When I Turn Five...

Sometimes this past year, when you were merely four, you declared with certainty that when you were five years old you would no longer need a Momma and a Poppa.  There are some days I believe you were right.

You are an independent, fiesty and determined little girl.  But, as we are now one week into this five year old thing, I am very relieved to find that, sometimes, when the stars are aligned just right, you still find comfort in a hug, kiss and "I love you so much" from a Momma.  Anyway, it would be a real shame to send you out on your own now because there would be so much I miss.

I love hearing you construct elaborate make believe worlds and the way you include Joseph in your adventures.  Sometimes, you even allow him to be the momma lion, taking care of you and growling at the dinosaurs that threaten to eat you up.  I don't even mind that sometimes I turn my head for just an instant and when I spin back around, every cushion in the house has been re-purposed to create a store, a camp site or a crash site.  You have a vivid imagination that spins on its own without input from me or anyone else. 

Just last month I attended what will most assuredly be the first of many graduation ceremonies.  And so much about what happened during the ceremony sums you up that I feel compelled to describe it in some detail.  But in order to tell that story I must begin with the horror that was the tricycle accident.

The last week of school, it was a Thursday and I was co-oping, you were out on the playground at the end of the day and all of a sudden I heard you screaming.  I ran over to you and immediately started looking for blood (I usually find it on the head, knees or elbows) but I didn't see it anywhere.  I made a visual path down your body until I landed at your ankle and then saw "the horror."  You had been sliced so deeply across the back of your heel that there was no blood, just a deep, deep gash into your Achilles.  I felt faint, of course, but picked you up and carried you inside so that someone else could take another look at the injury; because, as I told anyone that would listen, I could NOT look at it again.  Someone in the hall suggested that we were going to have to go to the emergency room.  And, without missing a beat, you turned 25.  All of a sudden you stuck out your little finger and yelled, "I am NOT GOING to HOLY CROSS HOSPITAL."  Yep, you called it by name.  When the word "stitches" was thrown about you had an ever-loving fit.  Not once did you complain about the inches long gash on the back of your leg.  So we loaded you up in the van, Ms. Lisa drove with us to the ER, and the two of you talked over the more uneventful aspects of your day.  Then, when we got to the hospital, you allowed me to carry you in without much fuss.  Every once in a while you would remind yourself that stitches were looming on the horizon and you would let out a bawl but for the most part you remained so calm.  I remember sitting there, watching you color a princess castle with Ms. Lisa, and marveling at the way you were handling it all.  I was only able to keep my composure because, somehow, you were keeping yours.

When the doctor came by to see the gash, he confirmed that you would need stitches.  That's when you threw your finger out and said, "I don't like this one little bit.  You tell him, you tell him I am NOT getting stitches.  Take me home right now."  In any other setting, it would have been funny.  But I was so proud of the way you were advocating for yourself.   And then I was just so sad that for all of your determination and verbal eloquence, we still had to get those damn stitches put in your leg.

The stitches were put in and we left on our trip to Colonial Williamsburg as planned.  Then, for the better part of week, I carried you around from point A to point B.  Every trip to the bathroom required assistance, every trip down the stairs in the morning was a challenge and I attended every day of school between the accident and graduation day just so I could help the teachers cart you around. That's why, when graduation day rolled around, I'd arranged for a small stroller that you could sit in and have one of your teachers push you down the aisle.  Imagine my surprise, then, when you came walking down the aisle with your class!  Honestly, why was I surprised...

There are a few things that are so awesome about you and some of those things also make it hard to be your mother.  You are fiercely determined to do things the way you want to do them.  Therefore, being the only kid pushed down the aisle was not going to work for you.  However, just seconds later, you proved that you don't mind being different when you were the ONLY kid not to walk up to the front when Ms. Melanee called your name to receive your little diploma/poem.  Apparently, you had told Ms. Melanee the day before that since you couldn't walk, she could just bring the diploma to you.  Nevermind the fact that you had just practically skipped down the aisle, you meant you were not getting up to get the diploma.  And then after the ceremony, I watched as your friends slung their arms around your shoulders and seemed to love just being around you.   I think in many ways, you were the glue that held that little group together this year.

There are also time when your generosity astounds me.  Poppa and I were recently at each other's throats about a gift card that went missing.  You were asking us over and over again what a gift card is and finally, we stopped bickering long enough to tell you it was a little card that was like money.   You left the room and a minute later returned with your piggy bank, offering it in outstretched hands to the two of us.  That was a very effective way to stop an argument and left me weak in the knees with love for you.

I am more aware, this year than any other, that we traveled some rocky roads together.  I know that you will become exactly the kind of woman I want to be friends with; but it's hard when that awesome woman is only five years old and I'm supposed to be parenting her.  I guess my hope for this upcoming year is that you find the world around you a little less frustrating and a little more magical.  I know it's tough to be little and feel so like you control so little.  But I sometimes wish you would just sit back and enjoy the ride, it will be over before you know it. 

And of course, there are big, big changes on your horizon.  In just a month you will begin kindergarten.  It's hard for me to fathom that someone else will spend more time with you than I do.  Five years is not a long time to spend with someone (especially when they're your kid) and I constantly question whether I have done enough to prepare you for this initial leap from the nest.  But if I know you, you will walk into that building with determination on day one and then you'll start running without looking back on day two.

It's been an awe-inspiring and challenging year.  And I am beyond relieved that when asked last week whether you would be needing my services anymore, now that you're five, you just rolled your eyes like that was the craziest question you'd ever heard.