Letter to Bobbin - six years old

Hey Smalls,

Another year around the sun! You are six years old today. Another year stronger, smarter and taller.

It's been an up and down year for you (but that's usually the way for everyone, so that's ok).

You have developed a perfectionist streak. Your mother's daughter, hey? You are very focused on doing everything right and getting upset when you spell words wrong. I adore phonetic spelling, it shows that you understand sounds and we can all figure out what you mean - plus English is a stupid language where cough, through, plough, though and hiccough don't rhyme. So we've all been working on making it OK to make mistakes. I mean, you're on an IEP (Individual Education Plan) (yeah, your mama just used her blog to brag a bit then) along with a few others in your class because you're streaks ahead of where you should be for your age. You're reading proper books and you're not even in year one, mate. You're nailing it, kiddo, we just have to always remind ourselves that we don't have to be perfect.

Martial arts has been both amazing and scary for you. You're a blue belt and very close to green. You got a black tip in class today and now you only need your red tip to graduate. It would be very tricky to get that in the next two weeks, so you'll probably grade in December. Your pushups are killer - knuckles and toes, and you're very proud of the six pack that is starting to develop. You want to be strong and you are, always volunteering to lift things (including your friends).

You participated in the ISKA tournament (International Sport Karate Association) twice. The first time you took home a first in sword fighting making you the state champion for your age group... there were only two of you in the category but it sounds good! You ended up with two trophies at that one. Then the next tournament you got first in sword fighting again - defending your title! Again, only two people in your category but back to back state champion sounds better haha! You ended up with five placings over those two tournaments and proudly stood for photos with your trophies and medals.

Earlier this year, just after Mum was having a hard time with her brain misbehaving, you got very scared of going on the mats at the dojo. You didn't want to perform your kata in front of the group and the parents. It terrified you. No amount of convincing you that it was just like the tournaments would placate you. You would get on the mats and be fine until the end when you had to perform. You refused to get up. This transitioned to refusing to get on the mats and the beginning of class. You cried a lot. It took instructors, Sempais, Senseis and even a Renshi to get you on the mats. It was the same every time for almost two whole months, refusing to get on the mats. You even hated in the in-house tournament and took a lot of convincing to get on. You did, and I was so proud of you. You didn't place, but you did your absolute best that you could on the day, and that's why I was so proud.

The struggles continued at the beginning of class, but once you were on the mats, you were completely fine and would smash out the session, trying so hard and nailing it. And you even filmed a pep talk to yourself after one lesson because you would come off the mats beaming. I started filming and it was like you were a TV presenter - straight in to it! I laughed so hard. If I'm honest, I think the tears became a habit for you. You worked hard with your instructors and you got through it. You're back on the mats now without issue... but you don't want to do the next ISKA tournament in a few weeks. And that's OK. Life can be tough and we don't always have to win... we don't even have to enter!

You continue to exert your independence. So much so that one day earlier this year you decided to walk to school. By yourself. You usually wait at the bottom of the bridge for me when we walk, but you didn't this time. You kept going. The thing is, I didn't know which way you'd gone. I looked everywhere for you. Up and down the small streets, and then the bigger street. I was so afraid I'd find you squished by a car as sometimes when you're excited you forget to look both ways. We did finally find you. One kilometre away. In your classroom. By then I was crying and you didn't know what the fuss was about, but when you saw my tears you cried too, giving me the biggest of hugs and promising you wouldn't do it again.

You love to make your own food. Whether it's sandwiches, wraps or just cutting up fruit, you insist on doing it yourself. Up until recently you were scared of being burnt on the frying pan, but you got past it and flipped your own pikelets - the look on your face when you did it was just brilliant. You were unbelievably proud. I admit to still worrying that you'll slice your hand open, but so far so good.

Crafting absolutely anything is your go-to activity. Give you paper, scissors and sticky tape (lord, so much sticky tape!) and you are happy. In fact, you got sticky tape as a birthday present and you were SO HAPPY! You make me the most random creations and they are divine. Giant posters with bits stuck on. 3D castles with entire packets of stickers over them. Then you head outside, jump about playing "Jumanji", zoom up and down the street on your bike, climb the nearest tree, flip up and down on monkeybars, and climb on the roof of any playground structure, terrifying other parents watching. I just shrug and know you'll get down safe because climbing is what you do.

Your obsession with all creatures great and small continues. You've gone off your original Spiny Leaf Insects (they are apparently too spiny to touch now so you don't), but you don't mind their babies that are small. Other than those, you pick up or pat everything you can. Catching frogs is your favourite thing to do so sometimes we go down to the local lake at night with our headlamps on and see how many we can find. You are quick at catching them, hold them for a moment then release them, usually after naming them.

You are bloody funny. You make me laugh so much with your weird antics. Whether it's quick retorts with the beginnings of sarcasm (that's my girl), a raised eyebrow, or a silly story, your sense of humour is developing rapidly. The fart jokes are still popular, as is you introducing your farts. As in you say "Here comes Frank" and then you fart loudly and laugh your head off. It's a different name every time.

That Queen Bee tendency is still there, but you have such an empathetic soul that it has balanced out to a nice assertive quality. You like to get what you want, but you also take care of your friends. And I'm not gonna lie, that's been a weight off my shoulders. Not to say you can't be a little turd sometimes when you don't get your way, but you're not mean. PHEW!

You care deeply for your family, and you express it bringing flowers, cards and any trinkets you've found as gifts. You are thoughtful, and always share willingly with Tricky, even halving your own things with him (y'all fight a lot, too, it's not all rainbows). When I was bed-bound after my ankle surgery you would come and check on me, give me a cuddle each time you walked past, and bring me food just because you were hungry and thought I might be, too.

I was trying to explain Harmony Day to you, and how racism exists and I did a really poor job of it... so for a moment there you thought it was a day to exclude your friends according to their skin colour. You were very upset at me, saying you didn't want to not talk to your friends that day because they were darker than you. A quick explanation later and you were so relieved- and I could not have been happier.  Every day we talk about what's important, and you always reply "it doesn't matter what you look like or what you do, as long as you're kind". Because we've repeated it to you daily and it's a Pavlovian response now! Ha! I hope that stays with you. Both for how you treat others and how you treat yourself.

I hope you have a brilliant year of being six, my chickadee. I promise you'll have your mermaid party soon, when I'm back walking properly. Your sass is still there, just sometimes hidden under a thin layer of self-doubt. We'll keep working on that. You'll make some amazing mistakes this year, and over your whole life, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Love Mama x