In that one line you sang the other night, I found so much thankfulness: the originality and the unmitigated silliness, the confidence to sing your own words and tune aloud and the sweet message at the end that I never hear often enough.
It's been a hard year for you in many ways, my favorite girl. School is not your favorite thing; you'd much rather stay home. As much as you and Daddy joke about whether you're a lazybones or a hardworkingbones, I know you're a hardworkingbones. You fear much, yet you (almost always) face your fears resolutely. It is clear now that I've bequeathed you my incessant anxiety, and for that I am sorry.
You listen, and you try. You've made extraordinary progress towards conquering your fear of eyes in the dark, of clocks, of screws. You've tackled those fears; you've been brave and strong; you've worked on reasoning yourself out of them. There's nothing lazy in that.
And in the midst of all that psychological turmoil, you're even learning academically. Do you realize what a triumph that is? You excitedly identify sight words, and you're learning to blend sounds. You sort shapes by attributes and count higher than I've heard you count before.
I love hearing about your school days. How many people shared your seat on the bus, or what you sang in music, or what silly thing your principal did. I want to know who you like and who you don't. I want to share in your triumphs and comfort you in your sorrows. I can never hear enough.
On that music topic, your music teachers says she wishes she had a class full of Maggies! She says that you sing along and perform the motions to every song she suggests. You have always been our musical girl, responding to tunes from early on and having pretty good pitch. You know your favorite band (The Beatles), but you also have a soft spot for I Will Wait by Mumford & Sons and Peter and the Wolf. You practice chorus songs with me and love a jazzy beat.
Solving a problem is a definite attraction. You love a jigsaw puzzle. But you're not wholly logical. You worry over the baby leopard in the rainforest puzzle. You think he's lost his mama, and you fret about it.
In fact, you are often empathetic: quick to sense the emotion of situation and quick to share in another's pain. A week or so ago when Leo cut his forehead badly, you were very beside yourself--not because of the the blood, but because he was hurt. You are very sensitive to characters in books who look sad or angry and worry even over the pea crying over his book in LMNOPeas.
Books are still your best friends (aside from your brother whom you adore though he aggravates you beyond measure). By year six, you know so many of them by heart, I hear you quoting them quietly under your breath. In the last few days I've heard, ...there was a slice of bread and a jar of jam... and ...the good little boys and girls on the other side of the mountain won't have any toys to play with or good food to eat... Sometimes you tack a said Maggie on the ends of your sentences as if you are narrating your own life story.
You are a loyal soul. You may not bond quickly with others, but you're not one to waver. Through those relationships you are motivated to take risks. We see that with relatives you trust and in your weekly gymnastics (PT). How lucky we are to be have those trusted people in your life!
One of the great pleasures of the last few months for me was discovering the fun of mother-daughter dates, which for us, inevitably involve ice cream. Here's to many more. And in the meantime remember:
Mama and Daddy are here; Mama and Daddy will never leave you.
We are proud of you always.