girl with a heart of gold and a smile for days?

What a fantastic monkey you've been lately. After a spell of not napping for a few weeks, you're right back at it (yay!). Your ability to carry on conversations means less tantrums and "no, no, noooo"s (hoorah!). There has been peace in the house, and your little sponge of a person really carries that into life (ahhhh).

You're silly and funny and tickly and smart. You're still brazen and demanding and independent and wily, but the deliberate tomfoolery has subsided a lot.

It's been really chilly outside, so we've been finding indoor activities to occupy our time. Which means, for the most part: cooking. We've used many of the leftover pumpkins from Halloween and have thus far made pumpkin seeds, pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, and gingersnap pumpkin dessert. I got a crock pot on sale and it's been one of the best things to happen to our little family of three.

You are getting excited about August-December's (your name for the new baby) arrival, and we spend time talking about how you're going to be such a good big sister. ("I hold baby like dis, his toes on my elbow." "Baby will cry and cry and I hold baby." "He's so little!" "Baby's in my piko!" ) Occasionally, out of the blue, you'll announce "I a big sissah!"

Your memory is phenomenal, and impresses your daddy and me on a daily basis. A couple of weeks ago, you had to accompany me to the midwife's office for an hour-long glucose test. You were so good, for having to be there for an hour, and a few days later we were driving down the connector, in a totally different direction from where we'd gone to the doctor's office near the hospital. We were passing the hospital when you said, "Dat's where mama's doctor is!" Seriously? You've been there once, days ealier, from the opposite direction on the other side of the building! (Thankfully, the glucose test was fine, and I won't have to return for the 3-hour test, like I did when I was pregnant with you.)

Your daddy calls this the "Grandma Ruby" face.

Our days have been filled with snuggles and creativity and exploration and stuffed animals and long talks and little walks and Stroller Strides and baby prep and helping and high fives and knuckles and piko kisses and Elmo (gulp!) and dress up and bear hugs and enjoying every step of this fun little life. It just keeps getting better.

I love you, Luciya!

Love,

Mama

eLLe - 30 month

Dear Luciya,

You're 2 and a half! Hello!

Today, as we were driving along, a song came on that said the word "hello." You said "hello!" and then asked to have your window rolled down. I rolled down your window and you shouted, "Hello, world!" As if that wasn't enough, you added, "I love you, world!" And then you continued to shout that numerous times. "I love you, world! I love you, world!" I was busting up and I said, "Yeah, you love the world?" And you smiled, all cheeky and proud and said, "Yeah! The world love me!"

Oh, stop it, child. But you know it's true. The world does love you.

Even if you are a strong-willed, independent, spicy, spirited, feisty, stubborn, active, ornery, bright and boastful little girl. Whew! You are the little toro in the proverbial china shop. Sometimes you nap, sometimes you don't. You've started hitting, which is the uncoolest thing ever. Where on earth does that come from? You run away when I call for you, you look me in the eye as you dump a fistful of veggies off your high chair tray, and you throw things.

You're insistent on dressing yourself these days. I thought I would have until you were at least three to pick out your outfits! But no, you need to pick out what you wear more often than not, and you're perefectly able to pull on, zip up, button, and snap. And as long as you can wear your shirt backwards, you're happy.

We're slowly getting ready for the baby's arrival, and since you're now completely able to sleep in your big girl bed (when you're not playing contentedly for 2 hours during "nap time"), we've removed the tent and set up the crib with new baby bedding. You point out that the crib is for the new baby, your "baby brudder-sissah," and you point to your tummy and the baby that's going to come out your "piko." But lately when I commend you on being a big girl (like today, when you went to your potty all by yourself, shut the door, wiped your bottom, and washed your hands with soap - hurray!), you say "I not a big girl, I a little baby." Tutu says that when your Uncle Adam was born, I was suddenly insistent on drinking out of a bottle again, so we'll see how it goes for you. You LOVE babies, though, and are always wanting to say hi to, point out, or cuddle any babies you see.

As determined and incessant and adept you are at being a pill-bottom and a shot-caller, you are just as passionate about loving, and kissing, and befriending, and remembering. Your sweet stinky breath when you wake up from naps and nightime is so delicious when it accompanies those sleepy snuggles. You love to play happily with me, your buddies at Stroller Strides, and increasingly by yourself with your toys and books. You give hugs and kisses all around and are very comfortable with strangers; you're confident that the world does indeed love you.

I think about you all the time, and am continually and increasingly grateful that you chose me to be your mama.

I love you, Luciya! Deeply and forever.

Love,

Mama

eLLe - summer 2009

Dear Luciya,

Happy first day of Fall!

As we all know, I'm nutty crazy about Autumn. It makes me want to fling my fat-bellied self out into the crisp mornings and sing about the corn being as high as an elephant's eye. Which is an improvement over recent morning attitudes. So, let us take a moment to give homage to Autumn and its promise of lovely days ahead.


This summer was fun and hot and busy and full. The last two weeks of July, you took swimming lessons with your friend Eliza, and to this day, two months later, it's much of what you want to talk about. "I go kick kick kick. I blow bubbles, Moooooooo. I splash splash splash. Go swimming lessons? Go see Eliza? Need put on suit." You absolutely loved swimming lessons, and you learned a ton. By the end you could hold your head under water for five whole seconds as you kicked and pedaled to me, and Miss Amber, the instructor, said that if she didn't know better she'd have thought you'd been in the water since you were six months old. You get that from you dada, kid. Let's run with it.

Your hair is long and lovely, and I'm dedicated to getting your bangs grown out. I've come super close to just chopping them again, but I've held strong and I think it's going to be worth it in the end. Your hair is down to your shoulder blades, with beautiful ringlets at the very end. It does get in your face, and you do take out your ponies and clips, but for now, it's here to stay.

I can't believe what a big girl you are. We are having so much fun! (Okay, for the most part. You are also quite the "spirited child," and can be unbelievable ornery and argumentative and spicy and berserk. But your loviness and willingness to hug, and cute toothed smile almost always make up for it). It has just been such a joy to move from baby to little girl, and to be able to have small conversations with you, and have little mother-daughter dates, and to leave you comfortably to your own toys and games for minutes at a time.

Swimming lessons, a Stroller Strides water class, and hot, hot weather turned you into quite the water baby this summer. You love all things wet and wild. Emphasis on wild, since you are... you.

This summer has also seen you turn into Jabbertalky McGee. Talk and talk and talk. It's so stinkin' cute and adorable and heart-wrenching. You have the sweetest little voice ever. For the most part, everything you say is fairly easily discernible... at least to me. We went out to check the mail yesterday, and our neighbor was checking her mail, too. You wanted to talk to her, so I had to translate the following fascinating information: "I just wake up. I wear animal jammies! I had a little poop." Good stuff.

Like I said, for the most part you're pretty easy to understand. But then there are the few words that I simply cannot decipher, and there are the words that are simply hilariously pronounced. Smoothie = "fa-movie." And Popsicle? Well:

[Video embedding isn't working right now; see it here.]

Your big sister Eryn was here for a couple weeks in August, and you still talk about riding on the paddle boats with her. Eryn is doing great in COLLEGE HOLY COW, and working very hard at McDonald's. Keep it up, Eryn! You're amazing!

This summer has been the summer of HUGE, GIGANTIC accomplishments. We started potty training the weekend you turned 27 months old, so that means it's been just over two months since you've worn diapers outside the bed. We've had a couple accidents, one in the stroller and 3 or four while camping over labor day, but over all it's been a natural, normal progression. Then, less than a month later, we tossed the binky. We'd been using it only in the crib for naps and bedtime, and on August 14th I looked at it, torn and shredded as it was, and asked you, "Can we throw this in the garbage?" And you nodded, and helped me toss it. And that was the end of that. No more nuks nuks. Done. Gone. Not another word about it. Pretty amazing, really, since I couldn't imagine you falling asleep without on for more than two years.

Now, we're working on the Big Girl Bed. Great Grammy had a double bed in her old house that she no longer needs since she's living a couple blocks away at Spring Creek, so we took it, got some bed rails and bright new bedding, and went for it. This week, you've slept in it at night four times. Two of those nights have gone surprisingly well, and two of those nights I've had to let my heart fall out my eyes a couple times to let you cry it out. I always end up going back in, and lying with you because I don't want this transition to be a traumatic one. But it's a transition that had to happen, because a couple weeks ago you figured out how to fling yourself out of your crib, and then fling yourself over the gate to your room, and then fling yourself all over the house. You are a tenacious one, Luciya. You are one tenacious little monkey.

And naps have therefore proven impossible in the big girl bed, because it's daylight and you have free range of your whole, entire room! So, in utter napless frustration after 4 days without a nap, I huffed to the Baby Depot and bought a tent for the crib, which is now in the baby's room, and that's where you're sleeping as we speak. In your tented crib. In the baby's room.

Baby steps. And overall, I consider you to be a summer wonder child, since you have officially accomplished all three big girl steps I wanted to see you accomplish before Baby's arrival: potty trained, binky-less, and in a big girl bed. Unbelievable. You make a mama proud.

And here you are just chatting away with me. I love when you start singing your ABCs: "A-B-C-D-E-F-D-enda, enda, A-B-C-D-E-F-D..."

[See video here]

You rock my world, kid. Here's to many, many more delightful summers.

I love you, Luciya!

Love,

Mama