Growing Family

Three Days In

I can be really slow to learn. 

Even though I lived through this very experience, I forgot that last year, when Small Sun started school, he turned into some kind of over-stimulated, over-tired, scary maniac kid, exploding with a complete and colorful meltdown each day.

That's why we didn't do any extracurriculars for the first term. That's why we slowed down our social calendar and focused on family time. I'm starting to remember now.

So we're three days in, and because I'm less intentional about things than I was last year, and because I'm spending some time caring for a friend's children while she is back in the States with a family emergency, my kids are not only overtired from the transition to school, they have also followed the school day with extended play times with friends.

They are shattered*, as the Aussies say.

This morning I had trouble getting them out of bed. It was a rainy day and they preferred to pull the sheets over their heads and keep sleeping. Where was this desire when I wanted to sleep in during the holidays?

Personally, I don't mind the return to school. Sprout has half days for the first week, so I am doing alot of driving, but it isn't as hard as it was last year. I'm waiting for the pattern to settle, and for the real schedule (including playgroups and classroom reading groups, etc) to be established next week. After all the recent changes, I am hanging out for the new normal. 

In the meantime, flexibility and patience are key. That and LOTS of cuddles and snacks, and "special times" with all three to help them settle as well. Our carrot dangling in the weekend is Saturday breakfast at a nearby river-front restaurant near a giant playground. Then, if we're lucky, we might all get a nap!

*Shattered=exhausted

Sprout Goes to School

Today is the last day of summer vacation, and the last day my daughter is a preschooler. Her uniform is ready, backpack, lunchbox, and school hat are all lined up for their debut tomorrow.

Her brother, Small Sun, has given her numerous lessons in preparation. She is ready.

I am ready.

I think. 

There is always the possibility of an unexpected ugly cry in the car on the way home.

"She won't even look back." The Captain predicts.

I hope she at least gives me a hug when I go.

Before we make the big jump to school-dom tomorrow, I thought I would sit down and record who Sprout is today. This is what Sprout wore to church today: A long purple halter dress I made her, with a purple tshirt underneath. Brown suede boots (an improvement over the purple suede boots with white toes from the suede rolling back - "the white looks like a mouth" she wailed when I told her they were not appropriate for church). We can't forget the accessories - purple winter gloves, the same necklace as in the above picture, a floral print purse, a vintage lace shawl the dragged the ground, and pink hair accessories. It was alottalook. She is alottapersonality.

Yesterday at the beach she was cold. "Can I wear my sweater?" When I told her sweaters don't keep you warm when they are wet, she insisted it would, and proceeded to wear it the entire time.

Sprout is completely absorbed in her imaginary world. If you can believe it, this is a tunnel cut through the bush between the campground and the beach, and this picture was before night fell. It was shadowy when we went through the first time, and pitch black upon our return. I wondered if our kids would freak out, but Sprout spent the whole time talking nonstop. There was a cellphone glowing from the person walking behind us, otherwise we were walking blind. Sprout was all breathless explaining how the light was from her friend unicorn who lights the way for her. She explained all about the unicorn and what they do together and how it helps her when she needs it.

Small Sun has crossed over into the land of reason, but Sprout will fight him firmly and surely that the tooth fairy is real! Santa is real! Fairies are real! even though we've never taught her these things. She believes in everything beautiful and special and shimmery, and no one can convince her otherwise.

Of all our children I would say Sprout has the strongest will, and she has always had a bit of a mean streak. Now, when she's angry or offended, she will go straight for the jugular. She throws out "you're not even a nice mommy!" or "you're so mean to me, why are you being so mean to me, you are so meeeeaaaaannnnnnn!" like candy at a Fourth of July parade. 

We are not indulgent parents, and we don't give in to fits, but five years of parenting Sprout has taught us that you can't really make her do things she doesn't want. If you can't convince her to do it, you cannot make her do it. She is incredibly strong. We pick our battles.

Sprout can be occupied with the tiniest details for hours. Once I sent her to clean her room. About an hour and a half later she had created an entire family out of pine needles, pompoms, and googly eyes. They had a house, and beds, and they flew like birds. They were amazing. Her room was still a frightful mess. It is most of the time. She can actually clean it to a level of organization and precision that makes even me happy, but most of the time she gets distracted in something much more splendid.

Sprout is a night-owl. I don't bother making sure she is in her bed at night, or checking to see if she is asleep in the 1-2 hours after I tuck her in. Last night she was staring quietly, so I put in my head to see her. "Still awake?" I asked. "I told you before that I go to sleep at different times." she said. She spends a lot of time puttering around her room, tidying, organizing, and playing before falling asleep. Then, I'll find her in bed with a book fallen across her chest, or a circle of My Little Ponies radiating out from her hands. She is a night owl, through and through, just like my mother and my sister.

Sprout is so very creative, and like I said, her imagination runs wild. She is incredibly feminine and loves princesses, ballerinas, pink and purple, and anything that sparkles. She has taken colored pencils from the art area, and pretends they are "eye line", she carefully applies while looking in the mirror. Today she has some nail polish on her eyelids. I don't even know how that happened. I didn't ask.

Yet Sprout is also a happy participant in "going to the moon" (a current favorite amongst all our kids), construction games, and everything else that could be deemed "boy's play". I watched her try to climb a backyard tree in her church finery earlier.

She cannot be pigeonholed or stereotyped. She is just who she is, and nobody can change her. Strong, fierce, aflutter with the magic of life, and sometimes swooning with her hand across her forehead while crying "romantic! romantic!" She is amazing, and I know school won't change that.

Transition

When a woman is in labor, giving birth to a new life, transition is often the hardest part. The contractions go from spaced and predictable, to intense and accelerated. The feeling of being out of control as the labor shifts into the stage that will bring out life, is the hardest part for many women. 

It is in transition that you see women shouting in the movies. It is in transition that many women change their mind "no, the baby is not coming out, I can't do this!" On the other side of transition is delivery; life.

It only dawned on me today that my life will undergo a radical shift in the next two weeks.

1. Baby is scheduled to move to permanent care with a family member. We meet tomorrow to plan the transition.

2. Our very lovely and helpful friends that have been staying with us upon re-entry to Sydney will be moving out.

3. Sprout will join Small Sun at school.

4. Finch will be potty trained (he's halfway there).

I will go from having six people here with me during every day to having one.

I will go from a dizzying ping-pong game of nappy changes and potty accident clean-ups to the occasional undie-fail. 

I will go from feeding a crowd each meal, all day long, to packing lunches and eating quietly with one two year old.

And if Finch gets a spot at preschool in May when he turns three, well I'll be completely on my own several days a week.

Part of this scenario makes me want to put on a party dress and do a little dance. Alone time? Quiet? Meeting friends for coffee? Bring it!

I have spent this year as the frazzled friend, showing up at play dates with more than appropriate numbers of children, collapsing onto couches and nursing cup after cup of tea. The idea of replacing frazzled with some other adjective to describe the state of my life is alluring. Alluring...that sounds nice.

Yet, suddenly I wonder, what will I do? I know I will want to jump into lots of creative projects on the house, and garden, and design and sew some clothes, which means I will want to spend lots of money. Only one kid to drag to stores? Shopping! The budget will love me.

I don't really know what will happen next, and what to expect. Will I love it? Will I hate the lack of color a houseful of people and creative children creates?

I guess it is only temporary as we'll probably take another foster care placement later this year, and continue to pursue adopting a sibling group. I should probably enjoy it while it lasts!

What about you, what would you dream of doing with a windfall of quiet(er) time?

PS- I'm completely ignoring the "they're growing up too fast" aspect of this situation. I'll cry over that a little bit later, I'm sure.

 

 

For Love of Summer/Happy New Year

I love summer in Australia so much. The kids are all home, hubby gets some time off of work, we have no obligations or schedule to keep. In my not-so-secret fantasy life, we are a work-from home/un-schooling/large family living in the country eating our own fruit and veg and eggs. You know, like a blogger I am newly admiring, Soule Mama.

But we are not a large family (yet), and The Captain is gone 7:40-6:40, and there's school and the extras, even when I try to keep it all simple. I am such a home body!

By the end of the year I am exhausted and wondering "how on earth am I going to make it?" Then, miraculously, in Australia summer arrives. We pick up a box of mangoes and eat our way to happiness, juice running down our chins. 

When The Captain is home, we can wake up in the morning and say "let's go to the beach" and enjoy an amazing day. 

Baby gets to feel the sand on his toes, and get dipped in the sea. Is it his first time? I imagine so.

Finch embraces the beach with everything in him, delighting in the warmth and graininess of it, while Sprout makes "hand cars" to sit in.

We can go out to see the fireworks, or choose to stay in, watching a movie and eating ice cream before racing to the top of the hill to watch the explosions from our neighborhood. 

I am mainly proud of two things I did last year, one with intention and the other by following small nudges until we found ourselves on the other side of a line of commitment that has changed our whole world.

First I lost 20 pounds. I have never done a diet in my life, so I am really proud of what I achieved. How to live out the change is still a process, but I can't believe I did it.

Second, we became foster carers and having Baby A in our lives has really been an immense experience. Some days I love it, some days I am ready to throw in the towel, most of the time I am amazed.

At New Year's time we often have resolutions and clear ideas of what we want to see changed in our lives. For me, summer is a time to refocus on the target I am always aiming towards; a time to find new passion for the same pursuits. 

For us, last year was full of vision and ideas. This year I don't have much clarity.

What I do know is that I want to do what I like. I am the type of person that always asks "what should I do" instead of "what do I want to do?" Selfishness aside, I think it is good to feel out my own thoughts and opinions and desires. For me, this season of mothering young children at home is a daily sacrifice. There are starting to be little moments to breathe between meeting little people's needs, and in those moments I am getting to think about what I like, what I dream, what I hope.

So that is what I want this year. I want to reconnect with hope, and enthusiasm, and energy. I want to be inspired and create.

My children are old enough now that I can tell them "wait, I am doing something that is important to me." I think this year we need to make that transition of the kids respecting me doing me own thing sometimes. I love watching their play become more complicated and involved, and it seems that when I say "I'm busy," they often develop a fantastic game or pretend.

So this year, as I continue to do what I am doing, I want to feel my own self more, and know where I am strong and where I am weak. I want to know what I want, and go out and do it.

Today is New Year's Day and I painted a feature wall in Sprout's room in the most summery shade of pink. Putting it on the walls, it looked like a perfect summer lip gloss. The color made me happy, and that's a good way to start the year.

Adoption in the Classroom

This week I received the Kindergarten News Topics for term four. There, in week two, is my first experience with a school assignment that just won't work for our family.

Bring in a baby photo of Mum and/or Dad and a baby photo of yourself (you can also bring in photos of your grandparents or other family members). Talk about features that you all have and decide who you look like: Mum, Dad, or both (or other relatives).

I imagine the "other family members" and "other relatives" might be the inclusive language intended for our family as our open adoption is very open in the classroom, but that still doesn't make the assignment workable for us. Here is the note I'm sending in to the teacher (who I adore).

Dear [Teacher],

I just wanted to touch base with you regarding the news topic for week two next term. While this topic will likely be a fun one for most students, it poses some trouble for adoptive families. 

For a child adopted into their family, not having a physical resemblance and shared features is often a source of sadness and pain. Children adopted into their families deal every day with not "fitting in", in their families. An assignment like this could possibly heighten that awareness.

While I can provide birth family photos to complete the assignments, I would ask you to reconsider the topic. What about a simple baby photo collage with some memories to describe?* Please let me know if I can be of help regarding this topic.

Thanks for ALL you do, we do appreciate having you as [Small Sun's] teacher!

Kohana

I am very thankful that his teacher is very enthusiastic about working towards optimal solutions for each child in the classroom and I don't think this will be an issue. I am also thankful that Small Sun is incredibly confident and even if the assignment doesn't get changed, I know he will be proud to stand up and talk about his two families, as he so often does on his own already. 

*I realize that my suggestion wouldn't work for many adoptive families who don't have baby photos and memories to describe, but it seemed an easy switch to execute and would solve the problem right in front of us, if not satisfying potential future problems. 

Moving House

Three and a half years ago I had two children and was packing up my happy life, preparing to launch our family across the globe in search of sunshine. People on both the launching and landing sides thought we were both inspiring and crazy, and I suppose we were.

We arrived haggard, and travel weary, in Sydney. Our luggage did not. With my mother's help we found our rental car in the parking lot, piled our carry-ons and kids into the vehicle, and set off driving, on the wrong side of the road, to our temporary furnished apartment.

We arrived in autumn and I blanched at the eternally silver-gray palette. Gum trees (eucalyptus) are the foundation of the terrain here, and their silver blue was a stark contrast from the heavy and humid green of a southern spring rainstorm I had left behind about 30 hours before.

I now know that we were driving through some really ugly bits of Sydney. I didn't know that then. I felt nauseous from lack of sleep and stress. Stress derived from hurtling towards certain death (at least that's how it felt on the wrong side of the road), and panic from having moved across the globe to a drably colored, ugly place. What have we done?  I wondered, hoping my mother couldn't detect my dismay from the back seat.

We had been so sure of our plan to move to a beautiful, amazing place we had never visited before,.

All that comes to mind when I have our house in boxes and we are moving fifteen minutes down the road. Things are so different now.

When we finally arrived, safely, at our apartment, I abandoned husband, mother, and children. I went to my room and passed out on the bed, crying.

I awoke several hours later to the smell of dinner cooking. Husband had found food, and mother was preparing it. Children were settled and things were organized. Refreshed from a nap I decided to eat something and put on a brave face. It would take our container three months to arrive, so we couldn't catch the first flight home. Better make the best of it.

Three and a half years ago I had two children. They were not in school. They did not have extracurricular activities. We had a snug two bedroom bungalow and maintained a streamlined life free of extra stuff. We shipped the contents of our house and took our suitcases to my parent's for the last month. We sold our house to some friends for our asking price. The Captain finished work and we directed all our attention to THE MOVE we had so long anticipated. Our vision was clear. We were focused.

Fast forward to today. We move in nine days. I have been packing for weeks. I have spent all three weeks of school holidays packing, with four children underfoot. We have a lot of stuff. So.much.stuff. This house is much bigger than our little Nashville cottage. The rental agents have been having open inspections on Saturdays, so with the boxes stacking up in each room, we've been cleaning and putting out flowers, vacating the house with four kids and a dog.

Monday school starts back. Sprout starts a new ballet class on Saturday. I keep repeating to myself "don't pack the school uniforms, don't pack the ballet clothes, don't pack the baby gear." 

Moving with a child in school, a child in preschool, ballet class, a toddler, and a (recently sick) newborn is a completely different beast than the last move. There's the dog to transition from outside to inside, the plants in the garden to dig up and move to a new garden that hasn't yet been prepared. There are the numerous contact visits for our foster baby each week, and his many recent doctor's appointments. There is a very busy, and very full life to continue.

I am normally good at time management, and breaking a big task down into small tasks. But this move? When I try to break it down piece by piece and spread it out along a time line, my mind just starts spinning. 

The movers arrive at 8 am. I need to take the boys to a friend's house, and Sprout to ballet. I need to make sure the dog doesn't escape while the movers have all the doors open. I need to get all the car seats out to lay the seats down to move the important/fragile stuff. I need to move the dog to the new house and make sure he doesn't escape while the movers have the doors open. I need to move the fish tank. Geez, where am I going to put the fish in the new house? I still don't know. Will it still be bucketing rain on move day? What should I put in the "first night box"? Should I put the bassinet in my car or let the movers take it? Click, click, click, sssssssssssssssssssssss.

Meltdown. 

I guess if worst comes to worst, I go to my (new) room and fall asleep crying, and wake up to unpack. Because unpacking? I'm really good at that. 

The Week

Last Saturday, despite the rain, we headed out house hunting on the holiday weekend (The Queen's birthday) with our three kids, plus the little guy who was staying the weekend with us for the last time. We found a house we liked. It was the newest/nicest/biggest house we'd seen so far by miles and miles. 

In the gap between open houses we stopped at McDonald's to give the kids a rare treat. We decided to go all in, so to speak, and offer the asking price on the house. After dropping Small Sun off at a birthday party we returned home and called up the agent with our offer. Shortly after he let us know it had been accepted.

Experience has taught us that there is really nothing certain to that and Monday was a holiday. Tuesday morning we had the building inspector out on site (the same guy as we hired to inspect that cat-house). The rest of the week we've spent wrangling with the bank to get the valuation done on the property, and with the lawyers over getting the contract in ship shape. 

This morning we exchanged contracts. It is official. We got the house. Now we have several more hoops to jump through before we settle, or close as we say in the U.S. That will happen July 29th. The whole thing was crazy. 

The owner listed the house at a bargain price because he wanted to sell it immediately. We were the first offer and he let us have four days to get our stuff together, without issuing any other contracts to other parties. Evidently they had about 40 parties interested in the property. I can't believe we got it.

Wednesday afternoon, in a flurry of house phone calls, I was surprised to answer a call from our foster care worker. I was even more shocked to hear that there was a baby needing a placement in just a few hours and could we take him, please?

After a whirlwind trip picking up Small Sun from school, racing through Big W (WalMart) with my three kids, just grabbing diapers, formula, bottles, and clothes, and flying by my friend's house to pick up a car-seat and bassinet, I managed to get home and have the whole lot unloaded in the middle of the living room floor before baby arrived.

Yes, you heard me, a baby is here! He is 5.2 lbs of preemie amazingness. He's in the bassinet near me right now, I do not lie. If I had known Tuesday night was my last full night of sleep I might have gone to bed earlier. As it was, I was in the shower when the caseworker arrived with him, trying to shave my legs in the last un-strategized time. 

Lucky for me he has come from the hospital on a schedule, and eating well. He is all about the sleeping, as I'm sure he will be for awhile before he plumps up. He is TINY. It looks like he'll be with us between 4-12 months.

Did I mention that The Captain is in the middle of a really busy week at work, bringing a project of several months to culmination and delivery? Well he is. And in the middle of that he got contacted about a new job opportunity.

I'm still a little sick, Finch is recovering, and Small Sun is home with a high fever and the wobbliest tooth ever. I think it might fall out in his sleep tonight.

So, just to recap, house-baby-crazy work week-sick kids-wobbly tooth.

I am going to cuddle up with the little munchkin and watch Better Homes and Gardens. I'll probably eat some cheese or chocolate or ice cream. I need the room to stop spinning.

Foster Care

Today we had our last interview session before we get approved to become foster carers. All that is left is for the agency to type up their recommendation, submit it to the board, and then we get the official letter of approval. I think it is pretty much a done deal. With my background in child development and social work, our experience with adoption and all the dynamics surrounding that, as well as our parenting experience, well they're ready for us to start taking placements as soon as we have the final green light.

This week I went to several baby superstore type places in search of a booster for Small Sun. Oh my goodness, so much cuteness! I've been so stressed about having a drug-affected baby that won't stop screaming, or a violet toddler, that I didn't even stop to realize the real potential for enjoying that sweet baby stage. 

I slowly walked the aisles of new and amazing baby paraphernalia, trying on slings, and folding and unfolding this amazing crib that I wanted so badly! I love baby gear.

I never could justify splurging on lots of clothes and flash baby stuff for my babies. I went for good quality, and got a lot of things second hand. For foster care, I think that these babies deserve to have nice things. Not everything has to be new and fancy, schmancy, but I don't want them wearing out-of-fashion, faded baby clothes passed down from ten years ago. 

Hm. As I'm saying that my brain is doing a little spin. You know the sound when a disk is spinning up in the computer and the program hasn't popped up yet? My brain is doing that.

Maybe most of these babies will be coming from humble circumstances, and me insisting on a level of "nice stuff" for them is potentially alienating them from their families? I'll have to think about this some more.

Anyway, I told The Captain that I nearly got pregnant just looking at all of the cuteness. The clothes! The strollers! The lambskin stroller inserts! Burp cloths! I love little flannel burp cloths! I just wanted to get a cart and start shopping.

So for the first time since we started this journey towards foster care it crossed my mind that I might actually like this! It might actually be fun! I hadn't thought of that before.

Looking over all of the baby things and feeling that excitement also kind of jolted me into realizing that one day, I don't know when, it will be time to add another child to our family, and that will be such an amazing and exciting thing. For all of the potential drama and stress of a new baby or child, there is also that pure energy and excitement of a new addition to the family. Am I making sense? I hope I don't sound too negative about all of this. Life has been hard these last couple of weeks and I'm worn thin.

We are requesting that we have babies about eighteen months and younger placed with us. We will probably decline extreme drug-affected babies until we have some more experience. We are doing temporary emergency foster care and the placements can range from several weeks to two years. Babies will leave our care to be reunited with their mother or father, or to enter a permanent care situation through foster care or adoption. I'm terrified.

In the meantime, we are caring for a little three year old friend of ours, on the weekends. His mother is recovering from a very serious spinal cord operation and will need constant help for eight weeks. Four kids five and under is challenging, and we're going to need a lot of strategy and patience to make the next eight weekends strong ones. 

In other news, in a month our live-in babysitter leaves (sob), and my parents arrive (cheer). I know that I am hosting them, but I think I might fall down in a heap when my mom arrives, and just wait for her to make me a cup of tea and scrape me off the ground. Sometimes I'm so busy trying to beSuperMom, that I forget I need my SuperMom. I can't wait to see her. 

Parents coming, and school holidays while they're here - two things to be looking forward to. In the meantime, I'm reaching deep for the courage God told me I needed this year. I'm finally starting to need it. 

 

When Did My Hair Get Like This?

I have dubbed November the Marathon of School Prep. In Australia the school year begins at the end of January, and we are currently in the last term before the long summer holidays. Now is the time for all manner of orientations and parent nights and park play dates for the kids entering kindergarten next year.

Next year is a big year for us! Small Sun will be starting Kindergarten AND Sprout will be starting three days of preschool. So that's about 45 new classmates, plus all their parents to meet, not to mention schedules and rules for two new schools. Small Sun's uniform is all purchased and ready to go.

Because Small Sun's current preschool is located in our old neighborhood, and lies in the direction opposite his new school, I opted to put Sprout in a preschool that is closer to home so I can manage the double drop off and pick up. To be honest, I am not as pleased with the new preschool as I am with the old. I LOVE the old preschool. I would like to marry the old preschool! 

The staff knows how disappointed I am that we can't make the old preschool work for next year, so when they had a student announce that they will be leaving for the last four weeks of the term to go on holiday, they asked if I might want to bring Sprout to fill that spot. I said yes, of course! So for about the next month I'll be driving to preschool every day of the week, Monday to Wednesday for Small Sun, and Thursday to Friday for Sprout. 

This week I took Sprout to new preschool orientation two days, and Small Sun to kinder orientation one day. Then there's the non-stop commitments to playgroup, ballet, birthdays, and play dates. The weather is also turning a corner here and it is suddenly hot and muggy and I find myself sweating, schlepping up and down the hill into the village, pushing Sprout in the stroller to the new preschool. 

And my hair. *sigh* I have really thick hair that has to be thinned in order to appear tidy. At the moment there is still some dye left in it from several months ago. I have only colored my hair once since moving here, since I left my trusted stylist back in the States. Coloring it here was a mistake as it came out with red tones that don't suit me. In this humidity, and with the consistent presence of a big floppy hat to protect me from the sun beaming right through the hole in the ozone, my hair is basically a hot mess. 

I come to the end of these November days completely worn out. My toenails are too long and have chipped polish on them. I'm out of the right facial products. Every day I'm trying to choose clothes that look nice when I'd just like to walk around with a cotton sack on because of the heat. Basically I am meeting teacher after teacher, and parent after parent feeling completely unpolished, and unstylish. 

This is unusual for me. I love clothes and fashion and even though I'm a mom with three kids five and under, and I run around wiping noses and bottoms all day, I care about how I look. I may not pay much for the clothes I wear (since the kid mess ends up on my clothes every day), but I still care. I haven't gone the way of the mom uniform...yet. 

I guess I just wonder if this is what I'm in for next year? A whole year of double drop offs and pick ups that leave me running around, haggard and unkempt, just trying to slice up enough fresh veggies for my kids' lunch boxes? Am I going to become one of those women that completely lets herself go to put her kids first?

You know what I mean. Those moms who haven't had a proper haircut in who knows how long! When did I last get my hair cut? I can't quite remember...

To You, Daughter, When You Became Four

Darling Sproutje,

It was on the trip to Currarong that I saw you, contrasted against your friend, and the lines and colors of your person-hood were so clear that I laughed. You, always in a dress, always deep in make-believe, always looking for beauty, and finding it.

You might not remember, but I think I always will, the day we collected shells on the beach.

From one end of the beach to the other - from cliff to jetty there were millions and billions of tiny shells. The whole beach was shells. When our happy party broke from the bush line, out of the trees, and onto the beach, in expectant search of a shipwreck, you plopped down and focused on all those minuscule delights. We tried to persuade you to come see the shipwreck, to explore, to continue, but you were too deep into the world of sea shells. You learned the word "iridescent" and have used it appropriately and passionately ever since. You filled up a large bucket, one by one, and were later beside yourself with grief when they were upset into the dirt path and you wailed "It will be so hard to wash all of them!"

You are so fierce, and I have it recorded in numerous pictures - you yelling straight into the camera with all the savagery and braveness of a ruler. While I protect you, I do not fear for you in the world, or your place in it. I have seen you, often enough, wade into a crowd of boys and girls heads taller than you, to make a place for yourself.

Like at Small Sun's Grandparents' Day concert, where I couldn't find you anywhere, and realized you must be up front, singing with your brother, despite the fact that you are not a student at the preschool and do not know the songs. A tiny shimmer of golden hair next to your brother's shoulder confirmed my suspicions.

And you are also kind. Really, very, wonderfully kind in a way that makes my heart sing. 

Sometimes your brother asks you for things he shouldn't. Sometimes I want to draw a line for you to say "you don't need to give him that," but I see how big your heart is to offer him what is yours, with no consideration at all. I see how you respond to him when he is hurting, how you offer a hug and a pat and kind words. You are only small, but you are a very big person.

 Today we were meant to go to the beach. We had a wonderful party planned. When it rained all week, and was still raining this morning, we changed plans and had a beach party inside instead. 

We had our morning tea boxes on beach towels in the living room, instead of the sand. 

We feasted on beachy cupcakes, and you were thrilled with the whole event, even though the beach party you had been anticipating for weeks, was rained out. You're that kind of girl.

At the end of the day, while I was filling the washer with laundry, you were wandering around the garden saying "I miss my friends. I wish they could all be here forever!" And, on the way home from eating Mexican food for dinner, your voice rang out from the backseat "can I go to school tomorrow? I want to go to school!"

You see, you're the first thing that stayed in my womb and grew and grew and grew until at four in the morning, after 28 hours of travel, you emerged smooth, and white, with the rosiest lips. In my mind's eye everything is dark except your white, white skin, and that pinkest mouth. 

And now, you're such a big girl, as big as the three story dollhouse I painted and wallpapered and sewed for, only to position it at the end of your bed while you were sleeping so that you would wake up to it on your birthday morning. When you did, you hugged me and said "I dreamed two dreams last night. One was a dollhouse, and one was a horse and it kissed me!"

You are a dreamer, and you are perfect. You are four, and I love you.

Mommy