To Liza and Noelle, on Your Birthday
Dear Liza and Noelle,
When I told you that yesterday was your very last day of being 5 years old, you both jumped up and down on the couch, fists jubilantly thrown into the air. This milestone is epic. You’ve been talking about it for months. You’ve jumped into the minivan after school, butterfly backpacks tossed on the floor, curly blonde strands pushed back with graham cracker crumb fingers, and gotten down to the important business of discussing your big day. Like two little executives in car seats, you’ve enthusiastically discussed elaborate birthday plans involving your entire kindergarten class (sorry, girls!), the pros and cons of various indoor play areas and, of course, lots of ice cream. But more than anything, your excitement revolves around telling everyone that you’re no longer 5, but 6. Because when you’re a kid, reaching that next number is an achievement like no other. When you can say you’re a straight-up 6, not 5 and three-quarters, that’s pretty big stuff.
I have to confess that something unexpected happened when those words came out of my mouth — “Your last day of being 5.” My eyes became teary, and my voice wavered just a little. Because, while you’re both thinking about stacks of brightly-colored gifts, I’m wondering how my babies are now 6. How 6 will quickly become 7, then 8 and so on.
I think about how NOELLELOVESMOMMY adorns almost every reading and math worksheet. How my bedroom wall is decorated with stick figure drawings embellished with hearts and rainbows. How both of you are full of endless curiosity — how Liza will lean in and quietly whisper, “Can I ask you a question?” How you, Miss Noelle, often refer to Liza as “Wiza,” and with big sister authority, an exasperated Claire corrects you, a resounding “L” sound rolling off her tongue. How even on my worst days when patience is non-existent and feelings of inadequacy are raw and uncomfortable, your forgiveness is immediate and your hugs tight. This is that magical, fleeting in-between stage — between preschoolers and big kids — that I’m mourning just a little (or a lot, on days like today).
But, girls, even though I’m saddened by how fast you’ve grown, I’m proud and happy too. With each year, you astound me with your ever-increasing knowledge — even if it’s a meticulous play-by-play of each and every My Little Pony episode. I know Daddy is especially proud of your newfound love for Star Wars over the past year. He never tires of discussing characters and plots in detail. Even I, far from a die-hard fan, had to smile when, during Rogue One, Liza bounced up and down in her reclining theater seat and cheered when the X-wing fighters appeared in the epic battle scene.
Your imaginations are impressive — even when it involves making a giant sea out of every single pillow and blanket in the house. Or when playing “Library” means hauling all the books out of Mommy’s office and displaying them on the stairs. Noelle, I like how you are aiming high, and instead of carrying around a copy of “Frog Run,” you desperately search the house when your favorite, “To Kill a Mockingbird,” goes missing.
Most of all, I’m intrigued to see who both of you become. I imagine you, Noelle, will likely be class president of your senior class one day, with Liza as your dedicated campaign manager. Or maybe you’ll be scientists or zoologists or archaeologists, proving that all those hours of television were purely for planting seeds for your future and not for Mommy’s sanity. Above all else, always be yourselves — the wonderful combo of silly, inquisitive, joyful and introspective. That part of being 5 — and now 6 — you will always have with you, no matter what number is on your birthday cake.
Love,
Mommy