“Hey, Lukey!

Oh. Wait a minute. It’s not really you, is it? Siiigggh. It’s Greg. Hi, Greg. No, Greg, no! Stop dancing. Greg! I said no! Dammit, Greg! No one invited you! Grrrreeeeeggggg!!!!” (shakes fist in air)

The above is an exchange heard often around our house these days as, in true Jim Carrey fashion, you have created your very own alter ego. Greg is a fifty-ish, kinda creepy, super kooky guy who lives to bust out his signature hip-swiveling dance moves. Think “drunk uncle at the wedding.” Then put him in my living room on a quiet Tuesday evening when I’m just trying to focus on building my Instacart grocery shopping list. That’s Greg.  

Greg is just one way you continue to entertain us, infusing our home with so much joy and imagination and silliness, I can barely remember a time in my life when I laughed so much. I’m also deeply concerned that, based solely on the content you consume, you are hiding some deep dark demons that will eventually manifest in a brutal emo phase full of studded wrist cuffs and Blackest Black Midnight Noir eyeliner. You gravitate most toward stories about souls of dead children inhabiting representations of beloved cultural nostalgia. “Five Nights at Freddy’s” is a favorite. Your birthday party theme this year was “Poppy Playtime.” You also recently made me watch a film called “Bambi: The Reckoning” about a mutant murder deer who killed people in various inventive ways, including bisecting them with its antlers. You never so much as flinched until the very end when it’s revealed that Murder Deer was just sad because the mean, now halved, humans stole his baby. He’s reunited with his progeny, only to get shot and bleed out in front of the bleating, newly orphaned fawn. You cried so hard that dad and I had to give you an entire CGI/movie magic/the Murder Deer isn’t real (and neither are the people whose intestines you saw, just BTW) talk. It was intense. But not as intense as the existential angst you’re going to start expressing via some Manic Panic hair dye come middle school, I suspect. 

Speaking of hair, after a long insistence on growing it out, you recently got your first haircut in almost a year! I loved your long locks, don’t get me wrong, but I love seeing that beautiful face of yours even more! Though I will say, when Greg did his side shuffle with accompanying head turn, that hair MOVED. 

Before: Beautiful

After: That face, though!

This year has also brought some serious academic advancement for you. You’re doing great in school and love your teachers. You’ve made some nice new friends, figured out the kind of people you definitely don’t want to be friends with (arguably even more important) and generally had a stellar second grade year. Next year, you’ll head up to the intermediate school, where you’ll learn even more, make even more friends, and give me my own existential crisis as I realize I am no longer the mother of an elementary school student. 

Truly though, the more you grow, the more happiness you bring us, even though you’re definitely moving out of your phase of favoring me. Don’t get me wrong—I still get snuggles and smooches and you tell me all the time how beautiful you think I am and how much you love me. I’m simply not as cool as Dad is right now. You opt for sitting outside with him over hanging inside with me most times. You love to watch Birdie Baseball (aka any Orioles game) together. You find your way to the basement when he’s down there watching wrestling, even if you don’t pay super close attention yet. You just like being near him, and that’s as it should be. As long as you don’t start replacing the big bear hugs you still give me with the sad side arm thing teens do just yet, I’ll be fine. 

Your first baseball game with your favorite Birdie Baseball fan. 

No matter what other changes are coming, I know you’ll continue to make me the happiest, proudest, most thankful Mom I could ever imagine being, even when you make me watch horror movies or plan birthday parties around video games about haunted abandoned toy factories. I’ll do it all with a smile because all I have to do is picture those little hips shimmy-shaking to the groove of a classic dance hit, and I’m laughing in spite of myself.

Dammit, Greg.

Love always, 

Mum

Dear Libby 11

How serendipitous that your current favorite show features a character named Eleven. “Stranger Things” not only made for a fun (and more importantly, easy) birthday party theme—it made me realize how much you have in common with El, even beyond the numerical connection. 

El’s power is not limited to her telekinesis. Her strength is in her loyalty. It’s in her unshakable moral compass. It’s in how fiercely she cares for the people she loves. 

No wonder you’re drawn to her story. 

Eleven for 11

As you continue propelling toward your teenage years, I find all the things I love most about you continuing to evolve and grow as well. You remain an endlessly empathetic, often altruistic, always unique individual whose worldview I truly admire. 

You’re also a near-teen who’s quick to call me “cringe” or mock me mercilessly or explain why I should never, ever wear something (specifically wide-leg denim overalls, which you said I should buy only if I “want to look exactly like a Minion”).

Far more fashionable than I

It’s that awesome, albeit occasionally biting, sense of humor I love the most right now. You’re so fun to hang out with. We can make a trip to the grocery store a memory I’ll never forget, like the time the Angriest Cashier in All the Land got mad at me for not knowing how to get a self-checkout to scan my discount card. After she basically scolded me for not majoring in cash register science in college, you took the interaction and ran with it. “God, Mom. Don’t you know you have to sneak up on it from behind, do three cartwheels, recite your Social Security number backwards, and do the Macarena while singing the national anthem to get it back to that screen? Idiot.” I laughed so hard, I have never returned to that store for fear that same sad register lady will be waiting to bludgeon me to death with a self-scanner gun. 

We love shopping together, watching shows together (our current favs range from “Wednesday” to “Ugliest Houses in America”), taking walks together (especially at the beach, provided there aren’t any dead fish on the shore to send you sprinting in the opposite direction), and just generally being together. It reminds me so much of my relationship with my own mom, and if I’m giving you even a fraction of the love and support and self-assuredness she gave me, I’m doing something right.  

Among the many qualities of Grandma’s you share is a love of horses. Your Girl Scout troop spent a week at a horse ranch last summer where you met perhaps the first real love of your life, Reginald the horse, who you affectionately called Reggie Veggie. You’ve loved riding horses since you were small so I wasn’t shocked at how great the experience was for you. The fact you still love horses after spending a weekend smelling their manure was, however, more surprising.

You’re definitely not one to shy away from trying new things. This past summer you also fell in love with boogie boarding during our trip to Emerald Isle and spent endless hours in the waves. You loved every minute of it. I vacillated between marveling at your joy and nearly passing out from holding my breath in fear. You also rode a contraption called the Wipeout at the county fair, which flung you upside down over and over until all you could see was your hair whipping about. Thankfully, I did not witness that or there would have been no “nearly” in regard to me passing out. 

Riding something that did not give me palpitations

You were also brave when you addressed the crowd at your band holiday concert, introducing the last song. My favorite part of that performance, however, was when you would lean back in your chair and shoot a wave or a thumbs up to me and the family after every song. You’re not afraid to show us how much you love us in public. Yet. I know the day is coming when the “cringe” comments might outnumber the outward displays of affection, and that’s OK. 

Because while these next few years might bring about many changes, I know some things will stay the same: I will continue to love watching you grow. I will continue to be amazed at how kind, caring and hilarious you are. And I will never, ever use the self-check scanner at that grocery store again. 

Love always, 

Mum

Dear Lukey 7

The many moods of Lukey…ASSEMBLE.

In your seventh year, you have finally entered your Avengers stage, and this Marvel-loving mom could not be happier. Finally, we can watch movies together that I actually love. You are most obsessed with Hulk in all forms—your standard green Hulk, trendy new Red Hulk, Bruce Banner, Hulk Buster, all of it. You spend hours growling around the house pretending to be one of them and recently asked me to use old Halloween makeup to paint your entire torso green (I did not—though I did use it to paint your face then spray-painted your hair black, so why I stopped there is not clear). I could not support this phase more and hope it leads to many cherished memories of us going to the theater together, even if it’s to see “Avengers: The End For Real—We Super Mean It This Time” in 2047. 

Other than Avengers, your favorite things to watch are Orioles baseball with dad (which you call Birdie Baseball and please never stop doing that) and horror movies, which you insist on watching with me, a person who strictly adheres to a “real life is scary enough, no need to pile on” mentality. I’m kinda OK with camp, and we’ve had many conversations about the difference between Silly Scary (your “Sharknados,” your “Mega Shark vs. Crocosaurus”-es, which I will gladly watch all day) and Scary Scary (everything you like and I hate). You made me watch a film called “Sting,” in which a little girl’s pet spider grows enormous because of space goo and kills everyone in her apartment building by wrapping them up in giant webs and waiting for them to slowly suffocate. So, you know, family-friendly viewing at its finest. But I persevere because while we watch, you insist that we snuggle under a blanket so we can pull it up over our eyes during the scary parts. Worth it. 

Another new interest this year is baseball. You joined the team in the fall and have steadily improved since. You’re usually good for a few base hits a game and always reliable for some outfield dance moves. 

A baseball fan and his Mini Me

You also lost your first tooth this year. As is often the case with you, it happened in total frat-boy fashion. You had been wiggling it and grumbling about it for days, during which I repeatedly told you I’d happily remove it for you. That solution not being to your liking, you opted instead to complain to a neighborhood friend about it. Said friend offered to wrap a piece of tape around it (why?) then reach inside your mouth with his grimy little-boy fingers (also why?) and yank it out. That sounded good to you and a minute later, both of you burst through my front door and shoved a bloody tooth at me. The next day, the same neighborhood boy had a nasty stomach bug and was up all night feverish and puking. Because, of course he was. 

Frank the Tank minus one incisor.

You’re also still always making us laugh, whether with a wacky dance move, a contorted face, a silly voice or a spot-on impression. You’re a natural entertainer and if you don’t end up on some sort of stage, I’ll be super surprised (yet you’re also very good at surprising me, so we shall see). 

So festive. So funny.

But perhaps the moment that best sums you up as you turn seven came when we were watching your current favorite film, “Wolfman.” The frenetic woodland creature had taken a chunk from the boring dad’s arm and the latter was, quite painfully, transforming into the titular character (or maybe the thing in the woods was Wolfman? And they became Wolfmen? Wolvesmen? Idk). The dad/wolfman was writhing and crying and spitting out teeth and generally going through it, and you turned to me and, said, so earnestly, “I just want to rub his back and bring him a blanket.”

Of course you do. Your amazing capacity for kindness can’t even be quelled by a man morphing into a super murder-y werewolf (wereswolves?). I’m constantly in awe of you. 

You also just came over, peeked at my screen and asked what I was writing. When I told you I was writing about all the things you like right now, you thought about it a minute and said, “I like Mom.”

Guess what? I like you too, kid. Like, A LOT. 

Love always,

Mum

Dear Libby 10

It’s official—you’ve hit double digits. You are now closer to adulthood than you are to babydom. I recall being gutted last year when another mom said, “It’s half over,” meaning you’d be 18 in nine years. As you mark another year closer to that milestone, all I can say is WHERE’S THE PAUSE BUTTON?

Ten has marked a significant shift. So much about you is changing. Gone are the days of your personal aesthetic being rooted in rainbow everything and “the sparklier the better.” For the first time, your Christmas list included more clothes than toys, and most of your choices were graphic tees, baggy pants, and monochrome sets. You even opted for a more gender-neutral winter coat and (adorably) convinced me to buy your brother a matching one. 

Too bad he clearly hated twinning with his big sis. 

You also redid your room this year, swapping My Little Pony decals for Taylor Swift posters. You spend hours in there behind closed doors, though no door could block out the music you’re often blasting. These days, it’s the Wicked soundtrack with you singing along at full voice (both parts, of course). I always pause what I’m doing to listen as you drown out Elphaba on the last line of “Defying Gravity,” the anthem you also requested as your birthday shoutout song at your roller skating party this year. Watching you skate and sing your heart out to that song while waving your arms for emphasis and only falling once (ironically, to the line “And you can’t pull me down”) is something I will never forget. 

Your party also included a sample of your wide friend group full of all different kinds of personalities—some shy, some outgoing, some you’ve had for years, some you’ve just made recently. You made everyone feel included, as you always do. Your ability to see the best in everyone makes people from all different walks of life become genuinely drawn to you. When I’m subbing at school, I’m known as “Libby’s Mom” and I couldn’t be more proud. One boy asked me to give him the answers to an assignment because he was your friend, and I told him if I did that for everyone who was your friend, the majority of the school would cheat nonstop. 

In addition to being a great friend, you also continue to be fantastic at drawing. You’ve graduated from the plastic Fisher Price easel you dubbed “art show” to your very own desk in your room, where you’re constantly creating new characters, coming up with stories to illustrate, and growing as an artist. Thank God for online guided drawing tutorials because if you ever needed me to help you in this area, your education would end with stick figures. 

You also got your braces off this year (which I think you’re happy about), started playing the trombone (which I think you’re still figuring out if you like or not), and went ice skating for the first time, which you loved aside from acquiring the most bizarre, heel-spanning blister I’ve ever seen. It started out looking like a third-degree burn and as it healed, began to resemble a cut of ham, inspiring the nickname “Ham Heel Libby.” It was simultaneously gross and super hilarious. 

But even though they may hurt from time to time, I’m not going to stop you from trying new things. You are old enough now to experience a little bit of life and see what works for you and what doesn’t. And as you do, I will try to resist the urge to beg you to stop growing up. 

After all, everyone deserves the chance to fly. 

Love always, 

Mum

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