Eugenious

       

Dear Elena,

Sometimes I look at you and I can’t believe you were a glimmer in our eyes six years ago (well, you were a glimmer and a tiny peanut at that point). You are so completely breath-taking and self-possessed, it’s hard to believe you didn’t spring fully-formed and perfect from inside a cabbage leaf.

Cousins!

You learned to ride a bike last August, and you learned to START a bike on Saturday. Those first few pedals are always the hardest.

You are fearless. You should retain that; it will come in handy later. We had to remind you of that bravery when we recently tried downhill skiing again–rather, you had to remind yourself. Once that confidence returned, you simply pointed your skis down the hill and said, “Okay, where do you want me to turn?” You were a bit terrifying to watch, but you were nearly always in control. Then you went up on the lift by yourself! Okay, you don’t have to be THAT big.

You have the world’s most charming little voice. Sometimes I wish you knew how to turn it off, but I love its word-choice mistakes as well as its mispronunciations and impediments.

You are learning to read. Learning to read seems like a miracle to me. Learning a new language does, too. Our brains pliably wrap around the new information, prodding it like a curious octopus until–pop!–the brain and the information become one. To prepare for reading, you learned all of your letters last fall in Kindergarten. While you knew some of them already, you hadn’t absorbed them like your brother did when he started to read. You know what sounds most letters make, and now you can sound out many words and sight-read some, too. You’ve read books to me! If there are words you don’t know, you attempt them based on context, sometimes with funny results that collapse us into giggles. It’s such a pleasure to watch you figure out reading. Your process is different from what Sylvan’s looked like. You’re more of an experimenter.

While you have always wielded a pencil with grace and care, you’ve started trying cursive, because that’s what your brother’s doing. Second child: “I will not be left behind!”

I don’t love your stubbornness, your ability to look me in the eye as you’re jumping on the couch. You are fast to frustrate and fast to cool down. Your brother and I probably taught you to blow up, and now you’re a master. And we’re both calmer. I apologize. We’ll continue to hug you and try to understand your feelings.

I love you, Miss E.

Love,
Mommy

Girls hikin’!