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

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