Dear Addie, This Is Seven

Oct 8, 2019

Dear Addie,

Seven.

You now know the line from Sound of Music when she says Yes, but seven??? Granted, she’s talking about number of children and we’re talking about how many trips you’ve had around the sun. But still, seven??

You went from sparkles and dresses to shorts and tshirts this year, mostly in sneakers that can get dirty and your hair out of your face so you can run. You’ve gone from snuggling beside us as we read books to reading us every Pig and Gerald there is (Happy Pig Day, by the way). You’ve gone from toys to wanting to write, draw, or craft or play school for hours. You went from starting kindergarten at 6 to rolling into first grade, ready to rock some math and your musical and roll down some hills at recess.

When you ask me what seven looked like one day years from now, I’ll tell you. You learned to read. You lost a tooth, and the next one a few days before your birthday. You make pizza bagels for lunch, just so. You yell when you’re angry, and make cards when you’re sorry. You seem a little bored during soccer, but you could dance party all night. You love to direct (“Alright everyone! I’ll be your instructor today!”) and convince Bria to listen to your favorite songs or play your favorite game, and you’re surprisingly successful.  You play with the boys at school, but you don’t always love if they are rough. You always report how AR was at school, if there were any Watch Dogs Dads, if anyone had a bad day and what Mr Claytor said to make everyone laugh in violin. You love your teachers. You decided you liked snakes just because I’m scared of them, until we saw one way too close and you screamed and sobbed so loud in our front yard that the neighbors came out to see if you were being attacked by yellow jackets. (I told you, Mama’s opinions are usually right.)  You like following what older kids do, but you also love playing with little ones.

Cooking and creating experiments is your idea of a good time; that or watching Sophia. We love one on one time, although we haven’t figured out how to make it happen as regularly as we want. “No” to you means how can you come up with a solution for the answer to be yes. You are persistent. Sometimes it’s adorable. Sometimes it’s promising. Sometimes it sends me right to the edge of crazy.

You learned to work apple TV, and love looking up what’s for lunch at school. You think farts are hilarious, proving you are SO your dad. You went on a thousand field trips and had the world’s greatest kindergarten experience, exploring, discovering, and becoming. You were in your first play at school, and stood front and center for the songs, so focused on the director and what to do next that I don’t think you looked into the audience once. You loved it. You asked for a guitar for Christmas, and when your class could ‘go shopping’ at holiday time, you were the only one who only picked out things for others, not yourself.  Bria got unicorn sheets from you that you wrapped yourself.  You discovered boogie boarding this summer and refused the high dive until Bria decided to go off, and then you gave it a whirl. Bryce actually doesn’t mind being held by you, and snuggles beside you when you sit.  We moved houses this year, and you love adventuring down along the creek, working on getting rocks to skip.

You love people who are funny and smart. I think you are both. You think jokes are hilarious, even when you don’t get them.  Memories are important to you. Your dad makes fun of me putting together a Shutterfly album of each year, but one of the main reasons I do it is because you and Bria sit on the couch quietly with those, and pour through the pictures, the people, the memories.  You talk about Abram; you remember him; you keep him close. You’re almost always positive, not just about Abram, but everything, telling us “but it’s good because…”

You’re the oldest and I know it’s got to be a pain, but you’re the perfect biggest sister. Bria adores you. Bryce adores you.  After dog, “Ada” was his first word.  Wallie even sleeps under your bed.

You love to give. Daddy took you and Bria to subway one time and you knew he liked sandwiches, so when he got home from a work trip, you planned a whole sandwich dinner as a surprise. You put a sign that said subway on our door, and had the meats, cheeses, veggies and “those weird tiny black fruits” (olives) that Daddy likes laid out for him. You are thoughtful in such a detailed way.

I know you are going to do big things, and I believe those big things will be for others. You are going to take this world by storm, with style and imagination, pure volume and confidence, a pinch of flare and just the right amount of rule following while pushing the envelope.   I’m already so proud of the person you are.

I know you’re in the last phases of little, and I’m holding on to all of it while I can. I remember your baby days, as active as you are now. All that hair. Big grin. Loving to giggle. Loving to dance. Loving your people.

I know they say you’ll grow up. I know they say you’ll become a pre-teen and then a teenager and then you’ll be off to college and honestly, I can’t wait to see what you do with every phase of your life. But I know you will keep that magic I see in you now. The magic that is creative and a little mischievous, that magic that imagines the North Pole and comes up with intricate games on the spot, the magic that draws with color and loves to run, yelling, during tag with Daddy and your sister. The magic that makes you understand and feel for those around you, that connects you to the stars, that loves. We’ve always known, baby girl. Your magic sparkles.

I love celebrating you. I love watching you grow. I love that you made us Mom and Dad seven years ago. 

And you know what comes next. I love you. Jinx, double jinx, you owe me a Coke, jinx!

Love always with all my heart,

Mama