Five Years and Counting

Dear Larien,

We decided to have another child when your father’s health improved. In a way, you are the embodiment of hope and belief that life would return to normal.

Well, my dear girl, your idea of normal challenged us as parents, particularly at night. You clung to me, never really wanting to arms of your dad, which we viewed as alright as your sister decided that your dad helped her best. Oh, we loved you during the day, your giggles, your smiles, your large brown eyes sparkled.

Then night would arrive. For a reason we never discovered, you woke angry. No matter what we tried, you wailed. We are pretty sure the connection you forged with Molly, the super old Golden Retriever of indeterminate age, happened on the floor of the sunroom as she waited for you to exhaust yourself. Most mornings your dad or I would wake near you (yes, dear, we slept on the floor as well) as you slumbered next to her warm body. You still ask for that snaggle-toothed dog. I think you will always want a Golden Retriever because of the patience she showed you for over a year.

By your second year you grew out of those night wakings. You learned how to pout, but you also figured out I was all yours with your sister at pre-school. We gained a pretty good understanding of each other just as your brother made his way into the world. You took his addition pretty well, as you had only ever known life with another kid in the family.

I was so proud when you knew to use the potty at two and a half. That blip that happened that May, well, let’s just ignore that. None of us fared well that summer. Still, you dealt with my deep sadness the best. Your age helped you. So much you couldn’t remember, until Molly said goodbye to this world. Oh, those tears of yours were so real for that sweet dog. You did transfer your affections and penchant for using a dog belly as a pillow to the White Dragon. I think you made her a better dog because of it.

By the age of three, you found a love for preschool and gymnastics. You tried to swim on your own, pretty successfully. Honestly, I enjoyed watching you fall in love with a teacher, running to her in the mornings. Three was a good year for you, Larien. A really good year. You scaled back on the pouts and rewarded everyone with as much love as you could muster. There was that one time that I had to stay at summer camp for nap when you told the ladies that you “didn’t believe in naps.” Again, I’ll ignore that. I adored that. You know yourself and what you will and won’t do.

I wish I could say four was a good age, but in some ways it wasn’t. That is when you truly became the child of night and day, capable of quite a bit but willing to only do so much. Your dad and I called you the child of Kobayashi Maru. Watch Wrath of Kahn when you’re older. You’ll get it and agree with us.

Perhaps you sensed the upheaval soon to happen. We thought that you would make the transition from Charlottesville to New Orleans well, that Inwe would be the problematic child. You surprised us by withdrawing into yourself around others. The bubbly personality got lost. Mardi Gras helped you find it. You loved the jubilant atmosphere with all the neighbors offering you food, cups, and whatever throws they thought you might want. Your teachers told us that they didn’t recognize you the next week. I noticed the change, too. I think, one day, you’ll love New Orleans. You might become one of those people who never want to leave.

I don’t like to say that I cannot believe that you are five years of age. Yet, it is true. My mind keeps you at the age of four. Perhaps I see all of my children growing at an accelerated rate, and I’ve picked you, my snuggliest one, to remain young. In truth, juxtaposed with Inwe, you act younger than she did at the age of five. That’s alright, Larien. Youth passes all too quickly.

I adore you, my middle child. I love your yin and yang. I love that you take this disruption of your special day in stride. Instead of focusing on the loss of a pool party with friends, you embrace being able to snuggle with your aunt. Do you know how mature that is?

So, my daughter of light and dark, my child that changes the parameters, you are loved. We’ll get that party rescheduled. In the meantime, enjoy the movie, the dinner with family, and the presents I brought with us from New Orleans. You’ll have more in our undamaged house once we find our way back. You are worth the extra work.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mommy