You are recently three-and-a-half years old, so it’s probably time to write your three-year-old letter. If I need a valid excuse for my belatedness, I had a baby in the middle of a pandemic, five days before your birthday this past April.
Yes, you turned three in the middle of a global lockdown. On your birthday, we picked up donuts on a cold and cloudy morning and ventured to the beach with your tiny new sister in tow. We came home to play with new Magnatiles in front of a cozy fire, and I let you drink/spill hot chocolate all over the living room to celebrate. I made you cupcakes for after dinner and we used leftover decorations from your second birthday party to embellish them. Three is an age where you are easily impressed and have no recollection of last year’s celebration. Thankfully, your love of dogs has persisted for a year and counting. And you didn’t even mind that the cupcakes were made from a box of nasty pink cake that your dad picked up when the grocery stores were running out of food in March. He was smart; there was still no flour to be found by your birthday a few weeks later.
Recounting the strange weeks around your third birthday, weeks marked by scarcity, isolation, and uncertainty, reminds me that you hardly knew the difference. You didn’t know the grocery stores were out of food. You didn’t know it was illegal to have a celebration with anyone beyond the members of your own family. You didn’t know that our quick jaunt to the beach on a cold Monday where no one else was around was probably judged as dangerous by many.
In fact, during COVID-19, you have lived up to your name. Eisley means “cheerful” and it describes you perfectly. Always happy. Ready to go with the flow. Over the summer, even as restrictions reigned, we traveled to Texas, Washington, and Wyoming. You played with cousins, went inter-tubing on the lake, and rode a horse with glee. I’ll think back on this summer fondly, with images of you in a Minnie Mouse swimsuit, sugar on your face, pigtails in your hair.
As fall approached, I began to drive you past your new preschool, the one you would start after Labor Day. It’s near our house, so I would point it out on the way to and from our errands. “There’s your new preschool, Eisley!” “Look at the fun playground.” It would be your first time going to school without Talitha by your side. You’ve never been tentative or shy, but you’ve also never gone to a new environment all by yourself. “No new school!” you would exclaim from the back seat. In the weeks leading up to school, you were adamant that you did not want to go. You wanted to go to your old school with Talitha — not possible — or you wanted to stay home.
However, on the first day of preschool, your dad and I dropped you off in your cute little dress with your new backpack strapped to your back. You walked right in, unsmiling, but without much hesitation. You walked out six hours later with the biggest grin. It only took you one day to fall in love with your teacher. You love to help in your classroom, you come home singing new songs, and you now pout on days your older sisters get to attend school and you do not. You would go five days a week if you could.
At your school harvest party last week, you wanted to take a picture with your teacher. I told you to walk across the courtyard and ask her with a big voice. You marched right over and made your request. Now you walk around saying “Me not shy. Me brave!” We still have to work on your pronouns, but we do not have to work on your courage.
I love you, brave girl. Just like your name suggests, you are a bright spot even when the world seems dark.
Mama
