Dear kids...practice kindness

Dear Avery & Tyler,

Three weeks ago Daddy came home with unexpected news. He lost his job. He hadn't done anything to warrant this loss; in fact his performance with his company was outstanding. You both know that nobody works harder than Daddy.

But sometimes things in life happen this way; unexpected, unreasonable, unfair. You can't always fight these things. You must learn to take what life hands you and hold your heads up high no matter what. Life isn't about the hand you're dealt, it's how you play your cards. And you need to play them with grace and dignity...always. Remember that.

Anyway a few days ago I took Tyler to Market Basket and received another unexpected blow. It wasn't nearly as big as Dad's unemployment, of course, but it still bothered me to my core. This is what I found on my windshield after buying our groceries at Market Basket:

And my response (to which the person will obviously never read):

To the person(s) who left this note on my car in the Market Basket parking lot:

First of all, please accept my apology for not properly centering my car between the lines. I am sincerely sorry for whatever nuisance that may have caused. 

To be fair, it wasn’t possible for me to center my car within the lines because the car on the other side of me was not centered in his. It is the nature of the beast of the Market Basket parking lot. I had driven around the lot for over 10-minutes with my son desperately wanting to get out already, and this spot was the first of which I came across. And let me assure you my car was NOT a foot away from yours. I didn’t bring my measuring tape today, but if my 5-year-old was able to easily open his car door and climb out without hitting your car with his door, I can assure you it was more than one foot. (no, he isn’t very big...but he’s not very careful about swinging open doors either and I never would have let him out that side had we been that close) You may not believe me but I actually AM considerate of others.  

What I’m most curious about, though, is how much do you consider others? Did you give any thought to who might receive your note? What if I had been a little old lady? I saw at least 8 at Market Basket this morning. How about a new mom struggling with a screaming infant? I saw one of those too. A mom with a 5-year-old who can recognize the letters of what he calls “the f-bomb” and wants to know why someone would ever say something so horrible to his mom? Yup, that one is me.

Here are some other things you couldn’t possibly know about me. There is nothing that makes me shudder more than dragging my very active 5-year-old son to Market Basket with me on our one day off together. But today I had no choice. Three weeks ago my husband lost his job (without a day of notice) and we are already half-way through his company’s “generous” 6-week severance. Our grocery envelope was down to its last few dollars and I am determined to make those dollars last. Our health insurance runs out in 3 days, and though I am a public school teacher (perhaps your child’s teacher??) I receive no health benefits because I am not full-time. 

We were quick to get out of the car this morning because my son was excited to run into Staples to buy his daddy a present (resume paper). A grocer with special needs was on his way to our car to offer us a cart and I wanted to receive his generosity kindly instead of dilly-dallying to try to straighten my car in a spot in which it could never be straightened. 

Don’t get me wrong. This is no pity party. I will shop at Market Basket (crazy parking lot, crowded aisles and all) with my head held high. I will take joy in the friendly staff. I will be grateful for the grocer who brings us a cart. I will smile back to every single elderly man and woman and think warmly of my grandparents every time. I will gladly help the little old lady in aisle 9 reach the box on the highest shelf and be proud to share this easy example of kindness and compassion with my son. And of course I will appreciate the savings with a more grateful perspective than ever before.

Perhaps if you spent more of your time taking notice of all the good things around you and less of it writing nasty notes to strangers you know nothing about, you’ll find yourself in a much happier place...regardless of how close it happens to be to someone else."

Now it felt cathartic and empowering to get my thoughts out on paper and express myself so freely. But it wasn't enough. I know very well I can't possibly change all the hostility in the world. But I felt this nagging need to teach both of YOU what you can do when life hands you a lemon. Because trust me, life will hand you plenty.

You came home from school and I asked you if wanted to join me in heading off on a mission to make the world a better place. Of course you both said YES! So we drove over to Market Basket and left 10 notes like this one on random cars in the parking lot. We might have looked a little crazy running around the parking lot. But that's the thing. WHO CARES?!?! When you're doing something kind, don't worry about looking cool. Kind always comes first.

We looked mostly for handicapped cars and ones with carseats. Then we drove around the lot for over an hour and tried to spy as people came out of the store and received their notes. We caught one half-smile and two people who drove off without ever noticing the paper on their windshield. Somehow we missed all of the rest.

Except one. We pulled in next to the lady just after she got her note and watched her laughing hysterically into her cellphone. She caught us spying and figured us out. She insisted that we roll down our windows, told us how we totally just made her day and that she had just called her friend to read her the note. She couldn't stop smiling and thanking us. Then she told us she planned to do the same for someone else.

That's the thing. Kindness is infectious. It feels good and people want to spread it. Tyler said on the way home, "Wow, making people happy is fun." That's the lesson. It IS fun. It is inspiring to inspire others. And just remembers it takes the same amount of energy to be kind as it does to be cruel. But kind feels a WHOLE lot better. 

Choose kind every time. I promise you, you can't go wrong.

I love you both!
Mom

Dear Nannie

We lost our Nannie last week. It was sudden and heartbreaking and enormous. She was like a mother to me and it nearly swallowed me whole. I could sit here and write down the details of her death...but I know she'd rather me share with you the details of her life.

She loved the two of you so fully. You brought her SO MUCH JOY. Every time we went to visit her (which was very often) she spent the entire visit telling me over and over again how GOOD my kids are. She didn't want me to forget. And she always wanted me to go home and remind Daddy too. You two were pure gold to her.

A few weeks ago we took her out to lunch at Panera and then to Jordan's for our annual Enchanted Village visit with her. We had so much fun looking at all the Christmas displays and lights.  Then the two of you laced up your skates and hit indoor skating rink. Nannie and I sat right on the side, holding hands and laughing our hearts out the entire time. Avery made a friend and left Tyler in the dust, who spent the entire hour just trying to catch up with his sister...falling miserably over and over again. But then he'd bounce back up and take off once again. I've never heard Nannie laugh so hard...I was worried she would hurt herself. She kept telling me to check his tushie later for bruises.

It truly was a magical day. We were exhausted afterwards but bursting with joy. That's the Nannie I want you to remember. She didn't just live in the moment, she cherished it. And she cherished the two of you more than anything.

Here is my eulogy I read at her funeral:

I have a box in my closet full of letters that my Nannie has written to me over the years. It is my treasure box. All of my summers away at camp, off to college, teaching in Vermont -- I always looked forward to seeing her handwriting on an envelope in my mailbox. Her letters were full of advice, silly stories, warmth, praise and love…sometimes even a few dollars. She had a way of reaching me across the miles. She understood my homesickness, cheered on my successes and softened my heartaches. She always said exactly what I needed to hear. Every single one of her letters made me laugh out loud and simultaneously brought me to tears.

Today it is my turn to write a letter back to her.

Dear Nannie,

I am so full of gratitude to have had you for the 38 years of my life. I am SO very grateful that my children have had you too. You have been such a gift to all of us. It is a rarity to be blessed with someone who totally gets you, who accepts you for exactly who you are and always expects the best from you. Any one of us could be writing this same letter to you. Your connection with each of us was so deep and so true. You made us each feel like the most important, cherished, beautiful and loved person on earth.

You taught us to be gracious and open. Your beach house was OUR beach house. We never had to ask permission to visit. We never had to ask to bring our friends. We were expected to. And you were always there in your bathing suit ready to welcome us -- and whatever crowd we brought along -- with open arms, a huge smile and plenty of chicken soup. You weren’t just our Nannie…you were everyone’s Nannie.

You taught us not to cry over spilled milk. One summer when Craig and I were kids, we were having a snack in the kitchen while you were out in the backyard hanging the laundry. I can’t remember the details but somehow we dropped a huge jug of apple juice and it shattered, covering your kitchen in juice and glass. Craig and I were horrified. We thought you were going to kill us. And then you walked in. And do you know what you said? “Oh well, let’s clean it up.” There was no yelling, no anger, not even the slightest hint of irritation. In the big scheme of life it was NO BIG DEAL. You taught us that no spills, no matter how big, ever are.

You taught us to respect our elders. Your best friends at the beach — the beach bums — became our best friends every summer as well. Singing songs, telling stories, laughing wildly, having our daily party at the beach -- these are some of my sweetest childhood memories. You taught us to be affectionate and warm, to embrace bonds regardless of age, to cherish every single friendship and to hold them all dear. You taught us to love.

You taught us to stop and smell the roses -- or in your case to stop and collect the sea glass. You taught us to be young at heart, always. You cherished the little moments. From feeding the ducks to making pies in the sand to bowling and bingo -- you found joy in all of it. There aren’t many 90-year-olds who will get into the ocean and jump the waves with their great-grandchildren. But you never missed an opportunity. You were never in a rush, never got bored, never too eager to move on to the next thing without fully enjoying the thing you were right smack in the middle of. Your joy was infectious. You taught us to live.

You taught us that happiness doesn’t come from things; it comes from each other. You never ever complained about what you didn’t have, and you took SO MUCH pride in all that you did — your crooked little house, your family, your dignity. You taught us to hold our heads up high and be grateful…always.

You taught us to say I’m sorry. As much as you loved and adored each of us, you were never hesitant to be completely honest -- at times utterly and brutally honest. If we did something wrong, we knew we’d be hearing about it from you. And we knew we had to fix it. You were tough. And you made each of us better because of it.

You taught us the yiddish word “bashert”, in other words “meant to be”. I remember coming to you as a teenager with a broken heart. You told me -- promised me -- that when I met the right person I’d know. I didn’t understand then what you meant. Until I did. When I introduced Phil to you, you knew too. It was “bashert”. It was so important to you that each of us found that right one, whoever he or she may be, as long as we were happy. And we all did. Because you taught us exactly what to look for. You and Papa Bob lived an extraordinary love story — 68 years of commitment, affection and

devotion. It was your gift to us. And we treasure it.

You taught us that family is everything. Your summer Sunday BBQs, your Chinatown dinners, your Jewish Christmas, your kugel, brisket and canadels. These are the things that bond us. One of the first things I ever said to Phil was, “my family’s crazy...and I love them anyway.” This is what you taught us. You embraced the crazy and found joy in it. You loved each of us whole-heartedly and remarkably, despite the crazy...you loved us BECAUSE of the crazy. You told us every day exactly where we belonged. You taught us who we are.

You have been our shoulder to cry on, our listening ear and our favorite person to laugh with. You brought us toys when we were home sick with the chicken pox, you cheered us on as we graduated from college, you raised the roof with us on our wedding days and you held our babies and sang to them when they were only days old. You never missed one single moment. You have been our best friend, our hardest critic and our biggest fan. You have been our rock. Our beloved Nannie.

After my kids were born, every time I came to visit you -- exhausted with motherhood -- your first order of business was always to put me right to bed. Whether I was in the mood for a nap or not, there was no choice. You were going to get rid of me and then stuff my kids with cupcakes and hoodsies. You would direct me to your bedroom, tuck me in tight and kiss me goodnight. Each time I never thought there was any way I would actually fall asleep. But every single time I did -- to the sound of my children and my grandparents laughing their hearts out. Those naps were the best of my life.

Today it is our turn to put you to rest. You have lived a long, FULL, loving, beautiful life. Consider this note to you your bedtime story. Consider all of us here today your goodnight kiss. Consider our memories of you a forever soundtrack of laughter. This is not the end for you. You are larger than life. You will be there every time our children have a spill, every time we hold the door for the little old lady behind us, every  time we do someone wrong and know it, every time we find a piece of seaglass in the sand. You won't miss a thing.

May you find comfort in being with your dear husband again and resting in peace together. May you know that your bright spirit is embedded deep into each of us and that you are leaving us all with your beautiful legacy of love. Sleep tight Nannie. Sweet dreams.

Love,

Andra

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!!!!!!

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