I have a confession to make: I’m not really good with all the traditions that go along with holidays.
I do the stuff that’s really important to me, but some of the other stuff I’m not so great at. Like pumpkins at Halloween? We’re lucky if we actually carve them. And (I can’t believe I’m admitting this) I’ve never dyed Easter eggs with my kids.
I dunno…maybe it’s just that we’re pretty crafty for the majority of the year, and being forced to be crafty on someone else’s timetable is tough for me.
So, yes, clearly an area for improvement.
Except that the kids are getting to the age where they’re taking things into their own hands. This morning Neko unloaded every egg from our refrigerator, got out the Sharpies and a white-out pen, and got to work. She enlisted Ellery, and together they created the most gorgeous bunch of eggs I’ve ever seen.
I confess, this is not my department. I actually had to go buy cosmetics for the event, as the participants were requested to wear “stage make-up” for the performance. It has clearly been quite some time since I’ve been to a formal event, as there was no mascara to be found in this house.
Despite my lack of backstage skills, Neko did great.
She’s the one doing the big “ta-da” pose in the fifth photo. And, um, I don’t think that was part of the original choreography.
Neko was digging in the mud last night when she came up with the idea of burying a treasure chest. And then it turned into creating a treasure hunt for Ellery. She pushed the limits of bedtime (and her parents’ patience) getting it set up.
By morning both girls were bursting with excitement. As soon as the sun was up, they tromped around the field, digging and following the maps.
At the end was their pirate’s booty—a rather muddy package of Rapunzel fruit snacks. To celebrate, they did a booty dance. I notice even the chickens got in on the act.
We left the kids with Shellie so for a few hours. When we returned, we discovered that Neko had spent the time coloring every square inch of Ellery’s body with marker. (She was thorough, believe me.)
In case you can’t tell, she is a pink zombie with brown hands and feet and some occasional stitches thrown in here and there.
Our friends R&D finally got a chance to give the kids their Christmas presents. The Oldest got this neat CSI Crime Lab Videoscope. We had been talking about getting the kids a microscope, but never got around to doing the research, so this was a welcome surprise.
However, it seems to work best in the dark.
So today I walked into the bathroom and discovered this laboratory set-up.
See Spot. See girl ride Spot. See girl fall in love with Spot.
Go, Spot, go.
(Somehow she managed to forget her helmet on the day I took pictures, so she’s wearing this loaner that looks a bit too big. I wondered how she could even see.)
Well, it happened. You turned eight and you’re now officially hiding from the camera. I had to pull out a threatening, “But I gave birth to all nine pounds and six ounces of you!” in order to get you to stand still for this single photo. I’m so glad your eyes are open.
With this birthday a wish came true. You’ve been begging for riding lessons for nearly a year. Today you got a helmet and a pair of paddock boots, and tomorrow you’ll go to three days of horse camp. In May, you’ll begin formal lessons. I have a feeling once we head down this path, we likely won’t look back. You, animals, and adrenaline—I doubt we can beat that combination elsewhere.
Although you still struggle, at eight you’ve got more control of your mind, your body, and your feelings. I’m not sure I would have trusted you around a horse a year ago, but now I’m literally handing over the reins. I’m so proud of the strides you’ve made in this regard. I’m so thankful for the friends who remind us how far we’ve come.
I think the upside of this is that your mind is so full of big ideas—thoughts that everyone seems to find irresistible. You create plays and costumes and magical worlds. You orchestrate games with complex rules and intricate nuances. You have endless energy and unstoppable perseverance. While I know you will always struggle a bit to tame all the ideas in your head, how lucky you are to have them.
Your other gift this year was a scooter, one of those ones with the sparks that fly. I don’t know why we never got you one before. You had practiced on many, so you were a master on the first go. Before I knew it, you were propelling yourself with all your might down the hill.
I had no idea scooters even went that fast.
My first instinct was to yell, to tell you to slow down. But I stopped myself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you in these eight years is that, when you’re intentional motion, you seem to know your limits. And as the years tick on, we’re moving to the point where I can tell you where I stand, and where I place my own boundaries. But I can’t force them on you. You have to create them for yourself. And I suspect there will be quite a few tumbles along the way.
Everyone always says how much we look alike. And while we look alike, we are so different. As I watch you hurtle down that hill, going a speed I would never dare to attempt, sparks flying behind, you bear a look of absolute joy. I’m so proud of how you take hold of life, and run with your ideas at an unfathomable speed.
They say your children model themselves after you. Their actions mimic your own, molding their patterns based on what they see. But I like to think it goes the other way, too. I see your enthusiasm and fearless determination, and it makes me want to take a few steps out of my perhaps-too-comfortable box.
So whether you’re on a horse, a scooter, or your own two feet—dig in, kick off, and fly, my love. I can’t wait to see where you go.
