Twelve

Dear McKay,

Today, at 12:33 a.m., you marked your twelfth year in my life. You have been lamenting all week, impatiently waiting for your birthday to arrive. I sarcastically commented each day that had you been born remotely on-time like you were supposed to have done, you'd have already had your birthday.

To which you laughed, smiled sheepishly, and said, "Geez, Mom. I couldn't help it."

You'd think after 12 years together, I'd have forgiven you for being a week late.

But I couldn't help it, you see. I had waited four long years to even have a glimmer of you in my life, and another few days just seemed like torture. I was so ready to meet you, and hold you, and have you in my arms.

You changed me forever, Mack.

You made me a mama.

I was digging through scrapbooks this morning to find old pictures of you, and seeing some of the ones from your toddler days reminded me of what it was like to get you dressed in the morning. You were such a wiggly little thing. It was as though I was asking too much for you to sit still a whole three minutes and put on a shirt. Because those dump trucks, and books, and balls? They just weren't going to throw themselves, you know.

But one day, as we were having our daily wrestling match, I noticed you watching me. You didn't fight or wiggle this time. Your wide, blue eyes just stared at me - taking in my every feature as though you were seeing me for the first time. And then suddenly, and without warning, you threw your arms around my neck and held on tight. Your soft, dimpled elbows wrapped around me, and tears filled my eyes as it hit me.

You loved me.

You know what, kid? I still see that love today. I see it in your easygoing nature. I see it when you cheerfully do your homework and practice your trumpet without having to be told. I see it when you sigh and resign yourself to a game with Hannah, even though you'd much rather do something else. I see it when you let your brother have the bigger half of a treat you brought home in the first place.

You simply emanate love. You open your little heart wide and love everyone around you. It is impossible to resist. You make it so easy to love you back.

So, this morning, when your father pulled that big green gun-shaped case out of the closet, your squeals of glee left us no doubt as to your feelings on the matter. Against my better judgment, I let him buy you a big, scary weapon. Because I know that you are trustworthy. I know that you are responsible. And I know you'll always do the right thing.

Plus, I'm pretty sure this makes us even for any embarrassing stuff I may happen to do in the next five or six years.

Happy birthday, darling boyo. I love you more than you will ever know. Thank you for sharing a little bit of heaven with me. And if it's not too much trouble, could you make the next 12 years go by just a little bit slower?

Love,

Mama

A decade

Dear Chase,

Well, big boy, you are a decade. I would say I can hardly stand how fast the time has gone, but I say that every year, and I am sure you are sick to death of hearing it. (Even though it's TRUE!)

It has been a good year for you. You are now in fourth grade and have settled into your own kind of routine. Homework is not a challenge for you (most days) and you still have to be forced to read just about anything that is a work of fiction. You would cheerfully spend your quiet reading time pouring over college-level textbooks on topics like reptiles or World War II.

Funny, now that I think about it, you also did that at age two. You couldn't read then (obviously) but would sit on my lap in the library for hours as I read to you the names of obscure dinosaurs. You never got bored as I described in thorough detail the inner workings of dinosaur digestive systems or hunting tactics. You soaked information up like a sponge, and still do so today. Daddy and I joke that you are a walking encyclopedia of random, useless information.

But it's what you love, kid. And there's no changing the essence that is you. You are absolutely an original. A quirky, handsome, hilarious original. They broke the mold after they made you, that's for sure.

You have been busy the last few weeks, working on a frog comic book that you are hoping to sell in mass quantity. I am afraid to break it to you that your target audience is probably solely your grandparents, and even they might be hard-pressed to pay thirty dollars for, as you put it, "an original, signed by the author!"

But that's the thing I love most about you, Mr. C. You dream big. You shoot for the moon and somehow seem to catch it every time. I am in awe of your fearlessness, your confidence. I don't think the word impossible is at all a part of your vocabulary.

Thanks for making the last ten years so darn entertaining. You are a special spirit, Chase, and I am humbled that someone trusted me enough to send me you.

I love you more than you'll ever know.

Love,

Mama

To my baby on her seventh

Dear Hannah,

I don't suppose you have even noticed that your birthday came and went without a letter from me here. What can I say? Such is the life of the youngest child. Time has gotten away from me the last month or so, but you have been ever present in my mind.


You have changed so much in the last year, little sis. You learned to ride your bike without training wheels. You started first grade, and went to school all. day. long, leaving me home by myself for the first time in 10 years. You began to assert your independence in so many ways.


And you began to pick your own clothes.

I have, for the most part, kept my mouth shut about your choices, even when I cringed as you left the house with brightly colored scarves around your neck and mismatched layered tees adorning your slim body. It was not until parent-teacher conference when your young, hip teacher exclaimed her delight at your keen fashion sense, that I began to wonder if I ought to have you picking out my clothes, too.

You've been trying to do that for a long time now anyway.


Hannah, of all the people in our family, you are probably the best sport. You are constantly dragged to baseball games or tae kwan do matches. You are outnumbered when it comes to movie picks, and are frequently forced to endure the war and action movies favored by your brothers. Week after week, and movie after movie, you cheerfully grab a coloring book and open it onto your lap - not wanting to be left out of the fun. It is your happy willingness to join in their games that melts my heart, even though I know you yearn for more girly companions a lot of the time.


The other day I was in the kitchen doing some baking. You had been helping me, and continued to keep me company with your chatter, even when the baking was through. I was washing the dishes, and I looked behind me to see you wiping the bar down with a wet towel. A smile on my face turned to a huge grin when I watched you grab the broom and start sweeping. You did this without any prompt on my part. It was such a big girl thing to do - to notice what needed to be done, and just do it.

I have no doubt this experience will never be repeated by your brothers, however.


All through our cleaning, you talked and talked, never once wanting to be anywhere else but by my side, and for a brief moment, I had a glimpse of what will be.

Of what has become, really.

No longer are you just the baby on the counter waiting to lick the spoon. Suddenly, and without warning, you have became my ally and companion in the kitchen. You have become my friend.

And sweets, I can't think of anything that I want more.

I love you deeper than you will ever know. There's a special place in my heart reserved solely for you.

You, the little baby who was sent to us quite on purpose when we were not looking. Tell me, what did we ever do without you?



I love you forever, little Chica.

♥Mama

To my big boy on his birthday

Dear McKay,

Today you are turning eleven years old. This day every year brings you one step closer to that inevitable moment when you are ready to spread your wings and leave the little nest I have created here. I find myself wholly unable to think about that far-off day, and turn my attention to the utter joy you bring us now.

Mack, you are just good. There is no way around it. There is not a mean bone in your body. You not only root for the underdog, but you go out of your way to help him. You cannot stand the idea of anyone hurting. Your thoughtfulness is way beyond your years.

Your current favorite game is one of your own invention, called, "Would you rather?" You give me a choice between two diverse (and often really gross) scenarios, in which I am forced choose the lesser of two evils. Tonight, you asked me if I'd rather die a hero or live long enough to see myself become a villain. Proud of your keen intellect and creative philosophizing, I bragged to your daddy about it on the phone.

He laughed and told me it was from the newest Batman movie.


As I'd want it, school has been an ongoing challenge, and I'm so proud of the way you've dug in your heels with determination. You absolutely refuse to not do well at anything. You are driven in such a way that I know came solely from your father's genes. You have a vision for the way you want things to be someday, and you are planning now for that future. I have no doubt that you will achieve all you set out to do. And I can't wait for you to make those millions you're dreaming of.

Because laboring for hours to bring you into this world without an epidural? That's got to be at least worth you funding my golden years in a really posh nursing home staffed by strong, handsome men.

You continue to share everything in life with your brother. The two of you are inseparable, and it is not uncommon for me to find you both bent over a pile of legos, or laughing while reading a Calvin and Hobbs book together. I can't tell you the joy it brings to my mama heart when I see you two so close. Just a few minutes ago, when I walked past your room, I smiled as I heard you and Chase talking together about various events in your day. I love that you love him so much.


You are thoughtful and tender, obedient and kind. I rely a lot on you, and without question, you do all that you're asked and more. You make me laugh with your silly jokes. You make me smile when I see that look on your face - the one where you try so hard not to smile or show others how excited you are about something. The one where you look just like your dad.

You are the kind of kid that makes parenting feel so easy.
I love you, buddy. I know you love me, too, even if you think it's gross to give me a hug in public. Thank you for filling our life with such sweet, easy happiness.

Love,

Mama

Happy birthday, little blue-eyed boy

Dear Chase,

Today at exactly 8:23 this morning, you turned nine. You were very insistent that you were not nine until the clock hit those magic numbers, which signaled your entrance into the world all those years ago. No amount of convincing by your brother could entice you to admit that you were nine, even one minute too soon.

I didn't have the heart to tell you that you were born on west coast time. I let you be nine, two whole hours early.

I know, don't be mad.

We celebrated your birthday early this year, as Dad was going to be out of town today. You, ever the middle child, didn't mind one bit. You were thrilled to be getting presents early. Presents, which included a live pet from me.

Yes, I finally made good on that hasty-made promise of letting you one day own something that's alive. I hope you like your little hermit crab. And I fervently hope that it never gets lost in your room or dies, as other pets have done traumatically in the past.


Chase, you are filled with more creative energy than I have ever seen. Your mind is always working, always thinking. I like to watch you when you are drifting off to that place inside your head, where your dreams are made. You squint your eyes, and I can tell that worlds are being created by your imagination. There is no limit to what you will do, of this I am sure.

You constantly amuse me. We have been asking you for weeks what you want for your birthday, and the two things you have said are a pet and a typewriter. You got both, and it cracks me up to see you at the desk in your room, plunking away on that ancient piece of machinery, courtesy of Oma and e-Bay. You take your writing quite seriously, and it will not surprise me at all when you one day churn out that bestseller.

I love that you like old things. I think it's a rare child that can look past the glaring siren song of cheaply-made plastic crap from China and seek out things with substance. Things that still work, even after probably spending 30 dusty years in someone's basement.

You are my hero, and I love your individuality. I love you for not caring what anyone thinks of you. I love you for dreaming big. I love you for your passion, even when it leads you lecture me for my giant carbon footprint.

I love you, kid. And I owe the good Lord for sending such a tender soul to be in my care. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. May I one day be worthy of such trust.

Love,

Mama

To my three babies

Here we are, in the second full week of our summer vacation. The first few days were a little rough on me, I'll admit. I have been so used to spending several hours a day all by myself - doing what I wanted, when I wanted. And then suddenly, here are you three little people.

Here. In my clean house.

And you are always hungry. ALWAYS leaving things out. And not the least bit concerned with the trail of crumbs behind you.

But in spite of this, I think we've found our rhythm, you and I. I'm looking at your cheerful faces across the table, listening to your chatter, and I find that my heart is full.

With each various stage of life that we've gone through together, it seemed to me that I would always remember. I'll be honest - sometimes, it felt like your less-desirable phases would never end. I can definitely think of at least one that is irrevocably seared into the recesses of my mind.

But there are so many more that I know I have forgotten.

Long ago, as I held your baby selves, smelling your sweet little necks, I promised myself I would never forget. That these moments, like the thousands of photos I've taken of you, would always be permanently etched in my mind. But now that a little time has passed, I find that I just can't quite recall your baby smells. I have all but forgotten the sounds of your newborn cries. And it hurts my heart to think that I won't ever again hear your bubbly toddler voices.

Only when I creep to your bedside at night do I see traces of the babies you once were. Even you, McKay, still sometimes purse your little lips together, making that all-too familiar puckered face. It's when you're in that angelic, dreamy state that it all comes back to me. And it brings a smile to my face every time.

Right now though, I want to freeze this. I don't want these days, and these people you are today, to be only a memory.

I want to remember how Hannah's voice sounds when she's just woken up and has a head full of morning hair. I want to remember the way Chase lights up when he talks about conservation or a new story he's written. I want to always see McKay's crooked smile, and feel the swell of pride when walking by him curled up, reading a book. Because I just love that he's a reader. Like me.

I am in love with the phase that you're all in. You've suddenly, and without warning, become very interesting people to be around. You're growing more independent every day. Your opinions are all your own, and not reflections of what you hear your dad and I say. You see that your life will not always be dictated by me, and you really like the idea of that.

You are doing what children should. You are doing what I want you to do. You are growing up.

I am just so afraid that I will forget.

And I probably will.

But if I've learned nothing else as a mother, it's this: I will always mourn each phase as it passes me by, leaving me standing on the sidelines. And although it leaves my arms a little more empty each time, it leaves my heart a whole lot more full.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.