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A Letter to My Daughter on the First Day of Preschool and Her First Interview

4 Sep


Dear Zoe,

It was big day for you, today! This morning you and I walked hand-in-hand around the block to a small stone church nearby. Not for Sunday school, which you would have been equally excited about, especially since the one time you went there you played with lots of Apple Jacks, the name you call all My Little Ponies, no we didn’t go for Sunday school. This time, we went for your first day of class as a preschooler.

Sometime last spring we signed you up for Kiddie Kollege at the local recreation center, which was an hour and 15 minutes twice a week. But that was not preschool, and Mommy felt much differently about your attendance there on that first day than I did this morning.

Today marked your first day going to school. Your first day with electricity in your chest and butterflies penballing through your belly. Your first day to think about who you’ll meet and what new outfit you’ll wear. The first day to think about what classes you’ll be taking and which boys might be sitting next to you.

Actually, I’m getting ahead of myself! You’re only three and a half (in a few days), not thirteen. Which means thankfully all you were thinking about was squishing playdough between your delicate peach fingers, and singing songs off-key while you spin around with your arms stretched wide till you’re dizzy.

You were thinking about all the belly laughs you’ll share with your new friends and the amazing secret games you’ll make up together.

You were thinking about the yummy snacks you might enjoy, wondering if real gold-fish eat Goldfish Crackers and if you’ll turn into a gold-fish if you eat them, too.

I’m proud of you, Zoe girl. You can count really well now (not just knowing the numbers but you understand the concept of counting), and you can identify all your letters, and you can spell your name and mommy’s name (which is not “M-O-M” it’s “J-O-Y”- you’ve let me know this more than once). You can spell “P-A-R-K” and “Z-O-O” two of your favorite places to visit. You can sit still and listen to all sorts of books being read to you. You can recite your favorite books by heart and you can even let me know when I missed words.

Not only are you smart, little peanut, you’re so pretty, too. You’ve got long fingers and a petite frame. Your hair is very thick and hangs down to your shoulder blades. I like to put your blonde strands into two braids – that seems to keep your fly aways in place for most of the day. Your eyes are large expressive puddles of cornflower blue framed perfectly with light brown eyebrows which you like to arch up when you’re being very serious with me.

This always happens to be when you say, “Not yet, Mommy.” in an exact echo of my own voice when I’ve asked you if you’ve finished washing your hands.

Besides for being the only mom who showed up at your orientation today with my hair piled into a messy pony-tail and wearing jeans and a t-shirt, (It seems khaki pants and polo shirts were the unspoken uniform. I miss the casualness of Austin, kiddo.) I really enjoyed this morning and all that it entailed for you!

I enjoyed watching you slowly explore your new classroom. First looking around at everything – not touching anything just yet. Until you saw the reading nook. You went straight for that sunlit corner. And while the other kids played with trucks and dolls (which is perfect, too) you sat quietly and immersed yourself in new books to read. Your love of books makes me think you’re going to excel in school.

Either way, I know you’ll make me proud. You already have, Zozo. Reach for the stars, sweet one!

Love, Momma.

ps. You still call “Caterpillars” “Patakillers” and I love it!

Zoe’s First Interview: 

(some questions are repeated on purpose)

What’s your favorite color? “Blue!”

What do you want to be when you grow up? “A vet. Mommy, I don’t want to grow up, and I want to be a vet.”

What’s your favorite food? “My favorite food is … suckers.”

What’s your favorite animal? “Um, my favorite animal … duck!”

What’s your favorite toy? “Um, my favorite toy, is um, my favorite toy, is uuuuuuum … (looks around the room) wagon! Wagons are my favorite toys.”

What’s your favorite instrument? “A violin. Mommy, violins are my favorite instruments!”

What’s your favorite book? “Mmmmmm, my favorite book is um (long pause) my favorite book is a Clifford one. It’s all my Clifford ones, Mommy.”

What’s your favorite movie: “My favorite movie is Baby Einstein.”

What’s your favorite thing to do: “I like to color.”

What’s your favorite place to go: “To Walmart.” (Her answer cracks me up! I have to say it’s because she gets a cookie from the bakery on the rare occasions when we do go.)

What do you dream about? “I don’t want to dream.”

What’s your favorite song? “Deep and Wide. That’s my favorite song.”

What rhymes with flower? “Power!”

How old is Mommy? “45!” (Need to work on that one.)

How old is Daddy? “How old is he?”

How old is Auntie A? “I don’t know how old she is. Timber-four. She is timber-four.”

How old is Noah? “He is timber-four.”

What does Mommy do? “Writes some things.”

What does daddy do? “He works.”

Where does he work? “At school. He works at school.”

Do you like your brother, Noah? “Mmmmm, I don’t.” (He was reaching for her crayons right then.)

What’s your favorite lunch? “Grilled cheese sandwich and soup.”

What’s your favorite animal? “Mommy, my favorite animal is a giraffe.”

Do you love Mommy? “Yeah. (long pause) I love Daddy. I love Mommy and Daddy.”

Do you like preschool? “Yeah.”

What do you like about preschool? “Playdough.”

What else do you like? “I like crayons.”

What’s your favorite time of the day? “Zoo.”

What’s your favorite color? “Mmmmm, my favorite color is yellow.”

Anything else I should know? “Mommy I want some lotion, that will help me feel better.”

If Moms Wore Uniforms

10 Jul

There are days when I feel so far from heroic that I feel like the I’m the punchline in a joke. But some days, like today, when my daughter reached over to me and placed her sticky hands on my face, and said with perfect innocence, “Mommy, I will love you forever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever…” I understand that saving the world, at least my corner of it, might be possible … one tender moment at a time.

To every reluctant hero, wear your uniform proud!

 

A Beautiful Mother Quote

19 Jun

More and more I am learning that motherhood requires surrender.  Surrender to stop what I am doing and to give to my children. To love on them when they need it, when they want it, and when it’s not always convenient for me.

Sometimes this means sitting on the couch with a towel in my hair, glasses on my nose, and an old bathrobe on – while nursing my son, giving cuddles to my daughter and reading Goodnight Moon (when really what I want to do is get dressed, put on my contacts, and brush my teeth.)

But one thing is true, I am learning, ever so slowly, that the surrender of motherhood helps shape my heart into a beautiful one, and all the while, thankfully, my children aren’t comparing me to anyone but me – and they think I’m beautiful.

To My Son, On Your First Birthday | A Mother’s Understanding

18 Apr

To my lion-hearted son, Noah,

You were asleep in my arms.  Your sweet body cradled next to mine, your tender breathing pulling your chest in and out in perfect rhythm.  I nestled you closer. I shut my eyes and pressed my lips against your cheek.  I stopped rocking for a brief moment to listen for Zoe in the other room, I wanted to make sure all was well with her so that I could steal away just a few more quiet moments alone with you – sleeping soundly, so perfect and tender – my beautiful son.  It was that moment, in the golden quiet of the afternoon, and as if God himself spoke the words “let there be light,” that understanding came to me.

I have struggled to feel a sense of wonder and contentment as your mother. All those endless months of screaming were like a dull knife – slashing my confidence into a very slim existence of mothering.  When I held you in quiet moments, those difficult memories, and the emotions that were so deeply entangled with the recollection of your worst days, haunted me.  I truly felt stricken.

I knew the signs, and I had them, so I began to research PTSD and how to treat it. I told your father of my experience and expressed my need for support and help.  He gently allowed me to share – to empty out my steeping brew of discouragement.  His listening was so valuable to my soul.  I felt like each heavy word I spoke aloud was a captive bird released from my rusty cage of mother-shame;  my confessions brought me closer to healing, closer to your father, and closer to you.

And then, on that quiet afternoon while I rocked you to sleep, I had a revelation of my love for you. It was so subtle that I almost feel I cannot call it a revelation – but rather, a discovery – like searching for an object in a room that has been there all along; at the tip of my fingers yearning to be found.

Sweet Noah Luke, I understand now that I’ll never love you like I love Zoe. And this has been my greatest mistake in parenting you so far – to think that I would, or rather, that I should.  Not only a mistake to you, but to my own confidence as a mother. Noah, I will love you like I love you, and that love for you is like no other thing, meant for no other person, and created for nothing else but your heart. This love is not to be compared and not to be given to anyone but you.

With each child different expressions of love, different sounds of love, different mechanics of love will arrive. Yet, and this is important, while the look and feel of my love may vary between my children, the intensity and measure of my love for each of you remains the same.

This is the beautiful mystery of mothering that has taken me a full year of wrestling with to finally realize.  This mystery, this revelation, has silenced the haunting of my soul. No more guilt, and no more striving. My soul is liberated from my own accusing finger. Because I now know, without question, I am in love with you, son. It is a love that looks, and feels, and smells totally and wonderfully different from the first time I fell in love with a child born from my body, but it is a powerful and equal force of love all the same. I am fiercely protective of this love for you, Noah.

As I stand on the edge of your first year of life, I can see that you are iron sharpening my heart and coal cleansing my lips. Your arrival has required sacrifice, strength, commitment and steadfastness. This first year with you has revealed my humanity and need for grace and mercy – from you, from your dad, from your sister, from my closest community, from myself  – and in my most quiet secret hours, I asked for mercy and grace from God.

This realization is my reckoning and my peace. I understand that you are the strongest wind in my life – I can do nothing but unfold the sails of my heart and hold steady my soul  – for this kind of love between a mother and her son is not a bright flame, it is a slow burn. It is the smoldering, intense embers of love oozing like honey from the hive, heady and sweet and dripping with myrrh.

Today, Noah, you are a year old. Happy birthday to my lion-hearted son. You have made me courageous.  Thank you.

I love you completely and recklessly,

Momma

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