When I sit down to think about Ivy, her age suddenly seems strange. Perhaps she has always been an old soul in a young body, given to wondering about age-old questions and making remarkable reflections about the world? In any event, the fact that she only just turned eight years old doesn’t quite fit.

It has been an unpredictable and unconventional year for all of us, but for Ivy – our first to officially launch into Adventure School – it has been even more so. Somehow, she stepped across the chasm from traditional schooling to our own version with effortless grace and has managed to bloom and flourish in the new space.

It was a lovely way to begin. With French pastries and lazy wanderings around Cloudehill. Colourful curriculum and Midsummer Night’s Dream memorisation. We eased into the waters of homeschooling together, testing out theories and whipping up watercolours. It all seems a faint memory now.

Ivy’s one wistful regret was that she missed her friends, as we weren’t quite about to properly launch into the social realities of homeschooling groups and activities (with our mixed-up schedule being still beholden to school drop offs/pick ups). So when she was invited back to the class break-up party at the end of the year, she was very excited.

We whipped up the invites that morning, handing them out in a flurry. Ivy’s presence had been carefully kept a secret until the last moment and there were squeals of delight to see her return. It felt like a huge wait until she could finally have her party.

The theme was tropical, partly based on the fact that we have a pool and partly because of the colourful flamingo that we had included on the invitation. Ivy loves flamingos and was very much involved in each part of the party preparation. We hit the shops to gather supplies, put together party bags, she carefully frosted the cupcakes (‘I can do it myself, Mum!’) and decorated with balloons.

When the morning came, we were ready. Ivy was beyond excited to see all her friends and they all took excitedly to the pool. The weather was a balmy 26 degrees. One of the best things about parties these days is that they totally take care of themselves. With the pool and spa, the kids are happy to jump between the two, squirt each other and duck out for food every now and then. (Although, it must be said that I also very much appreciate having my parents coming along to these events and helping out with all the little things that bring the event to life!).

We had a lot of fun with the food – fondant sugar cookies spelling out ‘Happy Birthday Ivy’ and ‘Tropical party’, cocktail-umbrella-topped cupcakes, a platter of tropical fruit, jelly cups, banana cake, baklava, party pies, sausage rolls, hot chips and the most important part: a jelly pool cake. Ivy had been spying the Womens’ Weekly favourite for years, apparently, and was quite distressed at the fact that we couldn’t locate the iconic cookbook on the shelf. The book had vanished, but the recipe, thankfully, was easily accessible online and not too difficult to pull together. With the help of leftover frozen fondant from Harvey’s Super Mario party, we reimagined the pool to be a little more like our own – roughly octagonal, bright blue, though with white ’tiles’ instead of decking.

Thankfully a brief episode of extreme queasiness near the end of her party (‘it was just too much birthday, Mum’ – she’d conveniently read the Bearenstain Bear’s book by the same name that morning), passed very quickly (and conveniently) the moment that the time came to open her presents. (It should also be noted that Mum prayed for her to get better around this point as well, which is Ivy’s preferred narrative!) She was overwhelmed with the generosity – so many crafts, toys and LOOM bands!

The very next day was Ivy’s official birthday and she meticulously planned each part – from the bacon for breakfast (no eggs, as she had recently been through a making scrambled eggs for breakfast phase in which she had thoroughly exhausted her affection for the ingredient), to the sliders for lunch (KFC) and The Hill for dinner. We went to church in the morning, Ivy with her new purple glow-in-the-dark hair chalk proudly displayed, then dashed off to RUSH HQ straight afterwards (thanks to a slyly implanted suggestion from one of her brothers). Ivy capitalised fully on birthday privileges, often reminding us all if we ever chanced to forget that it was her special day.

Ivy is such a gift to us all. Her sweet nature is evident to all who meet her, and I cannot count the number of lovely cards, pictures and crafts she has made for others. Her drawing skills are already exceptional, as she often disappears to go and learn how to sketch something new with the Art for Kids hub. My drawers are overflowing with pictures that she has created especially for me, with encouraging messages and pictures of the two of us on them.

She loves reading, and will often crawl into bed in the middle of the day, losing herself in book after book. Her ideal day would undoubtedly include reading.

Ivy has a close relationship with Harvey, in particular, and the two often create elaborate games, with soft toys (they literally have a wardrobe-full) taking the place of characters for ‘mums and dads’ or other scenarios. The biggest fight is usually who gets to be the kid.

One of the wonderful things about homeschooling is the chance to get to spend much more time witnessing the growth and beauty of my wonderful daughter – a huge gift in this testosterone-fuelled household. We stand together, firmly fixed in our love of all things classic, vintage and timelessly-fashionable. I couldn’t imagine life without her.

…

Dear Ivy,

What a force of nature you are – sweetness and light, whirlwind and fire. Your flame erupts – searing with heat and justice – then cools to a bubbling fountain of grace.

You are kind and generous, endlessly thoughtful. Already you have touched so many in our circles and neighbourhood with your intricate cards and drawings. Keep looking outwards, using your insights and gifts to bring peace to this sometimes chaotic world.

I love listening to your reflections and thoughts about life. You think deeply and often surprise me with your level of understanding. Your memory is iron-clad, holding onto the most obscure facts, building concepts out like an interactive digital map. One of my favourite parts of the day is getting to read your stories, watching you fashion interesting narratives and cultivate your own voice.

Your sense of humour seems mismatched to your age, as you often come out with pithy comebacks and wittily skewer us – it’s fantastic and a superior weapon with which to match your brothers’ sometimes scathing remarks. (Perhaps even more effective than the karate phase you enthusiastically took to!)

You already know who you are and what you like – pushing back confidently if I inadvertently try to layer my own tastes onto you. Your floor is scattered with the remnants of costume-changes, the bathroom bench constantly an unwitting home to your hairbrush, scattered clips and beauty products. (Although we are still working on that sense of order!) I love that you already appreciate vintage and classic tastes and enjoy the icons of the past. Clearly we were both ‘utterly’ born in the wrong age.

Hold firm to who you are in Christ. Know that your worth doesn’t come from the sparkling eye-shadow or gloss of nail varnish (although both are fabulous). Understand that you are a daughter of the Most High, lovely and precious in His sight. Do not let anyone diminish your value or tarnish your spirit. Resist the clutches of conformity and shallow thinking. You have inestimable worth, dear one, and I know that He has prepared great things for you.

What a privilege it is to know you and get to spend my days with you. I am definitely the luckiest mother in the world.

Love always,

Mum