To Lorelei, on Your 5th Birthday

My darling Lorelei,

Today, after many tears along the lines of "I'll NEVER be five!" you have finally turned five. 

Wait, whaaaaat?

The baby of my babies is FIVE? (Sorry. This is about you, not me.)

Lorelei, what can I say? You, little pistol, have made me rethink everything I think I know about parenting; you have been on the receiving end of Mommy yelling more than anyone else in our household; you can successfully lawyer me and find the holes in my logic or argument; and you wield charm or persistent obnoxiousness, depending on the situation, to great--and exhausting--effect. You like pushing buttons (the literal kind) and successfully push mine (the metaphorical kind). 

Lorelei, you are a girl of passions. First and foremost: seahorses. You love pink, mimicking your sister, and harassing Emma. You can't help but dance when you hear any sort of music, and girl, you've got some moves. You are a puzzle fiend and a matching game savant. 

You have your dislikes too. You abhor pants, shirts with sleeves (thank goodness summer weather is sticking around), socks, and being told what to do. You barely submit to wearing underwear.

Like any good Hofmann, you are a corrector. If I say "get in the car," you will reply "you mean, get in the TRUCK." If I say "I'm deadly serious--clean the playroom," you will carelessly reply, "Mommy, you won't die if I don't. Right?" 

Lorelei, you don't give a crap what anyone thinks. You literally dance like no one's watching. 

And yet, you are deeply connected to the people around you. You're sensitive to others' moods and your head is rarely in the clouds. You know what's going on around you, how to read a room, how to charm or B.S., when to climb into someone's lap, when to dish out a giant Lorelei hug. 

Oh, my dear girl, you are a lover. Oh, sure, you're zero to sixty with that temper of yours, no doubt about it. But you LOVE so well. You have such a good heart and care deeply about your friends, your sister, the rest of us. You sense when someone needs a hug and just naturally, without seeming to think about it, deliver.

You also know what you need. When you melt down, how often have we turned the tide when I ask, over your wailing, "Lorelei? Do you need a hug?" As we know, you are SO physical. 'Tis your love language, the way you give and receive love, and after living with you for five years, you might convert me. (Secretly? I love it when you sneak into my bed at night.) I adore your morning hugs and cuddles and wet kisses and the way you take my cheeks in both of your hands, stare at me for a moment, then break into a Lorelei grin before planting a juicy kiss right on my forehead.

Also? You had another year of really terrible hair. Let us hope you outgrow that stringy toddler mane by kindergarten. 

Speaking of which: Lorelei, I know you wanted to go to kindergarten this year. I know. I know you miss your friends born before September 1 and want desperately to climb those school bus stairs. I know all this. But just think . . .  you get a whole additional year of living with Daddy and me--as an only child--before heading to college! It'll be fun! We'll monitor your every move with all the apps and gadgets Daddy can find, and you'll try to outwit us. I can hardly wait!

I know you're in such a rush to grow up and catch your sister. But you can't catch her, because that's how time works, so Lorelei? Just keep being you. Tackle this extra year of preschool you're peeved about and think about actually learning to read. Giggle with E and S and make up songs and stories and dances. There's no rush, my love. Be five and play, be five and goofy, be five and curious, be five and BE LORELEI. 

We love you so, so much, little green-eyed girl. We--our Hofmann family--we're not us without you. 

Happy birthday.