ode to my oldest

Twelve years ago today (Wednesday), I became a mother! Not to make Kate's birthday about me, but it kinda is. I just read the (three-page) letter I wrote to Kate before she was born, I'll spare you all the details, but here is the abridged version:

March 11, 2005

Dear Kate,

Hi! It's 2005, which must seem really long ago to you, I wonder how the world has changed since now...I talk for a bit about our decision to try for kids and how we found out I was pregnant--all questionable content for a letter to one's child. I didn't think I was pregnant at first so I drank half a beer...that's two for two with the fetal alcohol. For a while I was SO tired that I couldn't clean, or grocery shop or cook. Well, I could have, but I didn't. Oh, I almost forgot, I was completely irritable during this time. There were days when everyone was so annoying to me, that I'd go home and cry because I was so annoyed. =) Crazy, eh? Your dad was so nice, and he never annoyed me. He has annoyed me since. Once.

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Your dad and I like to talk about what you'll be like, and what our lives will be like (we're a tad bit scared too, but mostly excited). You are going to be one spoiled kid...I refuse to spoil you with material things, (I'm cheap, girl, plus I can't stand spoiled kids) but you will be loved a LOT.

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You know what scares me more than anything else? The fact that when you read this, you'll be what, 10-12, 16? (I haven't decided yet.) That means I'll be 40! Ahh. That's not even funny. Man, time goes fast. Enjoy your youth, kid! Amen.

I love you,

S. (Mom!)

P.S. The things that you seem to like best: Your dad, hot chocolate (that's why I drink it every day), parties--I think you like being around people. Yesterday this lady told me "She's going to know what she likes." I said, "Yeah, that seems about par for the course." We'll see...who was this "lady" and why did she say this? What makes people think they can just say whatever they want to pregnant people, like, "Are you sure you're not having twins?"

Well, Kate Jayne came two weeks early, and I went back to work after 3 months (yay California maternity leave!) and Greg stayed home with her the first year, while finishing his masters degree at USC. Every day he would

push baby Kate up the foothills of Pasadena in a jogging stroller, make her fresh organic baby food, sing to her, read to her, and take her out in totally innapropriate clothing (like a long-sleeved onsie with no pants.) They were happy, and healthy (except the one time he called me at work and I came home to find him on the couch sicker than a dog, and Kate sitting happily in a pile of shredded magazines strewn throughout the house), and he quickly

became what she would later refer to as "her guy." (Well, one of them. The other was our friend Jim Rooks, who did none of these things for Kate, but did take her on a trampoline once.)

Kate is, in many ways, a text-book example of a calm, soft-spoken oldest child. She is strong-willed (more so when she was little), she is intelligent, she is introspective, she is so very kind, and she wants to please her parents. (Yay us!) I feel that while I've tried relatively hard not to pigeon hole our kids into certain roles and traits, birth order theories are often justifiable theories because they are so often true. I always joke that we used to clap every time Kate farted, and this is true, (though it was only the first year or so) and because we were so happy for her--no belly aches!

Kate was also the inaugural first grandchild on both sides, so she had her relatives to herself for one year, 11 months and 20 days (but who's counting?) Anything Kate said, we'd write down or enact as law. She called Greg's parents "Manna" and "Budda" (as she couldn't pronounce Grandma and Grandpa), and now these are their names. Kate would perform for us on command, as if our show-child. We'd shout out "do old Jewish man" and she'd dutifully put her hands behind her back, bend slightly forward, and pace the floor. (She did this before we named it...so we're not racist, just observant.)

Kater Jayne has always been kind to her sister. The first time they met,

Manna, Budda and Aunt Jayne took her to the hospital and walked her to my room where we lifted her up to see Elia. She gave her a kiss, poked her in the eye, said, "Hi baby sisser" then turned to Manna and indicated that she was ready to leave, but not by way of the elevator. They did come to have longer encounters with each other, and Kate would often greet Elia in the morning with a "good moding Ea," followed shortly after with a "no, Ea, that's mys."

Kate started talking early, and would test out a lot of vocabulary (both good and bad), and while she wasn't always easy to understand, she was very verbal. She would give me a "good job, Mommy!" when I cut a bell pepper, or Greg a, "Honey, don't be scared---God is always with you!" if he needed a bandaid. At age three, when I gave her construction paper she excitedly said, "Oh, this is so nervous!" and once when I got her shirt stuck on her head she calmly said, "Oh man, this is very disappointing." Once, as I was turning off the TV she said, "Bye bye Rae Rae (Rachael Rae), see you later!" (which indicated to Greg that we were watching more television than I'd previously implied. Well, you try being home with two little kids all day with no TV, it's not sustainable.) We used to listen to Kate through the monitor in her room, sometime early in the morning to Elia, "I have pajama day today, and am bringing snack, and am the special helper--I am busy, you have no idea!" Or sometimes late at night retelling all her stories to herself about falling outside, the smoke detector in her room talking to her, and her "big awkies." (Yes, I believe I praised the size of her awkies too...what's wrong with me?)

Speaking of, because she was readily bribable, I potty trained Kate in two days with the promise of gifts (I simply wrapped them and set them on the counter.) We found this process highly effective, until we realized she was rationing her pee for more gifts. (To which I probably then praised her for her quick thinking.)

Kate went through a big VeggieTales phase, an even bigger Barney phase, and then a much less annoying playing children's worship, library, and school phase. She is now, as a pre-teen, into a reading every book she can find phase (my favorite phase yet!)

So, to say that Kate is a big part of us, is an understatement, as she turned us

from a couple (of crazy kids) into a family. But, when I think of my relationship with my oldest daughter, it is hard to explain. The dynamics of mothers and daughters is quite often precarious (as I'm assuming it is with fathers and sons, for the same reasons.) But then, throw into the equation the dynamics of an oldest child who is a girl, and her mom, and you're in for a psychological treat. There is this connection to Kate that, because of her personality and being my first, I feel with no one else. I want to protect her from pain, and, in certain instances, cause her some pain (because she's driving me crazy!) I think it has always been this way. I sometimes wonder if I'm harder on Kate because she is a reflection of me, or if I'm annoyed because she so closely reflects me. I know I've felt the most intense emotions and experienced biggest changes with her, and I've probably subconsciously credited her with simulaneously taking my treasured independence, and gifting me the joy of motherhood.

When Kate was a month old, I was told to give her daily vitamin drops. One time she started choking and ended up throwing it up through her nose, and I promised her then and

there to never give it to her again. When she was four, I sent her to her first swimming class. We locked eyes as she walked to the edge of the pool, and she started to cry and I promised myself I'd never make her do this again (after the series of classes was over--it's good to finish things, no?) Forcing Kate to do things that I knew were good for her, but that made her afraid, has been a big struggle for me.

In return, I think Kate has felt a certain amount of responsibility for our happiness and safety. She wants us to be okay (and I assure her we are). She was our watch dog, even at age three, ever since Elia fell down two cement

steps outside, she seemed under the impression we might not have it all under control and kept vigilant watch over us. Once, when Silas was napping in the basement and Elia was in her room, I'd left the door to the basement steps open. Kate came in the kitchen, saw the door, closed it and said, "Are you kidding me, Mommy?!" And very recently, when she found out the Tooth Fairy no longer visits our house, she wrote a note and left money under Elia's pillow.

Kate is the kind of kid who writes "Kate loves you!" in the mirror of the bathroom, so when you take a shower it's the first thing you see. She writes a list of "40 things I love about you" for her dad's 40th birthday (and subsequently 41 things for me, poor kid, she was reaching near the end). I have never had to tell her to do her homework, and in fact the one time I tried to help, I got super frustrated and finally said I simply couldn't help her if her homework was in Spanish. She calmly said, "Uh, it's in English." I looked again, and in my defense, it was geography, and I'm not very good at that subject. (Don't even get me started on "new math"!)

Kate provides a voice of reason to our home. Once, many years ago, after I'd picked up the girls from our friends Scott and Sue's place, Elia started screaming in the car, "Sue, I want Sue!" Then it turned to "SCOTT!!" Kate, kind of exasperated, said, "I want Scott too, but I'm not going to cry about it!"

The past few years, whenever I would leave for a few days for work, Kate would write me a note, pack me a picture of her, and ask me to write her a note for every day I was gone. (I ran out of creative things to say on the second day.) When she was little, I was ONCE gone for a few days, and Greg asked Kate if she missed me, she said, "Yes, I love my mommy so very much. But not too much, cause she's a little bit bossy." This, is our relationship.

And now, though I'm no longer allowed to talk of the dark tunnel analogy (to being akin to entering adolescence, though very insightful, Kate finds this offensive), I can feel her slipping away sometimes. And as long as she's okay, that's fine by me, because I know she'll come out the other end. She is such a good kid, so lovely, so kind, so fun. She is back to being a fast talker, so I can only be sure of the last word of each sentence, and am continually faced with the option of nodding, shaking my head, or smiling, depending on her body language. (Sometimes I do say, "I can't hear a word you're saying" but that frustrates her after a while so I use this sparingly.)

Do you ever let your mind go to "what if"? When I was sitting on our couch, minutes after we thought Kate had died in Greg's arms lo those 12 years ago, I remember thinking I would have never known what she would have been. And I have never once taken for granted the fact that I can. I've been given a gift of this daughter (yes, you're an equal gift, Elia!) and I get to watch her grow up, in real time. (Sometimes too real, but you get it.) And for this gift, I am forever grateful.

And now, in closing, and since I already hit the letter I wrote to Kate, I'll close with a different typed letter we received a couple years ago, the author of which remains a mystery to this day:

Dear Greg and Sarah Schemper

Today at Herrick District Library we would like everybody who goes to Herrick District library to come.

Sincerely Herrick District Library

P.S. Hope to see YOU there