Happy Third Birthday, Mina

Happy Birthday, Mina.

Today you are three years old, and over this past year, so much more of your enormous personality has come bursting through. You have gone from saying only a few words to carrying on full conversations and surprising us with the funniest little expressions, like holding up one index finger and announcing, “I have an idea.” You have grown taller, more independent and so much more aware of everything happening around you. You are still as skinny as can be and still very much our wild woman, but there are moments when the way you speak, listen and understand makes you seem far older than three.

What amazes me most is not simply how much you have learned, but how deeply you take in the world. You notice everything. You remember what people tell you, what they do with you and the meaning you felt within the moment.

“Some children do not simply
 pass through a moment; they gather it 
into themselves and carry it forward.”

You remember walking through the woods with your magnifying glass in March. You remember exactly where we transplanted the tiny oak sapling this spring. You remember falling and Davina coming over to lick you, and you still tell us that she was helping you.

You love to garden too, or perhaps you mostly love to dig, but at three years old that certainly counts as gardening. You love the marigolds we planted, and watching you bend down to smell a flower is one of those tiny moments that somehow becomes unforgettable. You listen, you watch and you try so hard.

The first time I showed you how to leave an offering for the spirits, it was because you had asked about the little bowls and the herbs inside them. I explained what they were and why I made them. You remembered, and now you ask if we can make an offering together. You may not yet understand everything the practice means, but you recognize that it matters to me, so it has become important to you too. You show that same care when you handle my shamanic drums and rattles. You have watched how I treat them, and you understand that they are special without needing a long explanation.

“Reverence is learned in the presence of someone who lives as though the sacred is real.”

Your imagination is as enormous as your ability to remember. Cinderella, or “Blue Eyes” as you call her, was your first favorite princess. Then came horses, dragons and your beloved Toothie, your name for Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. For the longest time, your horse, Mama Dragon, Toothie and your puppy had to go everywhere with you. They would even sit on the table while you ate. Your puppy is especially important because it once belonged to Daddy, and you make sure everyone remembers that part of his story.

Soon Godzilla and Spider-Man joined the mix, and now, of course, there is Elsa. You have been singing “Let It Go” for months, moving your arms exactly as Elsa does. Then you hold out your “magic hands,” just like hers, and use them to freeze all of us. You are Elsa, Nellie is Anna, and you will remind us whenever anyone forgets.

Of course, being Elsa does not prevent you from becoming Spider-Man and climbing out of your playhouse window. You only did it that one day, but it still makes me laugh every time I watch the video. If I tell you there is a fairy door in the big tree, you step right into that world with me. One day, while pretending to go to the store, you announced that you were buying me a bird and a bunny. Naturally, both animals then got loose, and our game became finding them again.

““Imagination is the bridge between 
the world a child is given and 
the world she is learning to create.”

You love playing in my studio, where the Pilates reformer becomes a doctor’s bed. We take turns making one another better, and after you finish treating me, you walk over to the computer to type your notes. You also love playing with Daddy’s Great Adventure toys and repeating grown-up words such as “coordination.”

Finding your voice has been one of the greatest changes of this past year. Of all the names you learned, you waited the longest to say mine. The first time you finally called for me, you were sleeping over and did not want to stay in bed. You knew exactly how to get my attention. From your room, I suddenly heard you crying, “Omie, Omie.” After waiting so long to hear you say my name, there was no chance I was not going right back to you.

For a while, I was only Omie. Then you began using Oma when I was busy and you wanted my attention immediately. Now Oma and Omie are interchangeable, and I love hearing both. For the longest time, if Daddy called me Mom, you would correct him with, “No, Oma.” Only recently have you begun to understand that I am Mom to Daddy and Oma to you, that the same person can belong to each of us in a different way. Even in this, I can see how carefully you are piecing together the relationships around you.

Yet for all the brave characters you love to become, most of the dolls in my art room completely freak you out. My little elf frightens you so much that I have to hide her whenever you come over. You will face Godzilla, become Spider-Man and believe a dragon belongs at the dinner table, but apparently, the elf is where you draw the line.

Then there is the Little Tikes car. You still insist that I push you around in it and, for reasons known only to you, refuse even to try using your own feet. Apparently, there are some things even Elsa would rather have Oma do for her.

For all that personality packed inside your tiny little body, there is an equally tender heart.

You love coming to Oma’s house to see the puppies. You adore Davina and Oren, and you have become so gentle with them. Lately, you have wanted to walk Davina on her leash, and you do such a good job. You are also friendly with other children, even those you have never met, but you are a leader rather than a follower. We could already see that in music class. You enjoy being with others, but you remain completely yourself.

The first time you met Leo, we watched that tenderness take over. Our wild woman approached her tiny baby brother so gently that even your voice became soft. Five minutes later, of course, you were back to WrestleMania with Nellie.

Before Leo was born, I would call you an Omie hog when you demanded all my attention and did not want to share me with Nellie. I would ask what you planned to do when baby Leo needed me too, and your answer was always immediate: “No, Omie mine. Mommy Leo.” The first time you saw me holding him, you began screaming, “No, Omie! No hold Leo!” But you moved through that feeling quickly. Now, if I am caring for Leo, you seem to understand that you may need to do something on your own for a little while. You watch what is happening, adjust and find your place within it.

That thoughtfulness was part of you before you could even speak. The first time Mommy and Daddy brought you swimming, before you were a year old, you cried whenever anyone went beneath the water. You seemed so worried that something had happened to them. This year, it took you a few times to trust that your life vest would hold you, but once you did, everything changed. Now you are our little mermaid, happily moving through the pool.

This has been a year of learning to trust yourself. You potty trained so quickly because you listened and tried so hard. You also moved from your crib into a big-girl bed and handled the transition so well. Only recently have you begun getting out of bed on your own. That started here at Oma’s after you had an accident. What might have seemed like a setback turned out to be exactly what you needed, because now you are beginning to get up and go potty all by yourself.

“Every new independence carries two beginnings: the child learning she can, and the adult learning to let her.”

You are also beginning to play independently and do more things for yourself. Sometimes your excitement still becomes bigger than your little body knows how to hold, but you are beginning to pause and catch yourself. Even at three, you are learning to understand all that energy moving through you and how to choose what to do with it.

You have reminded me that a child does not need words for Spirit to already be living in relationship with it. That relationship is revealed in the way a child meets the world. It is there when she understands that a dog came to help, asks about the herbs inside a little bowl, senses that an offering matters, handles a drum with care and trusts that a fairy door may be hidden in an old tree.

What we honor, children notice. What we love, they learn to love. What we allow to remain magical, they do not rush to explain away.

“Our task is not to define who a child will become, but to protect the inner knowing that will guide her there.”

Today you are three, my beautiful Mina. May you always trust what you notice and what you know within yourself. May you keep your tender heart without ever losing the strength that makes you a leader. May you continue to imagine, question, explore and follow what calls to you. May you always listen for the meaning within the smallest moments. And may you never doubt that your hands hold their own kind of magic.

Most of all, may you always know how deeply you are loved.

You were the one who made me an Oma. Three years later, you are still showing me new ways to be one.

Happy third birthday to our observant, tenderhearted, strong-willed, imaginative little wild woman.

I love you more than you could ever know.

With All My Love,

Oma