“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