Letter to Audrey

Dear Audrey,

Yesterday I admired you for the first time.  I mean really, truly admired the person you are.  Now don't get me wrong.  Your Daddy and I are very proud of you.  And we've been awestruck by you hundreds of times in your nearly three and a half years of living.  But yesterday, I saw you in a different light and I...respected you.  Not just because you're a child of God and you deserve basic respect like any human being.  But because I saw a glimpse of who you're becoming and it struck a chord with me that I'll never forget.

I know this may not make any sense.  I tried very hard to explain it to your Daddy last night and I think he got it.  At least, he acted like he did.  But sometimes that's just code for, "it's really late.  Can we go to bed now?"  He knows I can be a bit dramatic at times.  I mean, after all, this particular chord-striking did occur at your basic preschool pizza party.  How earth-shattering could it have been?

For me, though, it was a very big deal.  As I stood there attempting to slice pizza with the dullest of knives (guess they don't keep too many sharp things around for obvious reasons), I watched you and your classmates file in from the playground.  You stood there quietly, waiting in line to wash your hands.  At the sink, I finally caught your eye and gave you a wink.  Your grin lit up the room.  You walked over and sat down near me, but didn't say hello or give me a big hug.  I gave you a small wave as Mrs. Lindsy started talking about the letter P and the sound it makes.  (Something, by the way, you've been well aware of for at least 18 months, but bragging on your intelligence is for another time.)

After the lesson, we started passing out "P" foods and I kept an eye on you.  You were quiet, but polite, as each helper walked by and asked if you wanted that particular thing.  As I hurried around refilling pink lemonade and giving Alex his third slice of pizza (someone cut that kid off!), I watched you carefully.  None of the children in the room were really talking to one another.  I know it's still a bit early to expect a lot of deep conversations from that age group, but I thought about all the meals you and I have shared and all the chatter that takes place then.  I knew your mind was busy thinking and I was a little saddened that I didn't know what about.

After lunch, I helped stuff the kids' folders with their artwork from the day.  Mrs. Lindsy called two or three kids at a time to get their folder and put it in their backpack in the hall.  You waited patiently until your name was called and then did what you were supposed to.  You came back in and found a spot to sit criss-cross applesauce on the carpet for group time.  Mrs. Lindsy began talking about God's creation and all the things He made, including pumpkins.  As she cut off the top of your class pumpkin, she explained the purpose of the seeds inside.  She held it and went around the circle, asking if anyone wanted to put their hand in and feel the goopy, stringy stuff.  You watched intently with your hands clasped tightly together in your lap.  "No way is she gonna go for that," I told myself, especially after the three kids right before you all shook their heads no and talked about how yucky it was.  She stopped in front of you.  You paused.  Then you slowly extended your hand and stuck it right smack in the goop.

At this point you must think I'm officially crazy.  "So THAT'S it, Mom?  You admire me for using good manners and sticking my hand in a pumpkin?!"

No.  I admire you because I realize how hard it must be to be three years old and be thrown into a class of strangers, most of whom don't speak very well yet.  I admire you for following directions without having to be asked fifteen times like Brian or Michael were.  I admire you because of all you've adapted to in such a short time.  I admire you because you are brave.  I admire you because even though your Mommy was in the class, you clearly didn't need me to be.  I admire you because you are mature.  I admire you because you can think for yourself and you didn't cave under the "yucky pumpkin" pressure.  I admire you for thriving in that little world in which I really have no control over or daily part in.  You're becoming a little girl.  An individual.  And a really, really awesome one at that.

I heard a sermon recently that challenged parents to raise children to become adults that they'd want to be friends with.  Not to befriend the child now, but to have that goal in mind.  Yesterday, I saw the glimpse of a person I'd definitely like to be friends with one day.  I've known you're smart and beautiful and funny.  But yesterday, I learned you are also marvelous in so many other ways.  And so I marveled.

Keep up the good work, Sugar.

I love you,

Mommy
xoxoxo