Now that you are 5

Dear Sophie,

A couple weeks ago you turned 5 years old and I can't believe where the time has gone. Each day feels like a marathon and I can barely keep up with my life (let alone keeping my letters to you reasonably up to date).  There are some things about you now at age 5 that I really want to remember.

You recently saw the remake of the Ghostbusters movie with an all-female cast and you have been hooked. You especially love Jillian Holtzman!  You got a Ghostbuster uniform from Emmett's family for your birthday and you regularly wear it around the house in addition to a squirt gun with a backpack attachment that serves as your "proton pack." You bust ghosts every chance you get.  The other night when I was making dinner you asked me how long it would be before it was time to eat. When I responded "5 minutes" you said you'd be busting ghosts until then.

You regularly change your mind about what foods you like and what foods you don't.  The type of cheese you'll agree to eat varies daily.  With the exception of cornbread, you've lost interest in most breads all together.

Alesiah and Elyssa are your best friends. You love to play outside and investigate every plant, bug, acorn, pinecone and rock you can find. Frequently you can hear thuds and rattling from the backseat of our car, and it's from the nature finds you have stashed in the nooks of your car seat and in the storage compartment in the door next to your seat.

You also love ghosts, taking your Trolls' heads off, wearing dresses EVERY SINGLE DAY, going on "nature walks" with your brother, holiday gel clings for the windows, anatomy books, making elaborate creations with paper and scotch tape, swimming, and being thrown on the couch by your father.

You love to sing and are very good at remembering song lyrics. You are also quite creative at ad libbing your own.

You think it's hilarious to randomly cry out, "I want a margarita!" in public places. And you have so much energy that you will jump in place for 30 minutes straight. 

Somewhere along the way in the last few months we have started a tradition of you sleeping in our bed on Friday nights. You love it dearly and remind me about it every week. Even though it makes sleeping more difficult, I confess that I love it, too. I gaze at you while you sleep, sniff your hair, gently rub your back, and nuzzle into you.

Even now, after 5 years of being your mama, I am still astounded that you are actually here. The little girl I desperately wanted. And you are my mini me in more ways than I can possibly describe.

I am very conscious of my own clear memories from ages 4 and 5, and I often wonder which memories of our day to day lives you will carry with you. Sometimes at particularly happy or tender moments, I telepathically will you: Remember this. Remember this moment right now and know how much your mother loved you.

I love you Sophia bug. You are my favorite--my favorite who is, was, and ever will be. I don't know where I'd be without you. I work hard to make each for you better than your last, and this new year of your life will be no different.

Love,
Mama

Spilled milk

On Friday evening, I was ecstatic.

Your father and I have both been feeling burned out at work and exhausted.  I looked forward to hanging out at home with the two of you, having barbecue chicken sandwiches for dinner, and sipping a glass of wine.  As the 3 of us sat down to watch a move together, you spilled your glass of milk.

I had warned you repeatedly about bumping against the table it was sitting on, and about waving your arms around in the vicinity of it.  When you realized what you'd done, you looked down with shame and my annoyance softened when I saw your face.  I put on my calmest voice and directed you in cleaning it up from the table and floor.

We soon discovered that the milk had also spread under the Lego house you'd built on the table. Your father was getting frustrated, and I could see your unhappiness at knowing that your spilled milk was the cause.  I used every bit of patience I had to overcome my fatigue and continue to talk you through cleaning it up.  You did a good job.

Afterward, I opened my arms to you and said, "Come here, baby."  You sagged against me and said in a small voice, "I'm sorry I ruined the evening, mama."

(Oh, my dearest heart!  Any bad evening with you is better than my best evening alone.)

I hugged you and kissed you and told you that you hadn't ruined anything--that it was an accident and you did a good job cleaning it up, and we were all here together.

Can I smell you?

This morning I showered and dressed for work in the dark.  As I sat on the edge of the bed putting on earrings and preparing to come and wake you, you wandered sleepily in.

"Good morning, baby," I whispered, and held my arms out to you.  You lay Blue Blankey and Flamingo beside me on the bed and snuggled against my chest.

"Can I smell you?" you whispered, and buried your little nose into my collar bone, inhaling deeply. I had just put on my favorite peony lotion and we both love it. "You smell good," you breathed.

I hugged you again and stroked your hair, and in that early morning moment my heart was unexpectedly full.  How well I remember loving the smell of my own mother.  I can close my eyes now and remember how she smelled when I was a child, and the comfort and familiarity that I associated with that smell.

When I dropped you off at school, I bent down to hug you and kiss your cheek.  I heard your little nose sniffing me again as your head was against my shoulder.

To know that my smell is comforting to you...somehow it makes me feel like a real mom.

References to J.C.

We had a long-awaited playdate with your friend Elyssa this weekend, and it gave her mom Molly and I a chance to catch up. We are similar in our regular cursing and in our appreciation of creative cursing, and as a result we both struggle to raise daughters who don't curse like sailors at all times.

I went into the kitchen to get together some snacks for all of us, and it wasn't long before Molly came in giggling at what you'd just said.

When showing Elyssa a plastic horse that you particularly like, it feel over and made a loud clattering sound and you muttered, "Jesus Christ."

Elyssa's eyes widened, and she asked, "Are you allowed to say 'Jesus Christ'?"

"Not really," you admitted.

I can't believe this hasn't happened sooner and while at school.  I feel certain the day is coming.

A craft store explosion

I just returned late last night from a work trip, and you are still at mamaw's house.  I have a fresh pot of coffee and a desire to organize. Today's the day to smuggle out broken, nearly empty, or unused toys and art supplies.  It looks like a craft store blew up in the dining room and I can't take it anymore.

Of monsters and ghosts

You have take a recent interest in the book series Goosebumps and pretty much anything else scary and involving monsters or ghosts of some kind. I wasn't sure you were quite ready for chapter books, but you adore having me read them to you. We have watched the 2015 Goosebumps movie as well as the 1995 television episodes.  Even when your father and I watched Stranger Things, you impatiently waited for glimpses of the monster.Your imagination has been ignited!

You "write" the names of all the monsters from the books and movies you can think of.

In one scene, a teen boy with silver fillings jumps on a werewolf's back and bites his shoulder to send him running away, and your are positive you can use this strategy to win any fight with any monster.  You tell me in detail how you will fight them and scare them off.

You write and illustrate your own monster books.

Your carry your books--both the R.L. Stine versions and your own handmade ones--to school to show your friends and teachers.

You act out monster scenes with your friends at school.  One day when I dropped you off, I heard your friend ask, "Sophie P., do you want to be the wicked witch?"

You ask me regularly if I believe in monsters; I tell you I believe in ghosts but not monsters. You don't care for this, and spent at least a week trying to convince me that I DO believe in monsters because you are actually a vampire and I know and love you already.  Here is a link to a clip of us discussing the blood sucking bit:

https://youtu.be/trz5YKZtDPA

Some people think it's odd or undesirable for a 4 year-old girl to be so enraptured by such things, but I love seeing your excitement and I feed it every chance I get. How can it be bad for you to bring a book to me multiple times a day, begging me to read another chapter or two?  I don't care what the topic is.

On consent

One day last week I arrive at your school to pick you up and found you fighting against Emmett who was forcefully trying to kiss you.  You held him at arm's length for as long as you could, and when he broke through you roughly pushed him away.

I'm always surprised by these every-day situations that have clear ramifications for the future.

As we headed to the car, I thought about what to say to you. I ended up telling you that no one should kiss you if you don't want them to. I told you it was okay to tell Emmett 'no' and that you did didn't want him to kiss you.

It was very important for me to be clear about that.

But then I went on to suggest that Emmett has been your friend for a long time, and maybe you could use your words more to say, "No, I don't want you to do that" instead of shoving him away.  You didn't say much about it but agreed, "Okay."

Since them I have replayed how I saw him physically MAKE you let him kiss you, and I have replayed  my words to you over and over. He was being so forceful at that point that he might not have paid attention to your words. Maybe he deserved that rude shove, long-time friend or not.  Maybe he needs to get the message loud and clear now while he is still young and malleable.

Am I overreacting to this?  I can't tell.