Dear Tyler -- 5 years old

Dear Tyler,

You turned 5 last week. You didn't want a big party like your sister. All you wanted was one friend, some cake and lots of presents, ha! Daddy took you and Hunter to Launch and the three of you jumped your little hearts out. You had a blast. Between me and Daddy, Nana & Papa, Nana Pat & Poppy and Grammie & Zayde, you got more toys than any little boy could ever need. And omigosh do you love your toys!!!

A few weeks ago a friend of mine from high school was struck with an unimaginable tragedy. She lost her little boy. He was running across the street and was hit by a car. One minute they were playing together. And the next he was gone. He died right there in her arms. He was five...like you.

It shocked me to my core. Life is so precious. You are so precious. Sometimes I need to stop and take you in. When you beg me to lay down and "sleep" with you for a few minutes before bed...when you reach for my hand while we're taking a walk...when we go for a bike ride together and you show me your tricks, your little face full of pure joy...when I pick you up from preschool and you run full-speed into my arms...when you look me straight in the eye and say, "Aw I love you mama."

I cherish these moments...every single one of them. I know they won't last forever. There will come a day when you no longer want me to cuddle you in your bed, when holding my hand will be unbearably embarrassing, when you head out for a bike ride with your friends and not your mother. I know I will look back on this beautiful 5-year-old version of you (tantrums in Target's toy aisle included) and long to go back in time. And of course it will be impossible.

So in the meantime I will do my best to appreciate the now...to cherish the now. It's all we really have.

Yesterday was an ordinary day. It was Monday so you and I both had the day off. We went to the gym and then your regular swim in the pool afterwards (my bribe to you for suffering through child watch so that I can exercise.)  It was a beautiful fall day. After lunch we headed out to the backyard to the giant leaf pile that Daddy had raked up for you and Avery over the weekend. "Mommy, will you jump with me?" I have to be honest. The idea of covering myself with old leaves -- and all the dirt, twigs and bugs that were hidden within  them -- didn't thrill me. But I knew it would thrill you. So I did what I had to do. I jumped right in. And I lost myself in the moment. We both squealed with delight, tossing up the leaves over our heads and enjoying every second of it, pausing only to take this selfie.

It was an ordinary moment on an ordinary day. But i's the string of these ordinary moments that create our extraordinary love.

Today you are sick with a fever. You are lying next to me on the couch as I type this, your head on my shoulder. I can feel your little heart beating and the heat of your fever radiating through your spiderman pajamas. I am your cozy spot. I don't want to be anywhere else in the world.

It is another ordinary moment on an ordinary day...one far too ordinary to even put to memory. But this moment is so completely full of love. They all are.

I am so lucky to be your mother. Happy Birthday sweet boy.

Love,
Mom

Dear Avery --- 6 years old

Dear Avery,

You're not actually 6 yet. You have 6 more days to go. But it's very rare these days that I have a minute to myself so I figured I'd be productive with it. If I don't start this now there's a chance I never will. And your 6th birthday will pass us by just like the thousands of other moments that have. I feel like I blinked and you're turning six. I'm afraid if I blink again you'll be 16.

You and your brother are off at Hunter's house having a playdate. You've known Hunter since the day he was born. Your first date was at about one month old. And now he is your buddy. It truly melts my heart.

You started kindergarten a few weeks ago. You were SO ready...not a scared or worried bone in your little body. Before I had you I was a kindergarten teacher for many years so I've seen those parents every year. You know the ones -- who cry their heart out on the first day of school. I never in a million years thought it would happen to me. You were ready. I was ready. But as you climbed up on that huge yellow school bus and I watched it carry you away with it, my eyes filled and suddenly I was sobbing. Yup, turns out I'm one of them.

It wasn't that I was worried about you, or even that I'd miss you really. I just knew this was the first of many more moments that you will hop aboard that bus/car/plane/sleepover/date/party etc. and go off into the big world without me...and not even look back.

You're growing up right in front of my eyes...and there is nothing I can do to stop you.

As I predicted, I never finished writing this letter then and now it is 6 days later -- your actual birthday. It's been a good one. You sure do love being the center of attention. You woke up at the crack of dawn and immediately wanted to rush downstairs to see your presents. What you found was the most adorable little clothing rack displaying all of your little tiny American Girl Doll outfits...and your "daughters", Phoebe and Caroline, dressed up for your half-sleepover birthday party on Saturday in their new red heart pajamas. And of course matching pajamas for you. You loved everything and spent the next two hours taking every single article of clothing off of the hangers, explaining each outfit in detail to your daddy and relishing in the joy of it all.

One of the things I love most about you is that you find joy so easily. It doesn't take much to make you happy...just a little attention and a lot of love. Last weekend Grammie, Nannie and I took you to the American Girl Doll Store. We had a ball. You are well aware that Caroline and Phoebe are from Santa and not from the actual American Girl Doll Store. That didn't stop you one bit from bringing them proudly along with us to the store, sending them each to the "hair salon" for a new fancy do (and a quick trim to finish up a haircut gone wrong), window shopping at all the hundreds of dolls and accessories in the store, and never blinking an eye at the fact that your girls are different. Grammie even offered to buy you a "real" doll. But you were completely sure with your answer. "No thanks. I'm good with Phoebe and Caroline." They are your dolls, pure and simple. The name brand makes no difference to you whatsoever. They are yours and you love them...unconditionally.

A few days before our outing, Phoebe's leg broke off. Luckily I was able to stick it back into its socket. But it happened again while the lady at the store was doing her hair, and by the look on her face, I'm pretty sure the real dolls don't do that! Anyway my initial thought was maybe it's time to upgrade. But before I could even speak my thought out loud you came up with, "Oh mom, we could buy her a wheel chair!" It never crossed your innocent little mind that we would trade her in. She is yours and you love her -- just the way she is.

You are so wise beyond your years and I can't even tell you how proud you make me. Dad and I have made a point to teach you compassion and authenticity. And those traits have become you. They are who you are. Don't ever forget it.

I could sit here and continue writing to you for hours. There is so much more I want to say. But it's getting late. I started working again this year and the hours keep slipping me by. And you are having 20 little girls over here Saturday night for your big party (which you have been busy planning for months!!!) and I must save my energy.

I love you so very much.

Love,
Mom

p.s. I just spent a minute reading back at what I wrote to you a year ago. Apparently you made it a few nights in your bed when you turned 5, and you did it again this summer. But you are back to the cot habit -- full and fierce. Do you think you'll still be in our room when you turn 16?!?!?

Papa Bob's eulogy

Dear Avery & Tyler,

So that he will stay a part of you forever...

Our Papa Bob. One of a kind. A man who exuded goodness. A man who taught his children -- his adored Lynnie and his best bud Stevie, as well as all of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren -- that the love you give in life is the love you get in return. 

My daughter Avery came down the stairs on Friday and asked me to read her shirt which said, “Be Silly. Be Happy. Be Sweet. Be Kind.”

“That’s perfect,” she said. “I’m going to wear this for Papa Bob. Those are all the things that he was!” 

I feel so grateful to have had this wonderful man through my entire life; so grateful that my children have had him as well. At my wedding, Papa Bob spoke from his heart and gave his blessing to me and Phil, as he did for Craig & Shannon, Jaime & Nate and hundreds of other couples. He took much pride and joy in asking each of us to recite our vows and make the most sacred of promises to one another. 

In his remembrance and his honor, let us all now make some promises back to him. The motto on my daughter’s shirt will help define those vows.

1. Be Silly. 

As some of you know Papa Bob had a little nickname amongst the grandchildren -- Skippy. As we grew up, “Papa Bob” was shortened to PB. PB became peanut butter. Peanut butter became Skippy. (As the man himself would say, “You follow me?” ) So the name stuck. It was a silly name with a silly backstory. But he loved it. And it fit him well.

Papa Bob was a man of few words. He didn’t need to be the center of attention. Still though, he was hilarious. His quick wit and random subtle sarcasm always made me laugh right out loud. When asked why he married Nannie, his answer was “because her mother insisted.” When asked why he stayed with her for 68 years he said “I was afraid of her mother.” And then followed that with “and she’s a good cook.” 

Although straight-faced and serious, his eyes had that twinkle. They always did. We all know the depths of his love for Nannie went far beyond her brisket and kugel. It was infinite. She was the love of his life. And he was her “tateh”. 

Recently he was in a little fender bender. When the officer asked him if he had been drinking he said, “Not since my bar-mitzvah.”

He always had that way of keeping things light-hearted, even in a serious moment; of making others crack a smile. It was one of his greatest gifts to all who knew him. 

2. Be Happy. 

It didn’t take much to make this man happy. Papa Bob found joy in the simple things -- hot dogs on the grill, a good hand of poker, a little head rub from his beloved Keri, a cup of scalding hot tea and his wife by his side. He didn’t have fame or fortune. He had his family. And that was everything.

Craig told me that last summer he walked into the beach house to find Papa Bob relaxing in his special chair, remote control in hand, just inches away from the tv. Everything seemed exactly the same as it had for the past 40 years...except that instead of golf on the tv, there was SpongeBob Squarepants. “Papa Bob,” he said, “did you know this isn’t golf?” “I know,” he said, “I couldn’t figure out how to work the remote.” He wasn’t frustrated or upset. He was happy with what he had. Even if it was just SpongeBob. 

Last Monday I went to visit him bringing candies from the kids. I sat there with him and fed them to him one at a time. All he kept saying was, “mmmm...delicious, give me another,” with a look of pure contentment on his face. Even in his very final days, he was finding joy in the simple things. During my last moments with him, he was happy.

3. Be Sweet

Papa Bob was the sweetest man I’ve ever known. He was a true gentleman. He cared for all of us so deeply and had a way of making us feel protected and very very loved. He made sure each of us drove well under the speed limit and he never let anyone walk alone to their car.

During the summers at the beach, he always insisted that Craig and I not swim out too deep. Even after we joined the swim team and passed our lifeguard tests he did not relent -- even if we were just out to our shoulders. I can still picture him standing at the shore waving us back in. 

When Jaime and I were in our mid to late 20’s, we decided one summer night to go out on the town in Nantasket. We promised to be home by 11.  As we were walking down Nantasket Ave heading back to the beach house, we sensed a car creeping up behind us. The window rolled down to reveal Nannie in her nightgown and Papa Bob in his robe yelling “Get in!” It was not even10:00. 

That was our Papa Bob. He wanted us close, he wanted us safe and he would have gone to the end of the earth to make sure we always were.

4. Be Kind   

Papa Bob had a true golden heart and wished for goodness and happiness to all of those around him. He never missed a chance to cheer Keri on at one of her games, not out of love for the sport but out of love for her. Playing was the thing that made her happy, and that’s all he ever wanted for each of us. 

Gift giving was always accompanied by another of his famous phrases “Use it in the best of health.” He meant it so sincerely. Like the first time he met my husband and gave him a shoe horn. He genuinely wanted Phil to experience joy and happiness from that shoe horn. 

Mostly though, he wanted happiness for his Marilyn and always did everything in his power to bring her that. Even in his 80’s, when all he felt like doing on a summer’s day was to sit and watch his golf, he still marched down to the beach just because he knew it was what she wanted. 

He spent his whole life loving her -- and loving all of us -- and doing it with extraordinary sweetness and kindness. 

Their love story is like no other. His vows were his code of life. From the bottom of his golden heart, he loved her -- in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to death do they part. 

And he will continue.

I asked Nannie the other day if she wanted to add anything to my eulogy. She immediately remembered the love letter she received from him 70 years ago while he was in the Navy. In the letter he said, “My love for you has no end...the beginning is lost forever.” 

Papa Bob, let me now say this back to you. Our love for you has no end. You will live forever within all of our hearts. 

We will be silly and think of you. We will be happy and remember your smile and that twinkle in your eye. We will be sweet and be kind to others and know that we learned it from a truly great man. 

Rest in Peace Skippy. We love you.

Dear Tyler -- your sister's first lost tooth

Dear Tyler,

I sat down at the computer to write a letter to your sister (since she lost her first tooth tonight!) only to realize the last several letters I have written have been to her and not to you. In fact I haven't written you a letter since you turned three. I am so sorry. Ugh…mother of the year.

I want you to know that I love you. More than I could ever tell you or write you in a letter. You are warm, kind and hilarious. You still tell me you love me a "million trillion billion gazillion" about ten times a day…and I never ever get sick of it. You certainly have your moments, but for the most part you are still such an easy-to-please, go-with-the-flow kind of guy. I love that about you.

You are finally FINALLY making some real friends. Daddy kept telling me you would eventually, and I trusted him. But it wasn't looking too pretty for a while. Up until this week all of your playdates ended with your "friend" screaming and crying because you had hit/pushed/smacked/etc. and with you screaming and crying because you had been sent to your room. I never gave up on you though. I gave you space and time to be yourself and I didn't force it…but we did keep trying. Last Saturday you went to a superhero birthday party with all the boys from your preschool class. This was the first time I saw you actually interacting with the other kids. And I realized you are all EXACTLY the same -- running around wild, full of energy, pushing/smacking/hitting (within complete appropriate limits) without a care in the world. YOU ARE TOTALLY NORMAL. YOU ARE A 4-YEAR-OLD BOY. Phew!!!!!

Since that party you have had two amazingly successful playdates (Jack Dugas & Cooper Sisti). I honestly could not be any more proud of you. You shared your toys, played superheroes the way all little boys do (way better than I ever could), ran around "gunning" one another (I seriously love that you call it that) and had a total blast. I am so so happy for you.

Still though, your favorite friends are your family. You and Avery are -- and probably always will be -- best friends. You do everything together. I couldn't imagine either of you without the other. You absolutely adore Daddy and want to be just like him in every way. He has recently introduced you to the world of video games and the two of you play together just about every night. Cutest thing ever. And me. We have a special bond. You still like to cuddle with me and are always happy to do just about any errand with me. You recently started to come along to my classes at the gym. You are so stinking adorable cheering me on and shouting out "I love you Mom" every so often. I just about burst with pride every single class.

So even though my letters to you might be few and far between please know that my love for you is not. It is constant. It is full. And it is extraordinary. I love you a billion, million, trillion gazillion…and I always will.

Love,
Mommy

p.s. your sister lost her first tooth tonight!!!!!!