Dear Elli,
Tomorrow you will be six. Six?!?!? What the hell happened? I'm serious. I really don't know what happened. I just re-read the letter I wrote to you last year. It feels like I wrote it yesterday.
You're sitting in the bathtub talking to me right now. You're telling me that I really need to go to the cemetary and put flowers on my grandmother's grave. I have no idea how this topic came up, but you are pretty adamant that we should do this very soon. We have truly bizarre bath time conversation.
But I'm watching you as I type this letter from my perch on the lid of the toilet seat. This is the spot where I write most of my letters to you, while you take your bath.
You're laying down to get your hair wet, and you are nearly as long as the tub. How did you get so tall?
And now you're telling me that companies lie to people in order to "make their stuff famous". "Because America does NOT run on Dunkin'. If Dunkin' Donuts shuts down, America will still run just fine."
You have no idea how smart you are yet. How insightful. How observant. And how fast your brain makes connections. You're a great thinker, and that's a really rare trait. You'll see what I mean someday.
That's my favorite thing about you right now. You have an amazingly quick wit. You fire off with the most hilarious observations about the world, and they're almost always dead on. But you don't do it to impress anyone. You don't realize you're amazing. You're just being you. With the certainty of self that only the very young and very old can attain. And I love it.
So you're gonna be six tomorrow. And I'm wondering how many more years I've got before you stop allowing me to sit in the bathroom and talk to you while you take your bath. Probably not many.
But that's okay. You're growing up. That's what is supposed to happen. And I'm very proud of the kid you've become. I can hardly wait to see what the next year brings for you!
I love you, even though you have no regard for the power of Dunkin' Donuts' marketing strategy.
Mom
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