Dear River,
I had written that I didn't think I would continue to write you monthly letters past your fourth birthday, but I find it's a habit and I want to continue. You may not change a lot now but I continue to have little stories from your life I want to preserve for you. Like your new bike that you received from Santa Claus this Christmas. I planted it in your head that you needed a new bike. I even encouraged you to shout out loud that you wanted one for Christmas since Santa could use his Christmas magic to hear you. (You were too shy to actually speak to the Santa that you sat with at Ikea)
You've had a tricycle but by the time your legs were long enough to pedal, your friends were all on upright bikes. You've been way behind on your physical skills--not because of you but because of me. I'm the mom that would much rather read to you and work on your writing than go out bike riding or teach you to swim. I am easily frustrated when it comes to teaching you physical things. Maybe because I'm not very physical myself. Not much of a team player and would much rather walk alone in the woods than rock climb, play a game of football, or run around just because. I knew you needed some of these skills though. Biking is something I really love (and I am craving a bike of my own). And, much like you, I don't take directions well or enjoy trying new things. So I knew it would be a challenge to get you bike riding but I knew once we got through the hard first part, you'd love it.
So, Christmas morning you come out and explain, "Santa did hear me tell him I needed a bike!" And this bike it huge. The first day I drug it and your old tricycle down stairs, into my car and to the park--your feet kept coming off the pedals. You needed constant help. You wanted to give up and play on the playground. You whined and argued that you couldn't do it. I was stern, "You can and you will and you will like it." I made you go around and around running between pushing Sage and helping you and trying to do both at once. Biting my tongue to try not to show you my frustrations. I just wanted to let you play on the playground too. You fell twice and got back up twice--once covered in mud. I gave you tons of praise about this because I'm not sure I would have done the same thing when I was a kid. When you told your Dad about it later you were proud of the fact that falling didn't keep you from trying. We've been back to to the playground a few times since. This last time you ranged far ahead with your friend on his scooter. You went flying down the hill dodging walkers with their dogs. You used the breaks and frowned hard when biking up the hill. You hardly needed help and when you fell, you got right back up. I imagine that lessons without training wheels are in our future sometime soon. I dread them. O, I do. But I look forward to the day when we can race side by side on our bikes laughing into the wind.
Christmas gets more fun every year you get older. This year you actually opened all your presents without being distracted by new toys. You moped a bit when you had to wait to open something new but I made you wait. One person at a time and let's enjoy giving gifts as much as getting them. (I tried!) You had fun playing with my cousin's children and have made yourself at home at Grandma's. It wasn't that long ago that it was hard for you to go to the bathroom anywhere that wasn't home. Now, you do it all alone and don't want anyone to watch or be in the room. Your stool and potty seat were packed away months ago. You grew and grew into this vibrant kid this past year. Sometimes I look around when we are out and catch a glimpse of you tearing past. No longer in need of my constant eye upon you. I can see how my free time will open back up as you children age. As you and Sage need me less and less. That used to bother me, but now I just celebrate with you. You are overjoyed by your independence. When we went hiking you ranged ahead and scrambled over rocks. You were part of the child group while your father and I stayed with the other adults and the toddlers. I am torn between being alarmed that you have one more year at home (when you seem so ready to go to school) and glad I get that extra time with you before your world really opens up into being just yours and not ours.
I find the largest challenge with you is your sister. Everything she does you whine about. "She's touching my book!" or "Sage is trying to steal my food!" I understand she is annoying. Sage is always into everything and it's hard to even read a book to you with her around climbing on my lap, trying to rip the book out of my hands or screaming and crying because she wants me to read a different book to her right that second. But the whining. It drives your Dad and I insane. "I don't want too." is your most frequent complaint. Whined with the whine tone that is like shards of glass through our eyes. All that being said, you do love your sister. That much is readily apparent. You were so excited to share a bedroom with Sage and asked for her to please sleep in your room the second night her bed was in there. So now I get her to sleep and put her in your room. When you woke up last night and tried to sleep in our bed, Daddy told you Sage was in your room and to go back to your bed. And you did--alone--and slept!
Overall, you are amazing. Helpful when prodded, independent, imaginative, curious. (Or maybe your insane sister just makes you look really good!) Capable of being reasoned with has to be the most awesome bit of being the older child. You are the easier one in every single way. The one I lean on. The one that helps me with Sage and holds open the door when I am loaded down with bags of groceries. The one who can wait without screaming. The one that can speak to me. The one that can play rounds of Candy Land and ask me questions, share thoughts, vocalize your love. It feels like you got through some battlefield with you--babyhood, followed by toddlerhood, followed by the Terrible Twos and the Trying Threes and into this field of daises and sunflowers that is the Fantastical Year of Four. (only one month in, but I'm an optimist)
Hugging Daddy you told him, "You are the best Daddy ever." and then you told me, "You're the best Mommy ever." What more can parents ask for?
Love,
Mommy
