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

Dear Lukey 5

Hello, My Love,

I just finished looking back over my last few notes to you to see what has changed in your life. The entire time,  you watched over my shoulder and made me replay each video over and over as you squealed with laughter while watching your absolute favorite performer: you. 

Let me tell you, son: you are all about the theatrics. Your favorite form of play is to reenact whatever scene from whichever Disney movie is your current favorite using whatever toys and props you find most acceptable. This has included:

• The Mufasa death scene from “Lion King,” starring your Bullseye stuffed horse from “Toy Story” as Mufasa and you (?) as Scar (I assume it’s you as I hear you sneering out “Long live THE KING!” at the scene’s pivotal moment. I choose to not read too deeply into this). 

• The “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” song/choreo from “Encanto”

• The “Jafar gets the lamp and does all kinds of nasty stuff” scene from “Aladdin”

Again, I’m not overly concerned with how much you gravitate toward the bad guys. They get the best lines, after all. Plus, your by-far favorite scene to perform is when the Beast “dies” then transforms back into a human from “Beauty and the Beast.” This is where your stage-worthy talent really shines. You commit so much that the smaller cape you originally pulled from your toy bin no longer sufficed and I had to dig out my long red Christmas tablecloth and tie it around your neck to better replicate his look. You crash to the ground, tablecloth/cape draped over you, and lie there for a few moments, soaking in the audience’s astonishment. You then begin to slowly rise, back facing the room, as you inspect each hand and foot as they morph into human parts. Then, as the transformation is complete, you swing around, eyes wide, to reveal your true self. I’ve honestly seen high schoolers attempt this scene during musical season with far less commitment. 

Looking back at those old notes, some things have not changed. You still love Bluey and Muppet Babies. In fact, we just had a Muppet Babies-themed birthday party for you, somewhat surprisingly given that they haven’t come out with any new episodes in what seems like at least five years. You still love to snuggle with me and I try to spend as much time as possible doing so as I know this phase will not last. You also still want to spend every waking minute playing with your sister, yet Lib does not seem nearly as concerned with drawing those moments out. She adores you, to be sure, but she does like some downtime after a long day in the second grade, whereas you see her return home each day as the real start of yours. 

Your two favorite things: Libby and carbs. 

You also once again stole the show at your preschool Christmas pageant this year. I knew some of the songs you’d be singing as I’d catch you practicing them around the house. What I did not know was that you actually had a role in the little play part of the show. I took you out the week before to get a new outfit and fresh haircut, neither of which were visible under the enormous hat and robes of the Wise Man you were portraying. You marched out in that get-up and I honestly couldn’t immediately tell it was you. I don’t remember much else from that show because I spent the rest of it desperately stifling giggles. 

Who even are you?

You definitely had a few firsts this year. You rode your first horse at a fall festival after begging me for weeks to do so. Because you were so relentless, there is no way I can exaggerate the anticipation we all felt when you finally climbed up and grabbed those reins. I assumed I’d have to pry you off when your turn was over. Instead, you hopped down, said you were done, and have never mentioned it again. 🤷🏼‍♀️

I mean, I think you liked it. 

You also attended your first Penguins hockey game. That I know you loved.

Finally, you somehow managed to turn into a high school senior. I don’t know exactly when but at some point over the last year, you went from being my baby to being an actual real-life kid with thoughts and opinions and legitimate acting chops. You’ve left your toddler self behind and are starting to come into your own as a real individual whose incredible imagination I marvel at every day. I can’t wait to see where it takes you in this life. 

I love you so much,

Mummy