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!!!!!!

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

Dear Tyler -- 3 years old

Dear Tyler,

Last night you fell asleep clutching your new sword (actually a princess wand) that you picked from the birthday box at school. You are three years old now. My big boy. You started preschool in September. I can't say you love it yet (you still cry pretty much at every drop off) but I do believe the idea is growing on you. Really, though, you just want to be with your mama. My little mama's boy. Correction -- my BIG little mama's boy.

Every day you love to tell me secrets. You cup your little hand around your ear and stick your ear next to my ear and then whisper, "I'm in love with you mama." It melts my heart every single time. You like another game too. You ask me if I'll still be your mama when you're old -- as old as Daddy, as old as Grammie, as old as Papa Bob. And my answer is always the same. I will be your mama forever and ever and ever and ever and ever. It's the best thing I've ever been. And the best thing I ever will be.

These days you are into firetrucks and superheroes. You were the cutest little fireman ever for Halloween, and followed it up with a firefighter birthday party. I don't think you really liked being the center of attention too much, but you sure did light up when a real Norfolk firetruck pulled into our driveway and gave you and your friends a whole tour of his truck...and even turned on his lights and siren. You loved it.

You are sweet and shy and silly and independent...and freakishly strong. You love playing with your sister or by yourself. You are affectionate and loving and give the biggest best hugs. When you don't get your way though -- watch out. Avery has many bite wounds from her dear little brother to prove my point. Recently I chased you out of Avery's school and through the busy parking lot full speed. You did NOT want to listen to me. I nearly had a heart attack. Another time I tried wrestling you into your carseat and you punched me right in the nose. I couldn't believe it. I immediately got Daddy who came running down to scold you and guess what you did? You spit in his face! Woa!

Here's the thing with you though. You definitely test your limits. And then you learn your lesson. After I finally caught up to you in the parking lot, I threw you into the car, strapped you in and then made you sit there and watch as Avery and I played on the playground. You were pissed and heartbroken and the other moms were probably wondering what on earth was going on -- but you never ran through a parking lot again. After the punching/spitting incident, we took your lovey away for the whole morning. You cried and screamed and sobbed and then finally told me how sorry you were and that you learned your lesson. After I picked you up from the gym later that morning you handed me a picture and told me you made it for me because you loved me so much.

You are so easy to love, Tyler. And so easy to forgive. You bring me and Daddy so much joy every single day.

I love you so much sweet boy...forever and ever and ever.

Love,
Mommy

Dear Avery -- 4 years old

Dear Avery – 4 years old

Hard to believe you are four. Some days it seems as though you are 14. You have the sassiness and mood swings of a teenager, and your favorite two songs at the moment are “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” and “Call me Maybe”. You insisted on getting your ears pierced for your 4^th birthday and did so without a single tear or flinch, but you absolutely refuse to let me pull back (or even brush) your hair . So your sparkling ears remain hidden. You are stubborn and strong-willed. You are a mini-me.

Still, though, you are my baby doll and always will be. You need reassurance every night that there are no fires, monsters or bugs in your room, and even after that, you spend most of your nights on the cot next to our bed where Mommy and Daddy are close. You request multiple kisses and hugs at drop-off at the gym and at school, and you know that a mother’s kiss cures all boo-boos. I am in no rush for you to grow up.

In spite of that, you are doing it a little bit day by day. You make this little thinking face when your wheels are turning. And they are turning all the time now. You have big ideas and are never shy to follow through. You started planning your birthday party back in July. We couldn’t take a trip to Target without carefully searching the party aisle for princess plates, pink napkins and favors for the goody bags. Never mind that we already had a stack of princess plates and pink napkins at home, and we were bursting with puzzles, pencils and notebooks, you wanted everything to be perfect…and well…you just wanted everything. You had pages and pages of guest lists – a boy page, a girl page, an adult page, etc. You originally had at least 35 kids on the list and every single one of them was truly and honestly your friend. What can I say? You are my sunshiney little social butterfly. 

You and I worked hard to plan the party. We were partners. We created,  printed, stuffed and stamped invitations, browsed and ordered the princess castle bouncy house and drew out the layout for your backyard bash. To say you were excited was an understatement.

In the end we had about 23 kids crammed into our playroom while our backyard soaked up all the rain. Yes, after all that planning and dreaming of a beautiful, colorful, crisp fall day, it rained and poured all over your parade. And do you know what you did? You LOVED it. There was never even one moment of disappointment. We completely pinked up our dining room and living room with tablecloths, balloons and streamers and we went with the flow. We set up the big wet bouncy house right outside the playroom door and Daddy helped pass kids back and forth. Some of the kids even enjoyed the big bubble table that you were so adamant about having. It was an ultimate lesson in being easy-going (something we focus on daily with you) and you passed with flying colors. I am so proud of you. You had the time of your life.

You are growing into such a big, beautiful, smart little girl. You can write your name, identify letters and sounds, count to 100 and add simple numbers. You read your first book recently and were so proud to read it again…and again…and again. You are passionate about books and love going to story hour at the library every week and picking out a whole pile to bring home with us. You even sleep with a whole basket of books in your bed. You love gymnastics and dance and you love to play soccer (especially with Daddy as your coach!) 

You absolutely love school, and I was so honored to accompany you as the parent volunteer last week. You are the mother hen of the class. I see how already at age 4 you are a leader -- marching to your own drum in your dress-up wedding gown. You marched and you sang until every other little girl in the class had on a princess dress and was marching along right behind you. You were the star of the show and you loved every second of it. You are such a pleasure to watch.

 People look up to you and I think they always will. You just have that quality about you. It is your gift. My wish for you (and my responsibility as your mother) is to make sure you always use that gift for the good. Do good and others will follow.  Be an up-stander, not a by-stander. Treat others kindly. Stay true to yourself. 

And always stay my baby doll.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Avery & Tyler -- my hopes and dreams for you

Dear Avery and Tyler,

I can't take credit for writing this but I came across it, and it brought tears to my eyes. These are my hopes and dreams for the both of you...

I hope I raise a child who says “thank you” to the bus driver when he gets off the bus, “please” to the waiter taking his order at the restaurant, and holds the elevator doors when someone’s rushing to get in.

I hope I raise a child who loses graciously and wins without bragging. I hope he learns that disappointments are fleeting and so are triumphs, and if he comes home at night to people who love him, neither one matter. Nobody is keeping score, except sometimes on Facebook.

I hope I raise a child who is kind to old people.

I hope I raise a child who realizes that life is unfair: Some people are born rich or gorgeous. Some people really are handed things that they don’t deserve. Some people luck into jobs or wealth that they don’t earn. Tough.

I hope I raise a child who gets what he wants just often enough to keep him optimistic but not enough to make him spoiled.

I hope I raise a child who knows that he’s loved and special but that he’s not the center of the universe and never, ever will be.

I hope I raise a child who will stick up for a kid who’s being bullied on the playground. I also hope I raise a child who, if he’s the one being bullied, fights back. Hard. Oh, and if he’s the bully? I hope he realizes that his mother, who once wore brown plastic glasses and read the phonebook on the school bus, will cause him more pain than a bully ever could.

I hope I raise a child who relishes life’s tiny pleasures—whether it’s a piece of music, or the color of a gorgeous flower, or Chinese takeout on a rainy Sunday night.

I hope I raise a child who is open-minded and curious about the world without being reckless.

I hope I raise a child who doesn’t need to affirm his self-worth through bigotry, snobbery, materialism, or violence.

I hope I raise a child who likes to read.

I hope I raise a child who is courageous when sick and grateful when healthy.

I hope I raise a child who begins and ends all relationships straightforwardly and honorably.

I hope I raise a child who can spot superficiality and artifice from a mile away and spends his time with people and things that feel authentic to him.

I hope I raise a child who makes quality friends and keeps them.

I hope I raise a child who realizes that his parents are flawed but loves them anyway.