lulu letters: winter 2025

Dear Lulu,

Oh, my most passionate human…You are 4 ½ today. Is that more than “four and four inches?” Or, unlike the path from 3 to 4, do we skip inches and move right to “four and four-quarters” after 4 ½? I’ll defer to you on this one.

Have I mentioned your passion? It has the power of a thousand suns. You are a force, and I want to encourage you to always share your voice. Goodness knows it’s easily quashed over time. Yes, you love to wield your “POWOS!” (powers) You throw up claw hands and scrunch up your face, fierce as can be.

We’re just working on not hitting the top-decibel level quite as often.

You are a wild woman. Your dance moves—and shoulders and little hips—bring instant joy. Sometimes I start sing-talking and you automatically start rocking your hips from side to side.

And then there’s your Mother Teresa side. The way your little hands reach out when I kiss you goodnight before you pull me into your chest to sing me a song. The way we sing Tomorrow and Maybe together, and how you want me to hold and rock you for Maybe. The way you say, out of nowhere, “I love my family.” And how, when we ask you how much, you wrap your arms behind your back and say, “Dis muts.”

You’re so emotionally aware. We start a dinner table exercise, inspired by your Aunt Jen's family: high and low. “What was a high and low of your day?” You now sometimes initiate it yourself. Your highs usually involve something related to food on your plate, something about your day, and/or gratitude related to someone special. The lows are always the “meat” of the conversation.

One evening during drop-off, Mema mentions a few intense emotional outbursts during your day together. You open this conversation at dinner that night, telling us your experiences. "I cried a lot today..."

We're still wading through taking responsibility. "Mama, you hought my feelins! I don't like when you say those wohds!"..."Well, I didn't care for you yelling at me and slamming the door in my face."

Every day is a dream come true. How you ask for some of my “wose perfume” (rosewater spray), and how I spray some on your scrunched-up-eyes-closed face. How you leap into our arms at the end of the day and say, “I missed you so muts.” How you call for me at night—because I’m your mama.

• The way you automatically replace the empty TP and start the new roll by pulling it down a bit. 

• The way you whisper in my ear at restaurants, slightly unsure, “Mama, can I get cow’s milk?” Because we don’t have it at home. Just last night at Atlas, you said, “Not reguhlo milk.” I replied, “What’s regular milk again?” You replied, “Like…almond milk…” 

• The way you take a full 15 minutes to eat a piece of chocolate, licking it like a lollipop to savor it to the utmost.

Mema sends a photo of one of her sheets with a small and perfect heart cut out of it. I mean, not a great idea to cut a hole in Mema’s blanket without asking, but all of it—the perfect little heart, the sentiment, the fact that you did it so carefully—leaves us speechless.

• Some favorite words and phrases: 

  • like: You’re a Valley Girl. “I was like, all, like, weady to go!” Hands flipping as you speak.

  • definitely (That is definitely not gonna wohk.)

  • complicated

  • literally (I litewally could not believe it.)

  • sewiously (Stop laughin. Sewiously! Stop laughin…)

  • 1,043 (= a lot or very, as in how tired you are, how much you love you us…)

  • loads (also = a lot, as in “I had loads of fun.”)

And your hand gestures. Such gesticulation. Palms up with a shrug. Palms up in emphatic disbelief. Hands flipping. Pointing “Yes!” when we guess your charades word.

And your facial expressions! The way you raise your eyebrows to say, "See? I told ya." or "That's it! That's the wight way." Your stone-cold mad face. The way you shape your mouth into the most pathetic underbite in preparation for a cry. How I marvel at you and Papa focusing on something together, both of your tongues sticking out a bit between your lips. That dimple when you smile or laugh and blind us with your light.

So clearly my daughter in so many ways. So clearly your Papa's daughter in others.

---

Math:

• That’s a lot of money. Three money.

• I love a lot…Like…one-fousand fohty-free

Belief:

• “Unicorns are like my favorite flyin animal.”

• Papa: “Oh, that’s nice”

• “Ow unicorns real animals?”

• “Of course they are!”

• “Oh. Well, I’ve never seen one for real.”

Trust:

We're coloring a picture of a grandfather clock, and you ask what color it is.

Trying to stimulate your imagination, I say, "Well...they're often brown, but they can be black, white, blue, green...or painted any color!"

You paint one section, then ask me what color the other section is.

I repeat what I said before.

You hesitate, then say, somewhat sassily, "Mama, do you not know what color it is?"

Exercise:

“What do you like to do when you work out?” 

“I like to lift weights.”

“And why do you do that?”

“Because it makes my bones stwon.”

Negotiation: 

• Okay, here’s the plan: Tomorrow we have milkshakes. And then the next night—if we CAN, cause it’s a really big plan—we have sundaes. If we CAN. Plan? (You hold your hand out for Papa to shake.)

• “Would you like some more fruit?”...”Not at the moment.”

• Emmylou, can you bring your plate to the sink?…No thank you…Well, we help each other in this family…(deadpan sass) Okay fine, I’d love to.

Manners:

• “Mama, Papa said excuse me, and you didn’t move. (I pulled my legs in so he could sneak by me to get up off the couch.) Next time you should stand up.” Busted.

Reproduction:

• In the car, out of nowhere:

  “You did not make me.”

  “I did not make you what?”

  “A pohson.” 

  “What? Yes, Papa and I made you!”

  …“Were you at the baby store?”

  “The baby store?”

  “When I was in the basket!”

  “You grew in my belly!”

  …“Oh. Dat’s wight. I forgot.”

• After I shared this with Mema, she shared this story:

“I want to be a grownup.”

“Why is that?” 

“I want to have a baby but I don’t know how.” 

(Mema to me: “Oh boy.. think I handled it ok with no mention of baskets.”

---

I still manage to jot down some words. Here we go:

• stween: string

• Nuh-Nuh Valley, then Lullaby Leap: Lullaby League, as in The Wizard of Oz

• caowd: card

• encept: except

• uhspensive: expensive

• squo-oh: squirrel (a personal fave)

• waddo: water (still…may it never shift)

• “It’s a tsohts day!” (“Shorts?...Shirts?...Oh, church!” Yup, there are the bells.) 

• (overheard imaginary play) 

  • I suppose we need to put some of these back, Hohmey. I know you want to take all of them, but we can’t. I’m sorry.

  • Dorothy, worry about yourself—not the wuby slippos.

• (reading me “Geoovicorns” [Groovicorns] “Look at they’re bows! They’re so fassonable”

• My lips ow all moistuwized.

• Well, my kisses ow powo kisses. Yo kisses ow love kisses.

• (your drawing of me and Papa) 

“Why is this one me?”

”Well, it looks like a girl.”

“What about it looks like a girl?”

“Well, I know this one looks like a dumplin…”

• I totally wemembo what it is!

• (Tender Shepherd song from Peter Pan) 

“Tendo…”

“Tender. It means gentle.”

“I wiss people were always tendo with me…I don’t want to be like the guy in the crazy poem with Bandages all ovo his face.” (Where the Sidewalk Ends poem)

• Why did you esslude me and not be gentle?

• Papa, I don’t want to have an argue…

• I’m goin to get dwessed fohst! Mama still has to do her sprays. (face spray, lotions…)

• (clucking your tongue [tch sound), as you love to do) I can’t do it too much or it dissolves the things I’m sayin…see? It dissolves at that moment.

• Then Hohmey can hide in heow, and I can hide in heow…blah blah blah…

• Papa, that’s not wight. You ow incohwect.

• Gordie lives down the street to the right because he’s a righty, and I live down the street to the left because I’m a lefty!

• (showing me your body parts book that you made, including writing the words) And this is the… little inchin (small intestine).

• Boy that Mama really likes to wohkout.

• I dust fowded.

• I wemembo them. I litewally wemembo them.

• I hope I like don’t go outside tomorrow or the next day because I’m kinda bohed (bored) of my hands being tsapped. Because my gloves ow wattopwoof but they get waddo in them. (I reply, “What?!”) I know—it’s cwazy.

• My owt foldo (art folder) was empty so I said to myself, “I think I’ll make a hundwed one seengs today!”

• Playing UNO:

  • This game is tsallenjin!

  • We keep fogeddin to win, Papa!

  • (frustrated after a close game) Nothin encept the 1!

• Do you wanna know why I’m laughin? Because you’re laughin!

• Emmylou, you colored this all by yourself?! No way….”Yes, I colored all of it!…I’m impwessed to myself.”

• Papa, I love you more than a tsintsilla…Actually, I love you the same.

• Gordie’s free (three), right?…Okay, so he still has to be free and a half, and free and free quarters, and free and free inches…He has a lot to go.

• (Singing the spring song, you repeat one line over and over again with a slight slide into the higher note) That’s my favowit paowt because I sound so beautiful.

• Speaking of which, I can’t unbuckle my seatbelt.

• (me) “You don’t need medicine! You’re not sick!”…”Okay, if you really fink so.”

• (wearing your new Vassar sweatshirt, way overdue) I think if I wear this to school tomorrow everyone—and Mema—will think I look cool.

• (getting your seatbelt on, knowing we’re kind of in a hurry) Quick—don’t russ me!

• (reading a book) I think the bear’s gonna get mean and mess awound with them…Yeah…

• (wondering about the Alice in Wonderland play we’re about to see) Well, the question I want is…How will she get small?

In a store one day, you say to Papa, “I had a bodock at Mema’s house!” He replies, completely confused, “A bodock?” You clarify, “No. A BO-DOCK.” Papa is lost. Luckily, a woman happens to be walking nearby and explains, “She’s saying BURDOCK.” In this case, Papa had never heard the word “burdock.” (Side note: What?)

We're getting ready for bed you’re sitting on the counter, being goofy after brushing your teeth, and ignoring me as I tell you it’s time for bed. I finally pull you off the counter. You scream and yell and stomp your feet. I raise my voice slightly and  say that is not okay. You storm into your room and close the door hard. 

I wait a beat before knocking quietly. You’re lying on your bed, and we calmly get your pajamas on. You’re not ready to get under the covers, and you tell me you’re going to hold your baby doll under you feel better. I tell you I’ll be back in a few minutes.

When I return, you’re lying in bed all tucked in with your friends, quiet and calm. I give you a hug. You look into my eyes and ask softly, “Can you apologize, and then I apologize?” 

I’m floored. I say, “Okay. I'm sorry that I raised my voice and I took you off the counter. You reply, “I'm sorry that I screamed and I yelled…and I really didn't want you to take me off the counter.”

How do you understand emotional language that so many adults don’t know how to use?!

---

School: You are thriving at Namaste, bringing home piles of artwork daily. You love to draw and practice writing. You create “menus” for us at home filled with letters. I watch you sit there, pencil in your (left) hand, and sound out words as you translate them to what makes sense to you on paper. “Tsa-tsa-tsa tsacolate…B-b-b-bwoccoli…P-p-p-pizza…”

You have your winter concert. Though you stand in the back row, we see you singing and gesturing the entire time. Our little cygnet (because you’re clearly a swan) leaving the nest!

We have one of your friends and her family over for Brunch, and you spend hours playing with her and her older sister. That night, you say, “I made a new fwend!” (older sister). Oh, my heart.

Aunt Lisa and Uncle Frank visit, we spend Easter with Pepa and the Perls, and you reach your signature exhaustion by 6:30 pm, randomly sighing, “I’m tired…” 

We have an oddly quiet few months in terms of travel, with the exception of our big Lulu-Mama Adventure to Denver (!!) We fly to see Ava, Casey, and baby Alden (aka Blue Tree). The image of you holding Ava’s baby…I have no words. You spend a lot of time sitting with Ava in his bedroom during nursing time. So special. Ava reconnects with Disney princesses, Casey colors for the first time in 20 years, and Alden has his first tea party. We go to two playgrounds and a science museum. You are a wild goofball with Casey and bake cookies with Ava. It is the sweetest trip. 

You are a trooper, as always. You schlep your wheeled suitcase all over giant airports: from plane to train to taxi there and all across the Charlotte airport on the way home. We hit some turbulence coming into Syracuse. I’m trying not to puke, and you’re writhing in your seat saying, “My belly…!” It’s not an enjoyable 15 minutes, but we make it, and you even manage to walk out rolling your suitcase because I don’t have enough arms to carry you.

---

Our biggest news of late: WE HAVE A CAT!!

It’s really my attempt at lowering my guilt over you being an only child—and the most caretaking child I’ve ever met. I want you to have a companion. So, we go to Alley Cat Cafe and visit a room full of cats. 

I have a few recommendations based on personality (aka snugglers who won’t mind a four-year-old’s affection). I have a vision that one cat will bond with us, but tell myself that’s idealistic. However, it happens. We coax Chili out from under a couch, and he snuggles up to us. Sold. As we carry him in his carrier down the street, we pass three people. You say, “We’re having more fun than they are because we’re getting a cat.”

Unsure of Papa’s (and our) allergies, we tell you it’s like the library: we get to take care of Chili for one month. Luckily, all goes well, and we have the joy of telling you we get to keep him forever. 

He’s getting used to our patterns, and he’s getting used to you. Your hugs are also a bit gentler than they used to be, and he tolerates you carrying him out of rooms. It’s rather incredible. He’s not a companion like Lily is, but I hope he will be. A few fun moments:

• “Tsilly always wants to play with us feather in the living room…I know, it’s so silly, isn’t it?…Yeah. Way too silly for me to understand.”

• “I’m his mama, Papa’s his papa, and your his babysitter.”

• Talking to you and Mema about how the vet said we can’t hug him too hard, I try to keep it neutral by saying, ““I’m learning, too!” You see right through me and shout, “I’m not learnin! Only you ow learnin!”

You love to lead him into your room with a feather on a stick while you get dressed. (Feathers are by far his favorite, and he carries them around like a dog—and even plays fetch with them sometimes.) Sometimes I see his little paw reaching under the door in a desperate attempt to call for help. But I know you’re right: he loves you the most.

---

You're more and more interesting in reading and writing, and it's pure joy to witness.

We read more chapter books together. We try Ramona Quimby (no go, sadly). We try Anna Hibiscus, which I had never heard of. Win. Mema reminds me about Junie B. Jones, which Zaza loved. BIG hit. Of course. For Ramona, you thumb through the pages looking for pictures. I suggest that you close your eyes and imagine. When we try Anna Hibiscus, you ask, “Is this a close-your-eyes book, too?”

I introduce you to a revered book of my childhood: The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes. As a result, for Easter, you remind me that it’s not an Easter bunny—it’s Easter bunnies. Ah, your beautiful mind. Choosing which crumbs to pick up and carry in your pocket…

Wizard of Oz is having a rebirth, and the obsession not only continues but amplifies. We dance to it together, we act it out with Papa (you’re Dorothy, Papa is the munchkins, and I’m everyone else because I know the lyrics to the songs), and you dance with your stuffed animals and dolls to it in bed at night for weeks on end. I had no idea how elaborate the production was until last night: you have a doll (Dolly Lama) for Dorothy, a deer is Toto, Hermey is the Scarecrow, and two other animals for the Cowardly Lion and Tin Man. 

Some fun moments:

• Reading a baby bottle (oz): “That says Oz!”

• In bed one night:

“I need someone with a hat for the wits…” 

I finally try a moose with big antlers, sans hat-friends. 

You consider it and finally do your little “Ts”/shoulder-shrug laugh: “That could wohk! It’s kinda funny, but that could wohk!” 

Your thinking is beyond your four years (I think?).

• Later that night, Papa tells me that you ask him:

“Papa, ow these real people, in the movie?...” 

“Of course they are!”

“What?!” Your mind is blown. 

“Yeah, they dress up as the characters.”

”What?!...I wish we could see them!”

It’s so amazing and so heartbreaking. 

• “We need a lollipop for the guil! And the scwoll!” So we make them, and you carefully direct how they’re used during our weekly reenactment. It takes poor Papa several minutes to finally get the positioning of Marilla Gorilla—aka the Cowardly Lion—correct. 

You always have a vision, and I can’t imagine how much fun Mema and Pops have watching the second generation play out: truly a mini-me as you get all the particulars just right.

We see many performances, including high school productions of Newsies (your favorite song, listened to on repeat: the rather racy That’s Rich) and Wizard of Oz, a local kids’ community theater production of Alice in Wonderland, Jr. at Hangar Theatre…and a chamber music concert. 

Yes, you and I attend a Cayuga Chamber Orchestra concert at a local church—just us and a room full of grandparents. Two trios and one quartet: piano, cello, viola, violin, oboe, and flute in various combinations. 

I make you stay for the entire performance even though you want to leave after the intermission. You continually whisper, “Is it almost over?” as you spend the second half squirming in my lap—but you impress many people around us. Two women several rows back speak us at the end: “She did such a good job!...She looked like she enjoyed it!...Thank you for bringing her.” That last one hits me. 

We finally venture to the Strong National Museum of Play in Rochester, with Mema and Pops. It’s like a Mall of America museum…overwhelming. You look like a zombie after about 90 minutes, so we take a lunch break. Their “PB&J” is a Crustables sandwich, which you’ve only had one other time: at the Atlanta aquarium. You take a few bites, comment on how sticky it is, and ignore it. Probably thinking, “That’s not food…” I hear you.

We spend time in the butterfly room. Definitely the highlight. We even saw butterflies emerging from chrysalises! Magical. Other highlights for you included walking through “Sesame Street,” shopping in a kid-sized Wegmans (which I would have KILLED FOR as a kid), and coloring fish that we then scanned and watched glide through an ocean scene projection. Now that was cool.

---

One night, you ask Papa what the biggest number is: “A million billion?” It’s a big question for a 4 ½ year old, and Papa goes deep: 

“There’s no end!”

“What?!...NO END?!”

“No matter how big the number is, I can always add one to it…and my heart loves you

infinitely. You can’t measure it.”

In her book Rising Strong, Brené Brown quotes her friend Joe Reynolds, an Episcopal priest:

“The loss of love doesn’t have to be permanent to be heartbreaking. Moving away from a loved one can break your heart. Change in another person I love may be a good thing. It may be significant personal growth, and I may be happy about it and proud of it. It can also change our relationship and break my heart.”

My heart aches daily at the beauty and joy and loss of you. So many parents tell me that every age somehow gets better, but I cannot imagine better. I want this stage to never end.

I’m struck by a question that Brown asks in her book. She says it’s not about the tiny minutiae, it’s ultimately just this: Are you the adult you want your child to grow up to be? 

I wonder if I’ll ever reach a full “Yes” on that one. Am I happy and grateful? Yes. Successful? In love and family, yes. Career/vocation-wise, I always wanted more for myself, but it serves its purpose for now: my family. Am I fulfilled? Same answer as successful. Am I too hard on myself? Most definitely yes. Am I curious? If something interests me, I dive in headfirst down the rabbit hole. Am I resilient? It usually takes me a beat, but yes: I typically rise strong. Do I try to work on myself? Yes, always. Do I succeed? Sometimes. Do I lead with love? I hope so. 

But enough about me. In short, I don’t know if my answer will ever be a resounding “Yes” because I know just how incredible you are and what can lie ahead of you. 

Not to sound like a romantic poet, but you overwhelm me. I can’t stop staring at the wonder that is your face. And your perfect little strong arms. And your perfect long skinny legs. 

I treasure these days when you want to take baths together, how you come in to snuggle and curl up into as much an humanly possible, mama and baby puzzle pieces that fit like they were made for each other—which makes sense, because I made you.

I’ve left out a million tiny pieces that make you so quintessentially you, but this letter is already way past TLDR territory, as always. (TLDR: too long, didn’t read. One of the many acronyms I’ve learned working with younger folks.)

Perhaps you will read all of these letters someday. Perhaps I’ll do something with them. Perhaps you’ll never outgrow all the magic that is you right now. 

For now, we’ll continue to cherish it all.

I love you.

Love,

Your Mama