the leek, papa, the leek!

Dear Olive,
At my Dads a few weeks back, we had somewhat of a smelly water emergency when a pipe overflowed. I yelled out for you to get Dad to help me - mopping up a flood of stinky water ain't easy with an inquisitive toddler! But Dad was in his room and couldn't hear you, so (unbeknown to me) you raced off, put pen to paper, and slipped a note under his door that read "the leek, Papa, the leek!". Oh, how we laughed.
We've arrived at the wonderful world of notes. I'm ever so pleased to be here.

A selection of your paperwork from the past couple of months below, although I'm absolutely cursing that I can't find the one about how horrible Shane and I are, & said that you were just crying & crying! (Complete with a picture of you in jail while the rest of us went to a fair!)

noc noc

Dear Olive,
I found this on the floor of your room when I was tidying up this morning.
Needless to say, we are on a slow limp towards the end of term.

after school

Dear Olive,
School. Far out, it's been quite shocking to me to see how full of regimen and rules and lining up and concentration it is. 
But then, after school, there's this (there must be this): freedom.

week one

Dear Olive,
After a slightly rocky* first morning, you sailed through your first week of school. You love it! (As I suspected you might.)
But we miss you, CC and I. Before this week we filled our days with play dates and activities all revolving around you and it's been a quiet old week for the two of us**. 
I'm really looking forward to the weekend, I said yesterday. You looked at me and said I'm not. I'm looking forward to Monday.
*You sobbed. It took me completely by surprise and I couldn't help but shed a tear as well.
**Although, to be honest, Clancy has been enjoying the unfettered access to your room.

endings and beginnings

Dear Olive,
There were tears all round when we dropped you off at school for the first time. It took me completely by surprise, and I felt forlorn and worried for the rest of the day. But, of course, you were all smiles when I picked you up - you were even awarded a sticker for great behaviour, and are (apparently) looking forward to going back tomorrow. Wait, tomorrow? It was such a big build up to today, it half feels like it's 'over' and not at all that we have to get back up and do it again tomorrow ... and then the day after that, and the day after that ... I think I'll need some time to adjust - and most likely you will, too. Because while today marks an exciting new and momentous beginning, it feels like something important has also ended. 
Education is a gift, and I'm so excited to see what you do with yours.

big school

Dear Olive,
You had your first transition to kindergarten day this week. The night before, you told me how nervous you were feeling about it and had a little cry that I couldn't come with you. I told you I was nervous too, and wished I could be there as well! But that I was excited for you, too. (And, really, how wonderful it is that you can express your feelings to me like that now.)
In the morning, I made sure we got ready in plenty of time and the walk to school was relaxing and enjoyable and we bumped into your one friend you know going to your school along the way. I just couldn't tell how you were going to handle it, and after standing around for ages, you just said 'bye Mum' and with a quick wave and no expression on your face, my tiny little girl was swept off in a sea of parents and children. I couldn't even see you walk into the building through the crowd; I just stood there weeping like an idiot. Except, all the parents were weeping, so that part was ok. Three hours later, you came pelting up from the playground, excitedly yelling MumMumMumMum and I knew immediately that you're going to do just fine at this whole school thing. (When you told me that you put your hand up during the teachers discussion about differences to mention that if we were all the same, we wouldn't be able to tell anyone apart, I wondered why I was even worried in the first place?)
I loved school, mostly the social aspect of it, but I am well aware that the type of learning environment offered in a state school in new south wales will not suit everyone. But I'm hoping we can make the most of it. And now we're both looking forward to it all getting started next January.

- This is one of the best TedEx talks I've seen Ken Robinson on how schools kill creativity. (He's got a heap of Ted talks which I'm planning on getting through - as much for his hilarious delivery as his ideas.)
- 12 things you were not taught in school about creativity.
- And - how unbelievably organised of me - I've started a "school lunches" folder where I'm saving lunchbox ideas. In there so far is this fruit whip, this article and how good do these look.

f i v e

Dear Olive,
It was raining when we brought you home from the hospital. You'd entered the world just four hours before, at ten minutes to ten am, and Shane dropped you and I off outside the building while he drove off to find a park. He seemed to take ages, and as you and I lay on the bed and looked at each other, I couldn't quite believe that I had grown this tiny, foreign, beautiful girl. I felt beyond lucky that you belonged to me, and I to you.
Five years later and I laugh at how small my dreams were for you that day. How could I possibly have imagined you up as you are today. You laugh loud and live big. You're hilarious, and smart, and an excellent drawer. You're enthusiastic, and social, and you love building lego (the girly, princessy type, thank you!). You're outspoken, and you wipe off my kisses (but that will never deter me). You love singing and swimming and dancing, and you are fierce in your love for Clancy. I have never ever seen anyone wear more clashing patterns and colourful ensembles than you. You're everything I hoped you would be, and ever so much more. And it wouldn't even matter, anyway, because if motherhood has taught me anything, it's been to let go of my expectations; I'm delighted and grateful to be able to just watch you be you, whichever way that takes you.
The night before your birthday, we left some balloons in your bedroom while you slept, and it was such a fun beginning to a great day of celebrating. There were presents and cake, and we had a few friends over for a birthday play date with musical statues and fruit wands. I was so excited to celebrate you and make a fuss, I know it's been such a huge year for you, in many ways you've taken a back seat since Clancy came along. But the way it's gone so far, five feels like it'll be your year. And it really does feel big. I nearly fell over when I watched you introduce your friends to each to other at your birthday playdate - as if you'd been introducing people your whole life.
Happy birthday, my darling girl, I love you.

4!

Dear Olive,
Today, you are 4! Shane and I crept in and woke you up singing happy birthday and you declared your foots were definitely bigger than the day before. It was a superb day that included presents, a kindy party, and ice cream in a restaurant; it's been so, so special for Shane and I to celebrate you. So happy happy happiest number four to you, my darling girl. You are an absolute joy, the funnest of the fun, the light of our lives. You are our heart on the outside. And boy oh boy oh boy, do we love you.

PS My friend made you that beautiful birthday crown. You love it so much you wore it to bed.

Television

Dear Olive,
On my first day of high school, the same thing occurred in a few of my classes. As the teacher went through the names calling the role, they stopped at mine and looked up at me. Ah, Kellie, yes. I think I met your Mum last night at the P&C meeting. She was a formidable force when it came to standing up for what she believed in, apparently. (Can you imagine how popular I was in the playground as a Year 7, when it got out it was MY Mum petitioning to remove junk food from the canteen?)

A few weeks back, I went to my first parent-teacher night at your little kindy. There, I don't have to fight the good fight. There, it's the principal trying to ban something; tv watching in her students. It generated quite a heated discussion amongst the parents on the night, and it's something I've thought a lot about since. What is the place in our lives for tv, ipads, computer games? And what is the impact of their use on you? Basically, your teachers belief is that watching tv restricts the imagination of the kid. Full stop. And she is vehemently opposed to any toys and paraphernalia associated with commercial tv shows.

It's certainly given us something to think about, in terms of your screen use. We didn't introduce tv until after you were two, and it's not an everyday thing (right now you're in a phase where you barely watch any), but it probably averages out to a couple of hours of screen time every week, including a few apps and games you like to play on the iphone. An amount which I suppose I've seen as fairly inconsequential, in the whole scheme of your full, active, imaginative life.

On the flip side, tvs and computers and iphones play a pretty large part in my own life. Most nights, Shane and I sit on the lounge and watch the news, 7:30 Report, and whatever comes on after that on the ABC until we go to bed. (Sadly, it appears I'm turning into my parents.) And we both zone out on the computer and iphone for large chunks of our day, too. When I was a kid, we had fairly restricted access to tv. We weren't really allowed to watch it during the week, but we could tape shows to watch on the weekend. (I used to tell my parents I was going to study in our old caravan ... and then secretly watch neighbours and home and away on the old black and white tele in there.) While we had a computer, there was only one, and it had to be shared between all five of us. (Admittedly, we were all addicted to tetris.) 

Your teacher has asked everyone at kindy to pledge a screen free week. And she wants us parents to get involved, so we can make it a movement to go beyond the week. A movement for change, to return to a natural childhood. She certainly puts forward a pretty convincing argument for it.

How do tv and screens fit into your family life? Want to join us for a screen free week, too?

Photos: You came up with the list of things we can do instead of playing with screens. Some recent drawings - a family portrait with all your cousins on the brown paper bag, and jellyfish upon jellyfish upon jellyfish. And your name! (Well, most of it.) It pops up everywhere these days.

Martian & Friends

Dear Olive,
I realised I haven't made a proper mention on here of a whole group of people who play a rather significant part in your everyday life. (Once, way back here, I said I'd save it for another letter, so here it is, almost 12 months on.) I don't really recall the circumstances in which Martian came into our life. One day, she didn't exist. The next, we were opening car doors and setting an extra place at the dining table for her. It was just her for a while, but sometime around the middle of last year, her story grew bigger. Martian has a sister called Carrotty. Martian has a dog called Bella. Martians Mum died. Martians been on a roller coaster. Martian has a friend called Rainbow. Anything you haven't done or seen or eaten or tried, Martian has. And if not Martian, then Carrotty. You tell long and elaborate stories about each of them. They all came to Mexico with us, you know. And when we go out walking, you often have Bella on a lead. Shane and I have to wait for you sometimes ... sit, Bella, sit. She's incredibly disobedient that martian dog. It's endlessly entertaining for us all.

Photos: Talking up some tall tales at the park, and a tattoo you drew on me of Martian (with one eye) holding a balloon.

This is ...

Dear Olive,
This is what it looks like when a three year old applies lipstick  to themselves for the first time. Using a highlighter pen.

Two Things

Dear Olive,
THING ONE. You've learnt how to lie. Consistently. Which is in equal parts hilarious and terrifying. To hear you, wide eyed, assure me that Shane said you could have a big serve of ice-cream (when I heard him say you could have a small one!) is a sight to behold.
THING TWO. Zillions is your word of the moment. And you use it in all sorts of hilariously inappropriate ways. I'm a monster and I'm zillions of scary. Is it a long drive to Coffs? Yes. Is it zillions? I love you zillions, Dad. It's, well, it's zillions of cute is what it is. 

(As I am still without a camera, I'm having to resort to using old photos. Filthy mirror and all.)

Dance!

Dear Olive,
It's all about dance.

Once Upon A Star

Dear Olive,
We picked out five photos representing the three years of your life. We baked a sugar free spelt banana cake, and topped it with whipped cream and berries. You chose a bunch of flowers. You wore a birthday cape and a crown. And laid out stars to walk on, with the rest of the class watching. You sat on the birthday throne. And BEAMED. I felt the emotion too. The story about the angels taking you by the hand and leading you over the stars to us, your family, gave me tears.

And so did the flowers you picked out. Yellow tulips. They were my Mums favourites.

I'm falling more and more in love with your preschool every week.

Hair Today

Dear Olive,
You were born with a decent covering of soft, dark hair. Which promptly fell out.
When you turned one, you were still pretty close to bald, with just a hint of possibility peeping around from behind your ears.
By the time you turned two, you were sporting a show stopping, bona fide mullet. Nothing at the front, and a cascade of curls partying down the back.
Now, a week out from turning three, a full head of hair including a fringe (and with no less than seven dreadlocks at the back) looks up at me from where I sit.
Oh, how far you've come in three short years! I couldn't be more proud of that knotty little bob(ish) of yours. And even though I'm yet to wrap my head around the enormity of turning three, I'm so excited there's a lifetime of hairstyles still to come.

Birth and One taken by the every lovely Prue Upton
Two taken by Shane
Three by me

Water & Walks & More Kites

Dear Olive,
When the chips are down, and life's feeling crazy, it is so nice to have you around to remind us to find delight in the simple things in life. Like the fact that water comes out of the end of a hose. And that we live only two minutes away from the most beautiful place. And that the wind lifting a kite into the sky is incredible. But it's also great to be able to remember that it's ok to cry about some big, important things, too. Like your kite flying away and getting stuck in a tree. Or being hit in the head by a pine cone that you threw in the air yourself.