Notes for my Grade Three Girl

It will probably be a long time (if ever) before you read and understand this, but I wanted to give you some words (since I have lots) on this the day before the day before the start of grade three.

Like my birthday just past, the advent of grade three shouldn’t be too traumatic. You managed kindergarten, began to thrive in grade one, and positively owned grade two. You’ve warmed up to this whole ‘organized’ school thing, just like we dared to hope you would. For the first time, this year you want to opt out of lunchtime choir, just to have more playtime with friends! That’s amazing, and we are so proud of you. (but, you’re still going to choir. because it’s a great opportunity. because it will be fun. BECAUSE I SAID SO.)

You probably don’t know it, but you are entering the glory days of girlhood. Humour your ancient mother while she tells you some great things about being a third-grader.
You can read (like a banshee) as much as you like, and there are some awesome books out there, all about girls your age.
It’s a time for exploring everything–following up on ideas, learning random facts about anything that strikes your fancy.
Creativity reigns. Write. Paint. Make collages or lanterns or working models of various farm vehicles.
You’re old enough to have goals, and achieve them. You’ve decided to run the Kids’ Sun Run, and you will. You want to learn new songs on the violin. You will. (insert nagging mother comment about practising here)
There is social space to be friends with everyone.
You can dream big dreams. You want to be an artist/builder? Go for it. You’ve already selected your university? cool. (is it nearby? is it a ‘party’ school?)
The world is full of incredible possibilities, and you are old enough to sense that.

Being in Grade Three is going to be awesome. My independent little soul, may you continue to open your heart to us, and to the world.
We love you.

no, you may NOT quit choir.

On this, the eve of kindergarten

I pause to think of all the things I wish for you, and for you to know, in the coming year. Of course they’ve all been said before, but somehow, they still need saying.
from me. to you.

First, because I’m your mother, I wish for your safety–no big spills or chills. I also hope that you feel safe, too, that you know with certainty that I am always coming back, even if (very occasionally) I’m running a little late.

Next, I hope that you feel known and understood. It’s tricky sometimes; not everybody will ‘get’ your humour, or find you as droll as we do. But you’ve got a lot of great stuff going on, so keep at it. There will be friends.

Try listening. This is difficult work for you, and for me, but we can do it. I know we can. There are times for explaining your great, magical, fantastical, and totally comprehensive ideas to all within earshot, but there are also times for stillness. for hearing the amazing and hilarious things other kids are saying (probably about farts). for absorbing the wonder of a brand new story, or hearing how those ABC’s you’ve been singing for years actually make up all the words that keep pouring out of your face. it’s good times, so listen up.

And that learning stuff. It’s going to blow your mind. there are so many things you can figure out and find out, that an entire cosmos of amazement is opening up, even now. It will be intense, and I’ll be here to hear all about it (and about the fart stuff, too).

Laugh. laugh. laugh. laugh.
just not at your teacher.

Ask big kids for help if you need it. They are less scary than they look (and that includes your sister).

Eat your lunch.
All of it.
Even the vegetables.

Above all, know that your dad and i love you (and that ‘scary’ sister) beyond all things. And our love is just a raindrop in an ocean compared with how much God loves you, too. Carry all that love around with you in your heart, and you are more than ready for kindergarten, more than ready for anything.

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