Memo to Emmy: 66 Months

Goodness Girlfriend,

You are 5.5 already? Solid 30 plus days as an official kindergartener and wow you're a legit big girl. I have the same worries as the other Silicon Valley Tiger Parents. Are you being challenged? Have you learned the Theory of Relativity yet? Why don't you eat your whole lunch because studies show nourishment improves learning?

And yet I also have this odd peace about the fact you're Doing It. You're in kindergarten and you're learning how to be a person on your own, how to open your container at snack time, how to make friends and read them fairy books at recess, how to play tag, how to figure out what it means to be out of the watchful eye of your mom, dad, or Asian Grandma for several hours a day. Those are all Major Things.

You had a big first day. Your teacher noticed you were reading aloud to yourself and asked you to come and read her note to the whole class. Public speaking on day one and you nailed it! 

So far, so good. You told us a kid was pointing a pencil at you and shooting it like a gun. To which you said, "Stop that, please." And he did. So, that's a relief. I mean, that's the craziest thing about growing up. I'm not everywhere at all times with you. I can't tell people to not be jerks and to make sure you get a spot in line and that you're treated fairly and nicely and that you get all the best things the world has to offer. That's really annoying. I want to be a hovercraft and ensure you never get knocked down or stuck in the bad seat on the bus.

But that's not possible. You have to experience the ups and downs of life to distinguish between them and to develop a strong character and to learn what's worth working hard for and what matters to you. I can't be the boss of you and the protector of you forever. Kindergarten is like the first teensiest tiniest step toward that. And I can't say I love it. Because I want to freeze you at every stage in life. It all goes by so lightning quickly.

You're already growing your two bottom front teeth but your stubborn baby teeth are hanging on for dear life so it's shark week in your mouth. You're an awesome artist and apparently that's what you want to be when you grow up according to the "Special Person of the Week" poster you had to fill out for homework. Every Tiger Mom's worst nightmare, an artist. 

You're writing in full sentences and you're reading at a crazy level. You always want to pick chapter books to read to me at night and you don't even mind when I'm a bad mommy and I read my People magazine while you're pounding through your heavy duty stories. 

It's your spirit. So easygoing and fun. Even-keeled and pleasant. The only time you really lose your S is when your sister tries to horn in on some exclusive thing you're doing--drawing, reading with Mommy, watching The Littlest Pet Shop (which you've convinced her is "very scary" so she leaves the room when you're watching.) I can't say I blame you. She's a total Ruiner. A Gleeful Unabashed Ruiner. A GUR. She's the embodiment of a pesky little sister at times and she relishes it. You have a bit of an edge that's coming out--you'll get in an elbow here or there, which is not the worst thing in the world because I want to see that you have some defense mechanisms and I also want Odessa to know she can't always get away with felony pestering.

I secretly love that you're a lefty and that you're so different from me. You're so intuitive and sensitive and empathetic. Your EQ is definitely higher than mine. You're patient and sweet, but sometimes really shy about certain things. Like you don't want to sing in class. Other kids are singing random songs like "Timber" when the teacher asks if anyone wants to sing a song, but for some reason you're anti. "I don't want to do it. I like dancing better than singing." I just don't know exactly why you're super outgoing sometimes and other times, you are deadset against something. 

One of your preschool teachers called you "tender" and that's something we worried about when you headed off into big kindergarten with 26 other kids in your class. But turns out, you're thriving. You have your backpack and your assignments and when I volunteer in class you seem like you're holding your own. That's all I can ask for--that you do you and so far Emerson, you're totally doing it.

I love you my Big Girl.