Category Archives: Motherhood

An open letter to my daughter.

My beautiful amazing young woman.  You are perfect, just as you are.  You are brave, smart, loving, fun, spontaneous, beautiful, and kind.  I am proud of you.  I love you.

I am terrified for you.

You are turning into a woman.  You will soon have more and more freedom in your life, and while I know you are smart and thoughtful and will do your best to make good choices, I also know you are kind and generous, and may be mislead by the people in your life.

I know that the world holds opportunities and pitfalls, heroes and villians, teddy bears and monsters.

I can no longer protect you from life.  I cannot wrap you in my arms and make it go away with a kiss and a chocolate.  Now you begin to face the real world.  You will begin to see the harshness in addition to the beauty, the pain in addition to the joy.

Now the growing pains begin in earnest.

There is no way for me to stop you from embracing life and all the bruises that follow.  All I can do is promise you this:

I will speak openly and honestly with you about topics that embarrass us both so I may better fit you with appropriate weapons for your future battles.  I will not let discomfort prevent me from sharing with you the knowledge I gained from my own encounters.  I will hand down my armor in the clearest way possible.

I will keep the lines of communication open.  I will let you know that nothing you share with me will ever make me stop loving you, and I will reinforce the fact that there is nothing you can’t tell me.  Tell me anything, tell me everything.  I would rather know it all and be in a position to help you through it, than blindly fumble in the dark while you suffer.

I will not judge you.  I will worry about you.  I will work hard to make you understand the difference.  I will listen to your troubles and talk with you to help you make the decision that is best for who you are, not who I am.  If I get angry or sad about what you tell me, I will let you know the source of that anger or sorrow, and I will not let it get in the way of helping you. I will continue to love you and to listen.

The world is full of sharp and dangerous places.  I can’t stop you from wandering into them.  My parents couldn’t stop me.  All they could do was listen.  All anyone can do is provide you with a soft place to land when the sharpness cuts too deeply.

Let me be your soft landing place.  Let me be the place you run to heal.

I love you.

The last baby.

It’s a distinction he bears with pride.  It started when he told me he wanted a younger brother, so he could have a boy to play with.  My heart constricted in my chest and tears welled up in my eyes.

“I can’t have anymore babies my love, you are my last baby.”

“Your last baby? Why am I your last baby?” He asked, eyes widening as he tried to wrap his six year old mind around a very adult concept.

“Remember when mommy had the last surgery?”

“Yes. You couldn’t pick me up forever, and you cried.”

“Yes” I managed to whisper over the lump in my throat. “When I had that surgery, they took out the parts that let me have another baby. So that is why you are my last.”

He was silent as he absorbed this.  Maybe it was something in my tone of voice or the look on my face but he sat with my statement for a long time, treating it with more seriousness than I thought he could.

“That’s really sad mommy, that you can’t have another baby.” He threw his arm around my neck and snuggled into me, giving me a chance to breathe in the unique smell of his sweat and shampoo. “But I am a little glad I got to be your last  baby.” He kissed me on the cheek and snuggled in close, pulling me towards him with both of his little boy arms.

“I am glad too sweetheart” I murmured as I rested my chin upon his head and closed my eyes.

“And Mommy? Don’t worry, I will always be your baby.”

Type A Personality, meet motherhood.

I try very hard not to go overboard on the whole motherhood thing.  Most of the time I do an excellent job.  I let the children watch too much t.v., play too many video games, eat too much candy, send them off to do their own thing without playing with them all the time. I do my own stuff, yell at them, make them do chores for their allowance.  I don’t always make them bathe before it becomes perfectly clear they really need to.

There are a few areas where I have a tendency to take things too far.  Lunches would be one of those areas.

It started simply enough.  Back in the day when Marlena started school she hated crusts on her sandwich.  I hated cutting the crusts off.  I discovered large cookie cutters are fabulous for cutting bread slices uniformly.  So I began sending her to school with sandwiches shaped like the largest cookie cutter I had, a turtle.

Then things spiraled quickly downhill.  I began to get more cookie cutters.  Holiday themed, heart shaped, dinosaur shaped, you name it.  Then I had to cut the fruit with smaller matching shapes.  Then I turned into that crazy mom who sent her kids to school with incredibly detailed shaped lunches.

In order to regain my sanity I stopped sending lunches all together.  The kid got a school lunch account and that was that.  Until Oliver began going to school, this year.

He struggles with school and with mornings. He would much rather be doing his own independent little thing at home than being in a big noisy building with too many kids.  He needs a soft personal touch.  I started sending him to school with notes.  Just cute little love notes on plain paper.

Then when he had come home complaining of a particularly bad day of bullying and teasing I thought perhaps he would make it through the next day more easily if his lunch contained a note from his favorite video game character, Luigi.  So I printed a color picture of Luigi and stuck it in his lunch with a little blurb about being an amazing kid.

He loved it.

He loved it so much that he wanted another the next day, and the next, and the next.

Soon I was printing the notes on two sides of the paper using a template I designed on my mac in order to turn the notes into top folding cards.  I had coloring pages on the inside and a full color picture and message on the outside.  I began sending crayons tucked into his napkin.  I looked up coloring printables for Sonic, Mario, TMNT, and anything else he liked.  I began rotating the subject of the notes.

Tonight, I spent an hour creating a maze for Sonic the Hedgehog to go through.

Now I am officially that crazy mother who sends her kid to school with hand designed activity packets and crayons in his lunch.

Oh and best of all, he hates having crusts on his sandwiches too.