SIX YEARS OLD! — Nadine At Home

Ursula! You’re finally six.

You’ve been six for (well over) a month now, but in that time you’ve discovered computer games and so my quiet time with my laptop is suddenly more limited. Hence this late letter.

You are a trouper. A second birthday during lockdown. A second school year ending with different teachers than the ones you began with.

Thanks to reshuffling and Covid and a baffling minister of education — I’ll tell you more about Lecce when you’re old enough to drink, because you’re gonna want something stronger than a strawberry smoothie — your appropriately-sized-for-a-pandemic kindergarten class was dissolved and you were reassigned to another (larger) class. I cried. You rallied. At one point, I think you believed you were just making your way through all the available kindergarten teachers.

Even with the classroom move and the mask requirements and distance rules, you blossomed. You jumped ahead SIX reading levels, you grew in confidence and creativity, and you expanded your friendship circle. We could not have been more proud.

And when remote learning was re-implemented — twice! — you quickly adjusted to daily calls on the iPad, pushing through when you “felt shy.” You included your brother as your classmate and rarely complained about not seeing friends in person. You made an uncomfortable situation so much easier for all of us. Thank you. You have matured so much in the last year, learning to be flexible and forgiving, open to changing plans and patient with busy parents.

Senior Kindergarten graduation. At home.

You understood our “zoom” Christmas, decidedly content to smother a gingerbread house in icing — I lost count at 10 cups of icing sugar — and celebrate with our little family of four instead of surrounded by cousins and grandparents.

And while we’d understand if, after a year of living in VERY close quarters with your immediate family, you’d want a break from all of us, almost the opposite is true. You want to participate in everything we do, whether that’s sorting laundry, cleaning mirrors, making dinner, or watering our new little garden.

You’re learning to animate with Daddy. Because no one told you that kids can’t.

And you were the only kid in your class to submit digital artwork this year.

Your dad and I subscribe to a very simple parenting philosophy: aim for yes. We want to give you the permission and space to be you. Which means every day is craft day. And costume day. And no household item is safe from transformation. (You cut up my Easter bunting and turned the pieces into googly-eyed critters…BEFORE asking for permission. Ahem.)

A discarded tree branch from our backyard is now a jewellery tree on your dresser.

And you’re ALWAYS planning your next Halloween costume and birthday party theme.

You crave more kitchen independence. Thanks to a “pretend you’re on a cooking show” school assignment, you’ve caught the YouTube bug AND the baking bug and now you want to be a celebrity baker. (To be fair, who doesn’t?!)

You’re learning to use a knife.

You’re learning to ride a two-wheeler. In a princess-tiara helmet. (We maaaaay have purchased a bike that’s a little too big for you. You don’t complain.)

You’re learning to jump rope.

You’ve had one piano lesson and think you know how to play now.

Sometimes, when you’re upset, you go to your room and write down how you’re feeling. It’s the cutest, saddest thing, finding notes taped to your door like, “Why is everyone mad at me?” or a note tucked into a book with the word “stoopid” written over and over. But they’re good starting points for conversation, and I’m so thrilled you’re able to communicate your sadness or frustration. This will serve you well. And, no, you’re not in trouble for writing a bad word (stupid).

When you can tell that I’m having a rough day, you quietly approach me with a hug. It’s so sweet and, yes, it makes me feel better. Not that it’s ever your job to cheer me up.

Stealing Daddy’s hat. Again. (Also, check out those new bottom teeth!)

You want EVERYTHING you see. You often peer over my shoulder when I’m on my phone or at the laptop, and point to just about anything on the screen and say, “I want that.” No, you can’t have high heels or that brightly coloured cleaning product.

Thanks to the Euro Cup and the Olympics, you’ve been learning about other countries, and learning to cheer for your chosen team and watch a scoreboard with excitement and/or horror. At breakfast a couple weeks ago, you announced, “I’m cheering for Argentina, France and Canada.”

You’re also learning to be okay with losing sometimes. With sharing the spotlight. With your brother getting something new without you getting anything. These are tough lessons for any of us, kiddo.

You usually fall asleep quickly. Beside a curtain-less window when it’s still light out. You don’t question bedtime. Thank you.

But…on Friday nights, you and Gilbert have a “sleepover” on yoga mats in one of your rooms. And the two of you giggle and chat for hours. In a weird year, we’re happy to embrace little traditions that you can look forward to.

You and your brother wake up (too) early every morning. When you come downstairs, you find a note I wrote the night before, looking forward to a fun together and asking you to be “quiet and kind” until breakfast time. Sometimes you write me back. Usually you just watch TV with your brother or draw. You revel in this morning independence, knowing you’re trusted to take care of yourselves for a couple hours before the day begins for the rest of us.

You’re expanding your palette, eating a greater variety of foods and being willing to try new things. (You asked for roast pork, potato wedges and cornbread for your birthday dinner. We were so impressed. And then you also asked for…Kraft Dinner.)

As mentioned earlier, you’re learning to play (Disney-, Barbie-, and PBS-themed) computer games, solving increasingly difficult puzzles online, improving your coordination, and problem-solving when you get stuck. It’s been incredible to see you go from crying in frustration to shouting in victory, so proud of yourself. Now you’re teaching Gilbert to do the same, and he respects your expertise.

You beat me at MarioKart this week.

Your little brother loves you so much. One rough day, he cried, “Ursula is my only friend.” On a good day, he announced, “Ursula is my best friend!” I love the friendship you’re building. And how flexible you’ve become in introducing toy dinosaurs and race cars to your world of My Little Pony figurines and Calico Critters.

Sometimes you overstep, taking over and sharing your brother’s news — you “broke his heart” when you showed off HIS new backpack to friends — or reenforcing rules like you’re his parent. (Yep, I did that with my brothers, too.) Trust that your job is to be a kid. And that your brother has good ideas, too. When you’re working as a team, it’s magical. Let’s keep leaning into that, okay?

You’re learning to advocate for yourself.

A couple weeks ago, you got your first real grownup haircut at the salon I go to. Instead of relying on me to speak for you, you told the stylist what you wanted, agreed to washing your hair in the sink, asked her to use a cooler setting on the hairdryer, and even requested straight hair, not curly. Then you asked for a candy, even though no one offered one to you. (Of course, they gave you the lollipop of your choosing.)

You sauntered home that morning with your new bob, on top of the world. And I just stood back, admiring the little self-assured lady you’ve become.

You’re excited for Grade 1. You’ll be reunited with different friends from your (three!) kindergarten classes, and with a dear friend who’s been doing remote learning for the past year. You’re eager to learn more and get back in the classroom. (You were sad to learn that summer break means no school for a couple months. You wanted to go to school! Which means I’m pretty much homeschooling you this summer.)

We’ve had serious talks about racism. You know residential schools were wrong.

You asked me about the “mercury crisis” in Grassy Narrows last week. (You can read posters taped to store windows now. A whole new education in activism!)

You share your nail polish with your brother and reassure him that ponytails aren’t just for girls.

You are kind, compassionate and sensitive. You don’t want anyone to feel sad or left out.

You’re quick to apologise — usually in tears, because you’re upset that you hurt someone.

At the same time, you are cautious, careful not to be taken advantage of. You are generous with your belongings, but only to a point. If something is important to you, you protect it. You don’t bring it to school or play dates if there’s a risk of it getting lost or broken — or even shared too aggressively. You’re learning to establish your own personal boundaries. And we are doing our best to respect them, and to reassure you that we care about the things you care about. (If that princess dress gets ripped during playtime with a friend, we’ll fix it or replace it. We know it’s important.)

As per your request, a pink strawberry cake for your strawberry-themed birthday.

Ursula, it is a privilege to be your mom. You offer me more grace and patience than I offer myself most days, and your creative, inquisitive spirit keeps me on my toes.

We love you so deeply, sweet Sully Bear. All the time and all the way.

Happy birthday.