Dear Lukey 6

I’ve been putting off writing this one because it feels like the last few pages in a chapter of my life I’m not ready to finish. I am no longer the mom of small kids. You are officially “big.” You head out the door at 8 a.m. and I don’t see you again until nearly 4 p.m. You have thoughts and feelings (so very many feelings) and a voice and a whole little life that I’m not 100 percent part of anymore. Yet as sad as that makes me, it’s brought me immense joy to watch you become this new person, this caring, kind, occasionally stubborn, always entertaining, funny little man. 

Because let me tell you, son—you are funny. Not “look at that dumb kid doing some dumb thing” funny. You have timing. You have material. You know how to work a room. Some of the faces you pull have earned you the nickname Jim Carrey because he’s the only other person on the planet capable of contorting his features the way you can. 

                                                                          Alrighty then.

 

You perform for us at home regularly, often pausing a movie so you can show us your own interpretation of the scene we’ve just watched. While your family is surely your favorite audience, you don’t shy away from bigger crowds. Case in point, you were once again the unplanned focal point of your annual school Christmas concert.

The impromptu choreo at the fifteen-second mark made my entire holiday season.

You also took in your first stage performance this year at the high school’s production of Beauty and the Beast. After the show, we went on stage to take photos with the cast. You took one look out into the busting auditorium and I saw a light flicker behind your eyes as if a new part of your brain just woke up and said, “Oh, this is something you can actually do out in the world?” I’m excited to see how brightly you let that light shine. 

Practicing for the part you were born to play.

I’ve also watched you grow into an enthusiastic little student this year as you learn to read and write in kindergarten. You like books (Scaredy Squirrel and Mercy Watson are current favorites), you like your buds in your class and you really like your teacher, Mrs. Wahl. You don’t love waking up early and you keep a running countdown of how many days of school you have left each week, but I think deep down, you’re OK with this kindergarten business. 

Among the things I’m certain you love are Mario Bros. (the theme of your Halloween costume, birthday party and general day-to-day life this year) and Lion King (still—due in large part to the eBay-ed ‘90s era toys daddy bought you after years of other random toys serving as fill-ins for the real deal. Bullseye simply couldn’t hack it as Mufasa any longer). Your love for your sister remains strong, though whether you opt to express it or, say, yell at her for uttering even one syllable in your general direction depends on both your moods. I also believe you briefly fell in love with a mermaid during our first trip to the Renaissance Festival this year.

I spent $20 in one-dollar tips so you could visit her 20 times that day.

I love that you aren't yet shy about expressing your affection for me. You still cuddle with me. You always compliment me when I fix my hair or wear a new dress. When I came to read to your class for your birthday, you interrupted me every other page to tell me how much you love me. I felt like it was my birthday. I can’t wait to see what all the days to come hold for you, my sweet little man. 

Love always,

Mummy

Dear Libby 9

I would start like I normally do by telling you how fast time is going and how much you have grown, but at this point, you hear it from me every day. Every new outfit elicits a, “When did you become a teenager?!” from me. Every new hairdo renders me weeping as you transform from my pig-tailed toddler to a curtain-banged fashionista before my very eyes.

As you often remind me in these moments, you are no longer a baby. You are in third grade at a new school with new friends and a locker and busy hallways and boys and all of it. You’re navigating it all with your signature go-with-the-flow-and-assume-it’s-leading-somewhere-awesome attitude, which I’m going to get to see even more often now that I’m substitute teaching at your school. All of this “new” has inevitably led to some updates in what you’re into these days:

·    Things you love: your aforementioned curtain bangs, Taylor Swift, Stanleys, singing and dancing in your room, playing Switch with your brother, your iPad, and more recently, avocados (which you devoured as a baby then refused to eat for the last eight years).

All hail.

·   Things I don’t love: all the lingo (God, I’m old) you whippersnappers pick up from the YouTubes. I’m OK with you never calling me “bruh” ever again. I also never need to hear “A-Yo!” in response to any kind of affection any human being shows toward another. This is a phase, right? Right? Oh man, what if it’s not? Bruuuuh.

But as we’ve learned already, it’s OK if we don’t always see life through the same lens. Take your first time riding the Jack Rabbit roller coaster at Kennywood — I told you it would feel like “butterflies in your tummy.” You were convinced it was going to propel you to your doom and, despite surviving, proceeded to give me the most brutal public tongue-lashing I have ever received, complete with vigorous finger-pointing. I don’t think either of us has fully recovered.

I’d say if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t make you ride it, but then I wouldn’t have this picture so…

Another new thing this year is Girl Scouts, which you seem to really like. You were the second-highest candy seller in your first sale! Though, to be fair, your efforts consisted of choosing your avatar’s outfit and hairdo. My efforts consisted of gathering all the information, building your selling site, sending it to all of our family and friends, badgering them until they bought stuff, picking up the stuff and delivering the stuff. Honestly, where’s my badge? Scratch that—those things are a massive pain in the ass to iron on and end up falling off your vest two minutes later anyway. Regardless, your selling days are nothing like those of my youth when I had to physically roam about my neighborhood knocking on the doors of people I’d only ever seen gathering their mail and begging them to purchase a magazine subscription so I could sleep in a cabin instead of outside on our next camping trip. Oh, and I had to walk two miles to school uphill in the snow.

I’d smile like that too if someone did all my selling for me. 

This past year, you also went to Sandcastle and Splash Lagoon for the first time, where you rode (or wanted to ride but I hyperventilated and said no) everything. You also attended your first TJ football game, where you watched exactly no football but instead stared at the boy you were currently crushing on who was a few bleacher rows below us. I was proud when you finally mustered up the courage to go get a selfie with him. Maybe 90 percent proud and 10 percent OMG! NOOOOOO!!! YOU STOP GROWING UP RIGHT THIS MINUTE, YOUNG LADY! Actually, flip those numbers.

I’m kidding. Kind of. Because, as I know in my heart and as I often remind you, it doesn't matter how old you are. I don't care how many new trends you try or how many crushes you have or how many times you tell me otherwise: you will always be my baby.

Love,

Mum