Three

Last week, Elsie turned three.  I snapped this picture over a special-occasion two-course breakfast of berries and yogurt, followed by toast with butter an honey.  Elsie had the day off for parent-teacher conferences.  I vaguely remember it snowing, but my memory is so bad that I can't be sure.

Looking at this picture, I am struck by a few things:

• Elsie is not a baby anymore.  Or a toddler.  She is a little person.
• My daughter has the best eyebrows.  Period.
• I am partial to early morning photography of Elsie.  All my favorites are snapped over breakfast, in pjs, with a fully tousled bed-head.  I wish I looked so good first-thing.
• We do things pretty simply at our house. 

One week before Elsie turned 3, one of her little friends turned 3.  The occasion was marked with a photograph of the charming little girl in front of a mountain of presents.  Huge boxes, piled taller than her.  There must have been a dozen of them. 

I am not anti-present.  I am very pro-birthday.  I generally love any excuse to celebrate, and have even more fun giving gifts than receiving them.  Yet the picture startled and disturbed me.  It just seemed like too much.  Like if I gave Elsie so many gifts, she'd just end up in a terrible mood from feeling overwhelmed, and I would end up in a terrible mood when the dust settled and I felt myself drowning in the toy-clutter of my house.

Now, I don't know what was in those boxes. maybe it's the best stuff in this world.  And that kid is not my kid. Maybe she could open all those and remain calm and focused and happy.  But no amount of justifying is shaking my visceral sense that we, as a culture, over-do it these days.  That we buy too much, fill our houses, shower our children with physical things when they'd be just as happy (or happier!) to make due with a glut of time and creativity and a paucity of objects.

It is entirely possible that I under-did Elsie's birthday this year.  I wanted to have a small party, but never got it together.  

I bought her three little Beatrix Potter books, which she loves.  Her grandparents brought her some clothes, another book, and three helium balloons -- which were, just like last year, the hit of the day.  They played with her in the morning, showing her how to put the balloons in a cardboard box, then release them all at once in a fit of laughter.  When I got home from her (glowing) teacher conference, we took her to Cambridge Common, site of the coolest little-kid playground in the Boston Area.

The day before, Elsie and I had worked together to make a chocolate birthday cake from scratch.  She cracked all 5 eggs and only got a tiny bit of shell in the bowl.  I think she enjoyed making the cake even more than eating it.

This is such simple stuff.  I know I won't get away with neglecting to arrange a birthday party forever, but this year, she was happy with her day, happy with her books, happy with her short-lived helium balloons, and happy with her chocolate cake. 

There are so many things that I wish for my daughter.  One of them is this: I hope that Elsie maintains this attitude of joy in simple things and that our family doesn't get sucked too deep in a culture of MORE. 

That's what I'm going to remember whenever I look at this picture of my beautiful daughter with her amazing mussed hair and her perfect eyebrows eating her beautiful birthday breakfast.  I'm going to remember that, on Elsie's third birthday, a few nice things and a few nice activities with a few loving people were enough.