4,380 days

My girl,
Just like that, you are twelve years old. Things are changing quickly these days: new school, new friends, new feelings. This journey is yours, but we're all along for the ride with you as well. As you experience new situations, so do we, albeit in an entirely different way. When we brought you home, I remember thinking that I had absolutely no clue what to do with you. I figured it out, but diapers and baby food all seems easy compared to what's coming now. (Lack of sleep was not easy. Truly. No sleep almost killed me.)

 The next few years are going to be full of ups and downs, and you have such a tender heart that I tend to worry about you. We have already dealt with mean girls at school, the new academic load, all of the extracurricular choices, and lying friends. You have faced each challenge with a true desire to do the right thing - the good thing - but you're also finding out how difficult that can be when peer pressure rules its ugly head. With each week that passes, though, I become less and less worried. I watch you go through all of the options and decide which one feels best to you. You usually pick the choice that won't hurt other people, and we have talked about how that's not always the way to go. Lately, you're looking at the bigger picture: how the choice may affect the future, how the choice may affect others, how the choice may affect you. I'm proud of you for looking at a situation from all angles before tackling it, and I'm even prouder that you are standing up for yourself.

One of the things I love the most about you is how loving and inclusive you are to everyone and everything. You came with me to say goodbye to Judy even though it broke your heart because you knew both Judy and I needed you. You make both Minny and Honey know how much they are loved, and whether you realize it or not, you make Dallas feel important and adored, too.  From the time you were a little girl, you have never met a stranger. You're the first to welcome someone new to your class or talk to the kid at the park who is playing alone. Often before I knew it, you were dragging your "new best friend" over to meet me and then running off just as quickly to play. I want you to always be a kind person - always. I don't want you to forget, though, that you matter, too.

My advice for you in this new year of your life is to keep love, kindness, and acceptance in your heart, but take no guff. Hang on to the friends who build you up instead of tear you down, and be sure you build them up, too. Ignore the meanness and jealousy that inevitably pops up in the coming years because when it's all said and done, none of it really matters. If something feels wrong, it probably is. Be strong enough to walk away from it with your head held high in the knowledge that you're on the side of good. If people make fun of you for that, so be it. That makes it easy for you to recognize them as people you neither want nor need in your life. Remember what Dumbledore said, "It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends."

I know that you know all of this; we talk about it a lot. When you're in the middle of it, though, it's hard to remember exactly what to do or how to feel. This is where it gets hard for me and for most parents. My instinct is to swoop in and fix it all so you never have to feel any pain or disappointment. Of course, realistically, that's not possible nor is it healthy. I have to loosen my grip a little and let you make your own mistakes and learn from them. Man, that's hard. I know that I have to let it happen now so you feel confident making your own decisions in the future. You can always come to me for help or with questions or just to talk: I promise that I'll be your soft place to fall. But it's time for you to start spreading your wings. Don't spread them too far, too fast, though. I may seem pretty zen about all of this now, but I'm not ready for nose piercing or dates or college applications. Not yet.

Thank you for making me a mom, for making me laugh every day, and for being such a unique and amazing human being. There is no one else like you.

As you would say, you're so SPICY!!

All my love,
Mom

2,555 days

My darling boy,

Today you are seven years old, and those years have flown by in the blink of an eye.  You are growing and changing every single day, but at your very core, you are still the sweet boy you were on the day you were born.

Your sixth year was fraught with change and uncertainty as Dad went through all of his treatments.  Throughout the process, you asked so many intelligent questions about what was happening, and you went off to think about the answers in your own way, in your own time.  You were so brave even though I know you were scared.  Like Dad, change is not your thing, but you handled everything with a grace and maturity that I didn't know you had.

You have done a lot and learned so much during this past year.  You ride your two-wheeler like a champ, and you love to ride around the driveway in the morning before school.  You lost some teeth, and your jack-o-lantern smile melts my heart every time I see it.  Kindergarten was fantastic for you because you made so many new friends and came home each day with new facts.  I loved hearing you say that you missed school during the summer because you wanted to see your pals.  I think you enjoyed summer camp for the most part, but I also know that you were happiest at home with me, reading a book or finding shapes in the clouds.  You have also learned to whistle and snap; I always know where you are in the house because I can hear you singing or whistling or snapping all over the place.

You have an innate sense of justice that I love; you can't stand to see anyone or anything mistreated.  If you find a spider in your room, you always want me to catch it and put it outside instead of squashing it.  Violence of any kind makes you sad, even when you know it's just a movie or something pretend.  You are a creator at heart, not a destroyer.  I think that's why you love playing Minecraft so much: you can build your own world just how you want it.  And when it comes to your family, you give so much more than you realize.  One of your favorite things to do is create a "store" in your room, and you invite us all to choose something to keep.  We play along and put everything back at the end of the night, but your face lights up when we make our selections.  You would give away your most prized possessions if you thought that would make someone else happy.

Of course, you're also a stereotypical little boy in some ways.  Any sort of joke about a bodily function is enough to make you fall off a chair with laughter.  You laugh with your entire body, and that makes me laugh even harder.  Stinky feet pass for great comedy around here, and I often hear Lottie exclaiming, "DAAAAAAALLAS" when she is sick of your jokes.  You two fight more than ever now, but you also stand up for each other with strength and fierce love.  I am confident that no one will ever hurt you while your sister is around, and I know you will always protect her.  One of my favorite things to do is listen you talk to each other right before bedtime because sometimes you tell her things that you haven't told me.  I'm so glad that you have her in your life, and she is beyond lucky to have you as a brother.

If I had one wish for you in your seventh year, it would be this: continue to be exactly who you are.  You're crazy-smart, kind, generous, funny, curious, and gentle.  As you grow, you might start to feel that it isn't cool to be sweet, but I hope you can ignore that feeling.  I love when you cuddle with me and tell me how much you love me.  I love that you still hold hands in a parking lot.  I love that you still try to sit in our laps even though you really don't fit.  Basically, I love how strongly you love, and I hope with all my heart that you never lose that.  Not too many adults, let alone kids, know who they are, and you are one of the lucky few to know that about yourself at such a young age.  Hold on to that, baby, and don't let anyone try to change the beautiful boy you are.

Dad and I are ridiculously proud of you and the way you complete our little family.  Thank you for bringing us so much laughter and love.

With all my love,
Mom

Of sleepovers and sprouting

We have all been marching along with the new school schedule this year where both kids get on the bus at the same time and come home at the same time.  I like that I don't have to get in the car to drive Dal to school, but sometimes trying to get both kids ready at the same time in the morning is maddening.  There is always the rush of getting dressed, brushing teeth, double-checking backpacks, and trying to stay clean.  We seem to be getting into a pretty decent groove, so hopefully that will continue.

Along with the new school year comes new teachers and new friends.  Both kids are absolutely nutso about their teachers, and they're both usually enthusiastic about going to school every morning.  This last week was exceptionally long for Lottie, though.  Monday night, I was at a meeting at the school when I ran into the mother of one of Lottie's pals.  Lottie and the girl are in different classes this year, but they still play together during recess.  The mom asked for my phone number so she could text me information about the girl's birthday party that was going to be on Saturday.  A sleepover birthday party.  The sleepover part was optional, but anyone who knows Lottie knows that she is all about keeping a party going for as long as possible.  I made the mistake of telling Lottie about the invitation before I had received a text from the mom.  Rookie error, right?  The rest of the week, I was peppered with questions about the party, whether or not I had heard from the mom, and if I thought Lottie could just show up at the party.  Saturday morning dawned with no word about the party and a 7-year old crying over breakfast.  I cried, too, because I felt like I had somehow let her down, and I wished I had never mentioned the party in the first place.  We planned a fun day of playing outside, a special dessert, and a family movie night; I could tell, however, that her mind was on the party most of the day. 

The sky began to darken around 2:30 that afternoon, and I called the kids inside.  I was in the middle of making the chocolate dessert that I knew my little sweet-toothed girl would love when I heard the chime of a text message on my phone.  I picked up the phone in between separating eggs to see a text from the mom inviting Lottie to the party...the party that started in twenty minutes.   All at once, I was angry, excited, irritated, incredulous, and frazzled.  I hadn't bothered to get a gift because I thought Lottie had been forgotten.  Lottie was sweaty and filthy from playing outside all day.  A serious thunderstorm was headed our way.  I could think of a million reasons why she shouldn't go and only one reason why she should.  Even though I wanted to erase the message, I knew I should let her go to the party.  After a quick whispered conference with T, I told Lottie what was up.  I know it sounds completely hokey, but the sun shone out of her eyes.  She hadn't been left out, and she was going to her first slumber party.  She ran upstairs to take a quick shower while T packed an overnight bag for her.  I tore downstairs to find and wrap a suitable birthday present from the box of surplus gifts I keep in the basement.  Before she left, I held her face in my hands and told her that if anything felt off or she just didn't want to stay, she could call us any time of the night to pick her up.  She hugged me tightly, kissed her brother, and skipped out to the car with her dad.  About two minutes after they left, the tornado sirens blared, and I wanted to run out in the street and call them both back home. 

I spent that evening with T and Dallas, and although it was cool --and totally weird, too--to be able to focus on just one kid, my head was with Lottie.  I wondered if she was getting along with the other kids at the party.  I wondered if the threatening skies and the heavy rains were scaring her.  I worried that she wanted to come home but was too afraid to say so.  Would she sleep well?  Would she sleep at all?  (And before all you other parents chime in with the "you-have-no-idea-wait-until-she's-a-teenager" stuff,  just don't.  It's never helpful and it diminishes what I am feeling now.  Not cool.)

Of course, in the end, Lottie had a fantastic time at the party.  She ended up staying with the birthday girl for most of the next morning while T and I paced around the house wondering when she would finally come home.  She seemed exactly the same but also a little older, a little more grown up.  It was her first night staying with anyone who wasn't family, and she loved it.  I was thrilled that her first sleepover had been a success, but if I am being totally honest, I was a little sad, too.  I realized that the first slumber party was just the beginning of many firsts that T and I wouldn't be a part of. Spending the night at someone's house doesn't mean that she's ready for her own apartment, of course, but it's the start of a whole new world for her.  She is starting to realize that there is so much more to life than just our home and our family.  My job as a parent is to give her those experiences and encourage her growth in every way; I just didn't know that it would all start so soon.  Teaching her new things will continue to be my job, but now a new part of my job is making sure that home is where she will always have a soft place to fall. 

Not too long after reading time Sunday evening, I noticed that I hadn't heard a peep out of Lottie's room in a while.  I went to check on her, and I found her fast asleep with her Lamby in her arms.  I took a minute to drink in her quiet, sleeping face before I called T in to see how quickly she had passed out.  I'm willing to embrace her newfound slice of autonomy as long as I can still tuck her in most nights for as long as she lets me.  

Sweet November

I adore November.  It's my birthday month (yay!), Thanksgiving, the beginning of winter in my mind, and, most importantly, November signifies that Halloween is over.  I'm not a complete humbug, but Halloween is not my favorite occasion.  I can't even really call it a holiday because it's not something I want to celebrate.  I have no beef with the whole idea of Halloween; I enjoy being freaked out just as much as the next gal.  But what I cannot stand is the hype and the candy.  Well, I personally love the candy, but I don't love what the candy does to my kids.  And when did Halloween start becoming like Christmas?  School parties, greeting cards, decorations...it's all too much.

This Halloween has been especially trying for me.  Dallas is in a stage where he is scared of pretty much everything.  The Halloween decorations all over our neighborhood didn't help anything.  A house down the street from us had two blowup Halloween decorations in the yard: a giant pirate ship manned by skeletons and a giant treasure chest with a skeleton that popped out like a jack-in-the-box.  Dallas was so freaked by the whole scene that I have spent the last week driving out of my way just so we don't have to pass "the chest guy" in the car.  The chest guy has haunted my poor boy's days and nights.  He talks about the chest guy all the time.  Seriously, all day.  If he hates the darn thing so much, why does he play it over and over in his head?  Who knows.

Surprisingly, Halloween night went pretty well.  It started off a bit bumpy because Lottie refused to eat dinner due to sheer and utter excitement.  She couldn't focus on anything other than the promise of trick-or-treating.  The lack of food in her system caused a few meltdowns before her costume was even on.  Thankfully, she was able to pull it together and get her Jessie groove back.  Dallas got dressed with no problem, unless you count the fact that he changed his mind about his costume on an hourly basis.  Fireman.  Pirate.  Fireman.  Pirate.  Pirate, for sure.  Definitely fireman.  He finally picked pirate, and he was ready to go with his hook and sword.

We trolled our street as it started to get dark outside.  At first, Lottie wanted either Trevor or me to go up to the doors with her, but that ended quickly.  She was a real pro, striding confidently from house to house with one mission on her mind: more candy.  She chastised the rest of us for not walking fast enough.  "Quickly, you guys!  Quickly!"  She was so grown-up: confident and independent.  It was so gratifying and heartbreaking all at the same time.  Dallas was a little more timid, but he was beyond sweet.  He very politely spoke to everyone we saw, he thanked the people who gave him candy, and he even told most of them he'd see them again soon.  He was quick to reassure people who greeted him as if he were a pirate, "I'm just pretending.  It's really me, Dallas!"  He begged to go to a house that had an inflatable haunted house in front of it: the whole love/hate thing rearing its ugly head.  I eventually agreed to take him to see the spooky house, and he just stood in front of it for a long time.  He didn't want to walk through the inflatable, so we walked around it together.  I was proud of his attempt at bravery even though it must have cost him dearly to be within two feet of something that scared him so much.

The evening started off bumpy and ended with two tired kids who were past their bedtimes.  But they had fun, and that's all that really matters.  Of course, now we have to deal with the loads and loads of candy, but that's another blog...