Dear Avery -- a lesson

Dear Avery,

I am always so impressed by your ability to read people. The other night you told me, "Mom, Nici's skinnier than you." You didn't mean anything by it, just an innocent an observation. You could have just as easily said, "Mom, Nici's hair is shorter than yours."

But the word "skinny" is loaded and we all know it. And now, unfortunately, you do too. I can't remember exactly what I said or what my face looked like in defense but I know it was the wrong thing. Because you immediately took notice of my hurt feelings and finished off with, "but mom, that doesn't mean you're fat."

Ugh. Not my proudest mommy moment.

Here's what I wish I had told you instead. Nici is skinnier than me. Yes. She is also 4 inches shorter than me. She wears a size 7 shoe and I wear a 9. Her hair is blonde, mine is dark. Her eyes are blue, mine are brown. We are different. We are best friends. Excellent mothers. And we are both beautiful.

There will always be someone skinnier, someone smarter, someone faster, someone stronger. You can either spend your life comparing yourself to others or you can just go ahead and be YOURSELF.

And let's be clear on this. Skinnier does NOT mean better. As long as you live an active life and make healthy choices, please please PLEASE let the skinny go. I wish I hadn't had to learn that the hard way. I know I'm not fat. I also know that my body is far from perfect. It won't ever be perfect. Nobody's will. Instead of striving to be skinnier, strive to be healthier. Stronger. More determined. Kinder. More Compassionate. More appreciative. Happier. More confident. More comfortable in your own skin. Don't try to be these things better THAN your friends. Be these things better WITH your friends.

At the gym today I took a running class. I hate running. But I like the challenge of pushing myself. And like always, I was last. Dead last. The other women running with me were definitely faster, probably stronger and mostly skinnier. But I was ok with that. I was doing the best for ME. I could have been at home lying on the couch eating chips. But I wasn't. I was becoming faster, stronger, fitter (notice I didn't use the word skinnier) with every out-of-breath step that I took. And I was proud.

We talk a lot in our home about being authentic. Coming in dead last every.single.time and being ok with it -- that's what being authentic means. Comparing yourself with only yourself. Being completely and utterly OK with not being the best, with not being perfect. Embracing your body. Accepting your imperfections. Knowing that you are beautiful just the way you are. Striving only to be more of yourself.

I love you, exactly the way you are.

Love,
Mom

Dear Avery --- 5-years-old

Dear Avery,

You love to hear stories of when you were a baby. It blows my mind that what feels like yesterday to me is so far back beyond the depths of your memory. You don't remember that you hated the stroller, screamed bloody murder in the car and pulled every book off the shelf every time I lined them back up. You don't remember your first smile, your first steps or singing "Mama's so pretty". These moments that have formed you and made you all that you are, have formed me as well. I wouldn't trade any of them for anything. They are the most precious parts of me.

The night before your birthday last week I read you the letter that I wrote to you the night before you were born. I read it to you every year. But this time, you hung on my every word as if you had never heard it before. At the end of the letter you had tears in your eyes. You are growing up and beginning to understand things that only big girls can. I've told you every single day for the last five years how much you mean to me. But it's a concept you haven't been able to grasp until now.

You are so loved. And you know it.

Still though, you fight for independence from me. You are caught up in the biggest tug of war with yourself. You can be so mean to me -- calling me Poopy Mommy, stomping your feet all over the house, sometimes even kicking me. You don't like me to stay at play dates with you, you wanted nothing to do with me at cousin Jaime's wedding a few weeks ago and you have already perfected the eye rolling " Mo-o-o-o-o-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!"

Despite all of this, though, you love me fiercely. And I know it wholly and completely. I will never question that. Daddy and I will do our best to guide you to be a loving, compassionate and appreciative individual, but we also know that part of growing up is testing your boundaries. We trust your love, and we will love the hell out of you (literally) through it all.

Last night was the first time you slept in your big girl bed for the entire night. Yes, you are five. Yes, I'm a little embarrassed by this fact. But here's the truth. I didn't push you to give up the "cot habit" any sooner because I didn't mind it. Actually if I'm being completely honest, I kind of liked it. There is something so reassuring about looking over the side of my bed and watching you sleep. There is something so fulfilling about being needed in the middle of the night and knowing that offering you my hand will instantly bring you comfort. There is something so cozy about waking up every morning with my entire family sleeping in the same room. I will miss these things terribly.

I fully expected you to put up a fight. I expected sobbing and screaming and pleading and banging. But there was none of that. In fact it was your suggestion that we throw the cots away. Ha! We held an official family meeting and decided to give the cots to children who don't have beds. You liked that idea. You agreed. You were compliant. And then ta-da -- you followed through. Let me tell you, you shocked the bajeebies out of me.

You are not the two-year-old version of yourself that you used to be. You are growing up. And it's our job to let you.

I am so proud of you and the authentic self you are growing into -- a leader, a thinker, a doer. I don't really know how to sum up all that you are right now. But I know that you are always changing and growing and you will never quite be this 5-year-old version ever again. So I'll do my best...

5-year-old favorites  -- friends, school, babysitters, Taylor Swift, dancing, singing, art, pink, riding bikes, running, swinging, swimming, hiking, getting dirty, dress-up, reading, learning, barbies, blocks, Electric Company, cooking, Chester

5-year-old dislikes -- cottage cheese, hair brushing, bugs, childwatch at the gym

5-year-old fears -- fire, bugs

I love you!
Mom

Dear Avery -- Boston Marathon 2013

Dear Avery,

Anyone who has met you knows that you are 4 1/2 going on 24. You may not be a superstar out on the soccer field, a natural-born gymnast or a brilliant artist, but let me tell you this girl, you have a heart of gold. You have an awareness, curiosity and understanding about the world around you that goes far beyond your years. Don’t get me wrong, you still hit your brother, throw tantrums and call me poopy mommy on occasion. But your constant passion and compassion for all the people in the world is truly an inspiration to me.

I acknowledge and respect the decision most parents have made to shelter their children from the horror in the news of the Boston Marathon bombing. Of course every parent wants to preserve the sweet innocence their child so rightfully deserves. Your brother knows and understands only the “appropriate” bits and pieces a 3-year-old is able to process. 

But you are a different child. You were born nosy. Things as big as this don’t get past you (even the tiniest of things don’t get past youl!!)

So you have asked and we have told you the truth (not all of it, but most), focusing as much as we can on the good that can come out of something so evil. I have sat with you  and watched you empathize with the families who have lost their loved ones. You have watched the coverage of the many victims who have lost their limbs. You have been touched and awed by their stories. None of this has scared you. It has inspired you.

This morning you came to me with one of your Barbies who had mysteriously (probably by Tyler) lost her right leg many many months ago. I had debated a few times here and there about throwing the broken toy away. But the missing leg never seemed to bother you, so I didn’t let it bother me either. 

Today my beautiful, innocent 4-year-old bounced down the stairs and asked me if I could help her make a prosthetic leg. You wanted your Barbie to be able to dance with all of her friends. 

So you got out your art supplies and we got to work. We made the most beautiful rainbow prosthetic leg anyone has ever seen.

I wasn’t planning on sharing this story. It’s obviously a touchy subject and I would never want to offend anyone who may disagree with our parenting approach or especially anyone suffering directly from this horrible tragedy.

But you wanted me to take pictures (and several videos) of your Barbie dancing on her new leg. You wanted me to share it with the world so that that lady on the news could see that she will be able to dance again some day too. 

I don’t know who you will grow up to be. But I can tell you this. You are going to make a difference in this world of ours. I am so very proud to be your mother -- "poopy mommy” moments and all.

Love,

Mommy