I wrote this letter in May of 2015. I want to stick it in this blog, so when my kids Google me when they are older and wiser, it will pop up for her. 🙂
My lovely Mackadoodle,
It’s a cold and rainy Thursday, you’re off at school, undoubtedly trying to take over running the class, like you always do. Your teacher tells me you are super capable, quick to pick up on everything, a social butterfly…and a teensy weensy bit bossy.
Girl, you are just like me.
You are six and a half, and fifty pounds of precociousness, spunk and moxie. So much moxie. The random, nonsensical gibberish that comes out of your mouth makes me belly laugh, you have such a keen sense of humor. You talk, a lot. But you know you do, so you make fun of yourself for it, which is so wise beyond your years.
You feel the innate need to narrate every little thing as it happens, which drives me nuts sometimes. Okay, most of the time. But it also shows me how observant you are, and how nothing escapes you.
I’m not worried about you. I can already tell that in life, you will be just fine. More than fine, you are meant to do great things. I can see it the determination in your eyes. After all, your first full sentence was “I do it”, and so far, not much has changed since.
Last night, you built an obstacle course out of all your stuffed animals in the dining room. You were so excited to show it to me, and I kind of just shooed you away, because I was working. I do that sometimes, I realize that fully, and I’m not particularly proud of it. I know that I am not June Cleaver. That you more often will bake cookies with your dad than me, that you will do most of your artsy crafts-y stuff with Lacey, that you will imagine great afternoon adventures with your Beanie Boos on your own.
Knowing those aren’t the moments and feats you and I will bond over, instead, I hope to teach you independence and strength. I want you to see that you can do anything you set your mind to, that being a woman is inconsequential when it comes to attaining your goals and realizing your dreams. I want to push you to always strive to do better, work harder to get that better grade, run faster, sing louder.
I want you to stand up for others, and for yourself. Which is what you do already, and you do it so very well. I pity the fool who ever tries to reign in your fiery spirit, because they will fail miserably. And that makes me burst at the seams with pride, bubs.
And our shopping trips.
Those will never, ever go away!
Talk about being similar, you and I peruse the racks at TJ Maxx with the same determined excitement. Trying on clothes together, where you give me your all-too-honest opinions on my wardrobe choices, is where we bond over the stories you tell me about the kids in your class, the ideas you have for the rest of your life and pink polka dotted skirts. I cherish every single one of those dressing room moments with you.
Lately, you’ve been crying at the drop of a hat. Big, faux-sad crocodile tears, anytime things don’t go your way. And you get me with that, the crying really hits a nerve, I’m not gonna lie.
I see you out in public, around your peers, friends and strangers alike. Using your manners, polite, inquisitive and courteous. Always ready to have a great time, with all that joie de vivre you carry around inside you.
My little fearless girl, you’ll get up in front of dozens of people you don’t really know and dance your heart out, like you did last Sunday, because in your own eyes (and mine), you are all sorts of amazing. You’re genuinely looking forward to picking out a charity for your birthday, so your friends can donate to that instead of buying you gifts; I am pleased as punch to see your big heart unfold.
I told you once that a smile and saying “Thank you, have a great day!” to your bus driver would be something she’d surely appreciate, and a day hasn’t gone by since that you haven’t done so. Even if you berate your brother every time he forgets to do the same.
And I couldn’t be prouder.
I always see you, Mackenzie, and I always hear you. That smile of yours, that infectious laugh, and the mischievous twinkle in your eye. All these little parts that makeup one helluva rad chick. To be able to watch you grow up is, as cheesy at it sounds, one of the most gratifying things I am doing with my life.
But I do realize that you are only still six years old, and that my window of being like, ‘the awesomest lady ever’ in your world, is rapidly closing. So, tonight let’s pull out some pencils and paper, and maybe we can draw up something cool together while you tell me all about your day at school.
Just you and me.
Love you to the moon and back, times infinity,
xo – Mom