Nan Louise,
I have sat watching this cursor blink on the computer screen for awhile now. As it blinks I'm thinking about this year with you-- this life with you-- and you seem too big a personality to really capture in words and this year with you has seemed too fast. Our days together are very not big, and often slow, but you radiate from the center of them like a comet blazing through the sky. Four years ago when they laid you on my chest you were the most boisterous of any of your siblings in that moment. You not only emptied your bladder on me, but you squirmed and pushed and hollered and squeaked out different sounds. I should have known then that you would be full of life in every waking moment.
This year you had to learn what it was like to be the oldest at home. Becks went to kindergarten and during that transition you had a hard time in the quieter house, with just your brother and me. You never really wanted to be by yourself, and engaging you in something to play with so I could make lunch or do some laundry was a tall task. You always ask to "do preschool", and love when we are able to do some activities and learn something. However, you have a very short patience for trying something you aren't great at, and getting you to write a lower case A in your name took lots and lots of attempts. You are very set in your ways-- most kids at age three can be convinced to do something else if it is done enthusiastically and creatively. But not you. You know what you want to do and what you don't want to do and no amount of pomp and circumstance will make you change your mind.
You never want to be left out of what your big sisters are doing. If you even think there is a possibility they could be laughing at you, you can't stand it. There is a big difference between a new 8 year old [Blythe] and a new 4 year old [you], but you have some great sister, and very rarely get left out of anything. They go out of their way to include you, and while you have a friend in anyone you meet, you really value and love their friendship.
You are incredibly social though with everyone. Right now is a weird time in our world-- the Coronavirus has required us to shelter in place and everything is shut down. Every "church day" you are sad again that you don't get to go play with your friends [that's your big outing every week since you're usually just home with me... mine too!]. However, the gift that this time has given you is more time with Blythe and Becks, and for that you seem to be just fine with. You also do not discriminate friendships by age. You think you are just as much a best friend with your one year old brother, your 10 year old neighbor, your 60-70 year old grandparents, and our retired neighbors. Just yesterday, from out of no where, you said, "I like to watch the news with Russell" [our neighbor]. But you know what? I think all those people find you equally entertaining.
Quiet you are not. You are not just physically loud-- running and bumping and falling and tumbling everywhere-- you are also just loud in general. Your voice carries incredibly fall and has only one octave: HIGH! Sometimes at supper time we have to just tell you to stop making noise because you are not even saying words but just making sounds for the joy of hearing your own voice.
Your fuse is short. And what I mean by that is, it is short for every emotion. There is no filter through which you decide if you should be sad or mad or happy or crazy... it just flips in an instant if that emotion or thought crosses your mind. You can go from laughing to crying in two seconds, but you can also go from crying to laughing. We don't feel like we have to tiptoe around your emotions, because we know you'll swing back to crazy joyful before we have time to process why you're crying in the first place. This isn't in an unstable way, either. It's just in such a way that I think all of us should be free to let our emotions express themselves-- we all feel the emotions you show in a day, it's just that the rest of us have learned to mask them. Your mask is off, sweet girl.
I always try and write down fun things that you say, and I'm glad I did because you make us laugh in the best ways. Here were some of our favorites this year: You always say "sidwards out", "cornbine" [instead of combine], and "for tend" [instead of pretend], and "reesa pieca" [reeses pieces]. You say "who body" instead of just who, and "a little some" instead of a little bit. You call candy canes "candy cans", and you once told your dad you wanted to play "Nazi!" [Yahtzee]. Once when I was putting you to bed you said, "No mom! Stay and talk to me." When I asked you what to talk about you said, "Jesus. Or whatever you want." When cutting strips of paper one day you looked up so proudly and said, "Look! I did it purfully!" At supper we like to play Guess Who or I Spy, and one night you were the spier and after lots and lots of guesses, none of us could get it. We asked you to give us a hint and you said, "It's between one and five!" We all started laughing and you said, very frustrated, "What?! I don't even know what a hint is!"
You went through a phase where you only wanted me to read you "Are You My Mother?" But every single time I got to the portion about the baby bird running frantically and asking that question-- especially when the Snort picks him up-- you would just burst into sobs. You would rip your glasses off and wipe your tears. I would assure it was going to be okay, every time. And you would start to settle in a bit when the Snort brought baby bird back to the nest, but then when the mom comes back? The reunion was another emotional experience for you and you were back to tears. We would finish the book, I would hug you, and you inevitably would ask me to read it again.
Nan, three is just one of the best ages. It is filled with a lot of hard too, but I am really sad to see it coming to an end with you. I know all the other ages with you will be wonderful and jam packed with laughs and hilarity and emotions and triumphs. And I know that somewhere deep inside you at any age will be the little three year old girl we so enjoyed spending our days with this year. One of the traits we have prayed for for you since the beginning was generosity. You don't have a lot of tangible things to be generous at this stage in your life, but you have always been generous with yourself. You give others your FULL self, every time. And that is a gift. I think it is something we see Jesus doing in the Gospels, as well. He always gave whoever was in front of him his total attention and his full person. I love that you have taught me this about our Savior already. As wild and crazy as you are, it is evident you are made in his image.
When we got done taking your pictures the other day you said to me on the way home, "That was just a laughin' time, Mom!" And that's what this whole year with you has been: a laughin' time. I think you have a special kind of fire that burns in you, Nan. I really mean that. It burns hot and free. I pray that it would always keep burning as fiercely, but I also pray that you always let God be in control so that it does not become a wildfire that causes damage. May you let Him stoke its flames, because I believe you will do great things with it and will love others intently and intensely all your days.
As I have ended all birthday letters, I want to end this one to you, sweet Nanny Lou: We hope you understand the why behind our no-s. We hope you feel safe in the boundaries we set. We hope you feel freedom in the wide open places we leave for you. We hope you see God in our actions and in our words. We hope when you leave our little home for good and go out on your own that you'll look back on this simple little life we had together-- chaos and mistakes and messes and all-- and see that it was Grace that held us together; that you see that it was God's daily bread that provided it all.
We love you, Nan Louise. There is nothing you could ever do that would make us stop loving you.
Happy fourth birthday!
