Gratitude

We were the first of our group of friends to have kids.  More notably, we were really the first of our group of gay/lesbian friends to have kids.  I mean, we knew other couples who were trying to get pregnant, but we were the first ones to cross the finish line so to speak.  And it was important to us to make sure the kids knew other kids in two mom/two dad households, but we also wanted the kids to just have friends who had families that were diverse, regardless of their makeup, because we wanted our kids to be able to live in a world where it didn’t matter if the people they socialized with were like them, because they knew that everyone had value and something to contribute to the world.

We knew we’d have to come out, over and over again, as a two mom family.  Daycare, school, the pediatrician.  Heck, we have had to come out at restaurants, the bank, you name it.  We’ve had questions like “who’s their REAL mom?” and even had an awful nurse ask me how I got pregnant if my partner is a woman.  A NURSE. 

Anyway, our approach has always been to be as open as possible, because our family is our family and we never wanted the kids to feel like they had to hide anything.  Walking into our first season of Little League, the twins were 3, about to be 4.  And I have to admit openly that I was more than concerned.  Would a boy being raised by two moms be teased by his teammates?  Would the other parents be inclusive of us?  Would they say ignorant or hurtful things in front of the kids?  Our fears weren’t going to stop us from signing him up, but we certainly walked into that first team meeting with trepidation.

We were incredibly lucky to have had an amazing first experience.  We soon realized that the experience was not exclusive.  The second season of Little League went well and none of our fears were realized. 

And then we moved.  And the fears started all over again, because now we weren’t with a group of kids who had been together since they were 3 years old.  By the luck of the draw, Nate landed on a team coached by “the two Matts”.  Only then, through that season, and the seasons that have followed, have we truly realized how lucky we are to live where we live. Never once has anyone made us feel like the “token” gay family.  Quite the opposite – we’ve formed amazing friendships with families who don’t see us any differently than any other family.  I’m sure Nate isn’t the only kid with two moms or two dads in our Little League, but he is the only one that has been on any of the teams he’s participated on.  And nobody cares. 

This year, Nate not only played Little League, but he’s been playing travel ball, and that brought together a group of families – some of whom we knew and some we didn’t – that were going to be spending entire weekends together at tournaments.  And yet, we’ve just become part of the backdrop of parents who take pictures and pace and cheer and encourage all the kids. 

I know we’re lucky.  It’s not like this everywhere.  Kids in gay families face ridicule and teasing and bullying and many live in fear to have their kids participate in high profile activities in the community like mine do.  Julia is just another gymnast on the team, and Nate is just another ball player – whether it’s baseball or basketball or soccer.  They’re allowed to just be kids, and that’s how it should be, regardless of whether you live in a blue state or a red state.

Julia recently said to me, “Dads are mean, I’m lucky.”  She happened to be at a baseball tournament watching the dads while their sons were on the ball field.  I told her that wasn’t necessarily true, and that moms can be mean too.  I know for a fact she doesn’t actually believe that dads are mean (some of her favorite people are dads – I’m looking at you John Fenner and Matt Patereau), but it was the first time either of the kids really took their family structure as a source of pride, and I’m happy we’ve instilled that in them. 

More importantly, it’s been amazing to watch the kids develop relationships with other kids and their parents.  They are invited to birthday parties and celebrated on the field and at school and nobody gives a second thought to anything other than they are Nate and Julia.  A ball player, and a gymnast.  A kid who loves Harry Potter and Star Wars, and a kid who loves drawing and fashion and music.  And oh yeah, they have two moms. 

I guess the whole point of this post is to act as a thank you of sorts.  To all the coaches and the families and all the teachers who have embraced us.  I know to most of you it is no big deal, it’s who you are as people.  You don’t see us any differently.  Maybe for some of you we’ve changed your minds about families like ours, I don’t know.  Just know that you being in our lives has made a huge impact on us and our children.  I truly am beyond grateful for all of you, more than I’d ever be able to tell you.  Because I see your impact on my kids each and every day, in their confidence and the ease at which they carry themselves at school, on the field, in the gym, in the neighborhood. 

It may not seem like much to you, but those two little people are our world.  And their world is a better place because we know all of you.

Kool-Aid

9 weeks ago I stepped into Westbound Crossfit completely terrified.  I had never done anything like Crossfit in my life.  A little over two years ago, I started running, which was really the first fitness related activity I’d ever taken on.  I did it as a reaction to the sudden death of a friend of mine, and along the way I learned a lot about myself.  I ran two half marathons, a few 5k races, and a half marathon relay.  I felt better and ate better while I was running, and experienced fewer migraines and lowered my cholesterol. 

But after the second half marathon, something was missing.  I couldn’t get motivated to run anymore.  I chose sleep over early morning runs.  Even with the treadmill in the house, running just didn’t excite me the way it used to.

I’d thought about Crossfit off and on for a few years.  I never felt comfortable enough to try it.  Friends would push me to check it out, but I knew I could never be strong like them.  I didn’t think I was hard-core enough for Crossfit.  I didn’t like group fitness classes.  And I certainly didn’t want to be yelled at through a workout like I thought would happen at a Crossfit box. 

But I was ready for something to change.  I couldn’t keep promising myself I’d go running and then not do it.  I couldn’t keep wishing I was stronger and healthier and then not do anything about it.  So at the urging of more than a few friends, I walked into Westbound in the shadow of a member who kept promising me that I would love it.

That first workout was really hard.  I don’t remember what it was, but I remember that it was nothing like I thought, and harder than I ever imagined.  But something told me I needed to be there.  So even though I could barely lift the empty barbell (35 lbs) over my head more than once, I promised to show up at least three times a week and work. 

In 9 weeks there have been struggles and triumphs (double unders!), bruises, and frustrations.  I’ve increased the weight on the bar, managed to get toes to bar more than once, and completed two of the benchmark “Girls” workouts (Karen and Elizabeth).  I’ve never been yelled at, ridiculed, or made to feel badly for scaling a workout. 

Today I walked into the box to find a “bear complex” workout.  Basically, if you aren’t familiar with Crossfit, a bear complex is a series of movements with weights where multiple movements together create one round.  This particular complex had 7 cycles of the series to create a round, to be repeated 5 times, gradually increasing the weight each time.  The coaches promised it would be one of the hardest workouts we’d ever done. 

I had intended to start with just the bar, and add weight each round, but by the time I got to round three I was struggling.  I decided to do rounds four and five with the same weight, feeling like three more rounds of 7 was at least remotely achievable by staying there.  Very remotely. 

In the second cycle of round four I could not get the push press over my head and dropped the bar.  I could feel myself get to that point of giving up.  I told myself that even getting through four rounds was respectable and I had worked hard.  I’d finish the fourth round and call it a day.  I restarted the second cycle and slowly moved through the round, already haven given myself permission to give into the discomfort. 

I finished the round and asked Lisa, who was in front of me, how many more cycles she had, and she said two.  She asked how many I had.  And for the life of me I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth as I said it – “I still have the last round to do.” 

Around me, everyone was finished, or like Lisa, on their last one or two reps. I still had to get through 7.  7 power cleans, 7 front squats, 7 push presses, 7 back squats, and 7 more push presses.  There was no way.  I was spent.  I believed myself when I said I couldn’t go any further. 

The thing is, nobody around me believed it.  Maddy, who’d arrived for the 6 o’clock, was on the rower behind me and I could hear her cheering me on.  Tom and Lisa, long done and ready to head home, telling me I could make it through.  And Janae, who sat on the floor and counted down for me, telling me to just make it through the next one.  The coaches watching me, making sure I was ok, and telling me I could do it. 

You know what happened?  I finished it.  I was dead last, but I finished it. And it wasn’t because I thought I could.  Because by then, I’d given up.  But something happens when the people around you believe in you more than you believe in yourself – you start to realize what’s truly possible. 

I’ve had more than a few friends ask me about Crossfit.  The problem is, it’s difficult to put into words how something that most people see as “going to the gym” is much more than that.  I know Crossfit isn’t the only place where the person who finishes last gets cheered for the loudest.  I’ve seen that play out in marathons and swim meets and baseball tournaments.  I won’t pretend that Crossfit is the only place where you learn about what it feels like to have people believe in you.  What I will tell you is that Westbound is as good as it gets when it comes to this ideal.  Being there makes me want to try harder, be better, and more importantly, it makes me want to support each and every person who shows up the way I get supported. One of the things I love is that my kids get to see me and lots of other people of all sizes and fitness levels working hard to be strong and fit, and cheer each other on the same way we teach them to support their teammates and competitors in their respective sports. 

I don’t know what the magic ingredient in the Crossfit Kool-aid actually is, but I suspect it has a lot more to do with the community than it does the workouts.  And as long as they're serving it up, I'll keep coming back for more.

First Pitch

I’ve talked about the friendship between my son and his friend Ryan before.  “Brothers in baseball” Nate called them.  Together for two years, plus a fantastic season of soccer, both our families kept our fingers crossed they’d be together again this year for baseball. 

But it wasn’t meant to be.  This is the first level where the kids have to do a skills assessment and be drafted based on those skills.  We knew that the coach we were hoping to get had every intention of drafting both the boys, but he only had so much control over it.  We joked that the boys should throw the skills assessment, despite knowing we’d never actually ask them to.  We just wanted to keep our kids together.

The day of the draft came, and we waited.  Coach didn’t even get a shot at Ryan.  Another coach picked him up before it was his turn to choose.  And that was that.  He took Nate and the “brothers” were now competitors.

We were all heartbroken.  The families, the kids.  Telling each of the boys was awful.  They both cried.  We all cried.  It sounds so silly, but I think there was a part of us that believed the two of them would just always be together on the same team.  They were so close, and played so well together.  They read each other, trusted each other, and rarely did a ball thrown from one to the other go sideways. 

Practices started and it just became the new reality.  Obviously it wasn’t the end of the world, and the boys both just love to play, so they settled in to their teams.  Today was the second game of the season (and the week for that matter), and the first chance for Nate and Ryan to face each other.

When Ryan’s family got there, we sat together on one side of the field, and we cheered for both teams as they took their places.  Ryan’s sister and Julia sat and drew pictures together while the adults joked we needed shirts with both teams’ logos on them.  Ryan made a great play in the infield, getting one of our kids out and Heidi and I cheered as hard for him as his own parents.  At one point, Nate hit the ball, and one of the kids on the other team threw the ball to Ryan who was attempting to tag Nate out at second, and we all held our breath because we literally wanted them both to get it - Ryan to get the tag and Nate to beat the tag.  Nate beat the tag - this time. 

Nate had started out playing 2^nd base, and then between innings I heard his coach say, “Nate, you’re pitching.”  As he threw a few practice pitches to prepare to pitch his first official inning of the season, we realized it was Ryan who was coming up to bat first. 

Nate’s first real pitch in a game would be thrown to Ryan.  I couldn’t see anything more fitting than that. 

I scrambled to find a place where I could somehow get a picture of both of them in the same frame.  There was something about this that felt like it would mean something – later, maybe – if not right away, and I wanted to make sure I had it captured.

At this level, if they get to a pitch count of 4 balls, they don’t walk the kids, they let them take as many pitches as they have strikes left off the pitching machine.  Nate had Ryan at 4 balls and 1 strike, so Ryan got two off the machine, and struck out.  I looked at Nate as Ryan dropped his head a little and started to walk away and I could tell he was having a hard time not running over to Ryan to give him that high five he’d always give him after every at-bat. 

“Great at-bat, Ryan!” Nate yelled after him.  I don’t know if Ryan heard it, or really if anyone other than me saw or heard him say it.  My eyes filled up. 

I don’t know honestly if either boy will remember today as anything more than another game in a long history of hundreds of games they’ll have played over the years.  They may not.  But I will.  Baseball is such a metaphor for life in so many ways.  From the moment Ryan came up to bat against Nate to the moment Nate called after him as he walked to the dugout, we were witnesses to a life lesson.  That even though things don’t always go your way and you don’t always land on the same side as your best friend, when push comes to shove, you always have each other’s backs.  And the truth is, it wasn’t the boys who needed to learn the lesson, it was the adults. 

You don’t have to wear the same jersey to be on the same team.

Brave

7 months ago, I finally relented and signed Julia up for gymnastics classes at the gym closest to our house.  One night a week, 50 minutes.  After a few weeks she attended a birthday party at the gym for a neighbor, and the coach for the party approached me and said Julia didn’t belong in the beginner class and would I bring Julia to her intermediate class?  Once a week, an hour and a half.  No problem – I was thrilled that someone other than me recognized that Julia was ready for more.  Two weeks after starting the new class, the coach approached me about the Xcel team.  3 days a week, two hours a day.  Holy cow.

Now, you have to realize, Julia was loving every last second in the gym.  She was progressing and begging for more time in the gym.  Even though three days a week sounded like a lot, I knew she would love it.  The clincher was, she’d be competing.  Mention the word “competition” and my girl sort of shrunk into herself.  When she played soccer last year, she loved soccer practice.  Games, not so much.  When we talked about her moving up to Xcel she was extremely uncertain about the competitive aspect.  Her coaches and I assured her that it would be ok – that it was a performance just like the dance recitals she’d done.  We tiptoed around the word “competition,” replacing it with the word “performance” for the first few months of practices. 

Then, she started to use the word.  And her routines starting coming together.  She’d made friends on the team, and most of them hadn’t competed the previous year so she wasn’t alone in her anxiety, and they were all there to support each other.  As the first competition got closer, she expressed only excitement about it. 

This last week, Julia was sick and missed the Wednesday night practice.  Friday morning, I received an email letting me know that one of the things Julia missed Wednesday night was an announcement from Coach Mariah that she was leaving the team to start nursing school.  My heart sank.  Not only is Julia extremely attached to both of her coaches, she’s also the kid who is completely thrown by having a sub at school, so I knew this wasn’t going to go well.  I let her coach know that I wouldn’t have a chance to talk to Julia before gym, and could she take a moment to talk to her so she didn’t hear it from one of the other girls.

When we got home from gymnastics Friday night, she fell apart.  She’d done a great job of holding it together at gym, but when she finally settled, the tears came.  The combination of the nervousness and losing her coach came out.  We talked for a half hour and she seemed to settle. 

This morning, she was back to being excited about things.  She got dressed, gave me a thumbs up in her photo by the fireplace, and off we went to the gym.  As I started the car, I asked her what song she wanted to hear.

“Brave,” she says, without hesitation.  It took all I had not to cry.  We cranked up Sara Bareilles’ “Brave” and sang at the top of our lungs.  Next she wanted to hear our current favorite car song, “Mama’s Broken Heart” by Miranda Lambert.  And just like that, the beginnings of a pre-competition routine was born.

We got out of the car and as we walked up to the gym she said, “I have butterflies in my stomach.”  I said, “Well, that’s ok, it means you care.  And you know what’s interesting about butterflies is one wave of your hand and they’re gone.”  We got inside and she took off with her friends.  After her floor routine, the first event, she cried.  She’d done really, really well.  But I think the adrenaline hit her and she wasn’t sure how to process it.  She sailed through the other events, even taking a fall off the beam in stride like a pro. 

After it was over, because she was starving, and trying to figure out how to deal with what she was feeling – having been so scared of something and making it through – that she was a major bear.  She was so emotional.  I let her pick where to go for lunch and promised ice cream afterwards.  She slowly relaxed.  She refused to take off her newly purchased sweatshirt sporting her gym’s logo and name all day long.  She was hooked, she just didn’t know quite how to deal with all of the emotions.  It will take some time for her to figure out that being scared comes hand in hand with the pride she feels at the end of doing the very thing she’s scared about. 

But she has so much to be proud of herself for.  And I’m so proud of her for getting out there and doing it.  I know she’ll be nervous again come January, especially since it won’t be in her gym.  I’ve already decided we’ll take a little field trip just so she can see what the inside of the gym looks like because it’s local to us.  But for now, I’m going to encourage her just to remember what a brave girl she is. 

Walk With Me

(Written Thursday Night)

When 1st grade started, the kids and I developed a routine that included me walking them to their lineup spots on the playground, waiting for the bell to ring while they played, then alternating which of them I walked with to their classroom.  I was one of many 1st grade parents who continued this pattern all throughout the school year.  The kids would fight over which day belonged to whom, so much that we started including whose day it was on our morning task board.  Often the teachers showed up separated by enough time that I could walk one of them to class with time enough to turn around and meet up with the other’s class.  It meant not getting to work until 8:30 and only getting a half an hour for lunch instead of an hour so that I could leave by 5pm, but the extra time I got with the kids in the morning, and even the extra socializing I did with the other parents definitely made it worth it.

When 2nd grade started, Julia told me the second week of school that she didn’t want me to walk her to class any longer.  She told me this in the car on the way home from gymnastics, which was good because I instantly had tears in my eyes.  I walked in the house and Heidi was cooking dinner, and I tried to shake it off, because I didn’t want Julia to know that I was upset about it – because I know this is the natural progression of things.  I didn’t want her to feel badly for wanting to have a little more independence.  Of course I couldn’t hide it and Heidi did say something but I made it clear that it was ok she wanted to walk without me.

Two days later, it was her turn again, and she had changed her mind.  She wanted me to walk with her.  I checked and double checked with her to make sure SHE wanted it, and wasn’t just saying it for my sake.

The past few weeks, the pattern has been just like 1st grade, alternating who gets walked each day.  Yesterday I prepped them that today I couldn’t walk with either of them, because I had an early meeting and needed to get to the office so that I could make the meeting on time.  This wasn’t a new thing, it happened more than once last year, too, so they were fine with it.

This morning, as I do, I reminded them that I wasn’t going to be able to walk with them.  Julia asked if we could do “curb” dropoff (instead of me parking across from the school and walking them to the playground gate).  I said that it would depend on how bad the car line was when we got there.

“I feel really proud when we do curb dropoff.  I feel…taller!”  Julia says as she’s finishing her bowl of cereal.  I take this in as I finish making their lunches.

We loaded up the car and I pulled around to the school to find the car line relatively small so I pulled in and right up in front of the gate.  Julia says, “SO EXCITING!!” and she leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  “Off you go,” I say, and as I turn around I see that Nate’s lower lip is starting to quiver.  “What’s wrong, buddy?”  He’s silent.  Julia says “I think he’s sad.”  I realize what’s going on and ask him if he wants me to walk him to the playground.  He nods wordlessly.  I tell Julia to go on ahead and close the car door and I pulled into a spot in the parking lot.  He holds my hand as I walk him to the gate and I start to give him a hug there only to realize he’s holding onto me fairly tightly.  So I walk him a bit further onto the school grounds and say my goodbyes from the playground and make sure before I leave that I catch sight of J (on the monkey bars, of course) before I hurry to my car.

It struck me, as I was driving to my office, how as hard as this age is for me as their mom it must be 10 times harder for them.  I want them to stay my babies – to be little and need me and want me around.  But I also want them to learn to be independent, and figure out that they have control over their environment and that they can be proud of their independence.  I understand intellectually that this is part of their development, even when watching it makes my heart ache.  Can you imagine, though, how confusing it must be to want your mommy but not want her?  And to not understand how to express that?  I was really proud of Julia for being able to tell me that it makes her feel proud to not have me walk her to class – it showed a really strong sense of emotional self-awareness that I’ve watched really develop since the start of summer this year.

I wish I could say honestly that when they ask me to walk with them, that I do it for them.  The reality is, they’re more than capable of being dropped off at the curb and running in to be with their friends.  I’m the one holding on to this vestige of dependence.  I can argue that I do it because I get very little time with them during the week and walking with them gives me 10 more minutes with each of them the days that I do it.  But if I’m really being truthful, I want to say, “Walk with me.  Please.  Stop growing so fast.  Walk with ME.”

I’m struggling a lot this year with their growing independence.  And I know I should revel in it, and I know I should be proud of us as parents that they are confident enough (most of the time) to push their own boundaries knowing all the while we will be here to catch them if they need it.  I am so very proud of them, and grateful that we are raising them to be strong individuals.  But at the end of the day, when Julia wants to sit on my lap or hold my hand as we walk down the stairs, or when Nathan sits next to one of us with his arms around us on the couch – I want to simply freeze the moment and breathe it in.  I want to make those seconds a part of the fabric of who I am so that when they're teenagers and they slam doors and yell “FINE!” and tell me I don’t understand what it’s like, I can reach for those moments and remember.

Tonight I’ll go in and set each of their alarms for school tomorrow, kiss them each on the forehead, and make sure they’re warm enough.  We’ll get up in the morning and once again we’ll eat breakfast, make lunches, and argue about how slowly they’re getting ready.  We’ll load up the car with backpacks and they’ll buckle into their big kid booster seats, and I’ll park across from school.

And I’ll think, “Walk with me.”

Brothers in Baseball

My son is a sports nut.  As I write this, he’s literally watching college softball and watching the ESPN ticker announcing the results of each MLB game that pops up.  He’s been known to watch college cricket, simply because it’s on ESPN. 

He started Little League when he was 3.  We lived one town over and their Little League program had a t-ball age group for the 4 year olds called “Mites.”  And because Nate turned 4 before the end of April (barely), he was eligible.  He played two seasons while we lived there, and then we moved.  I was bummed that he was going to have to start over with kids he didn’t know, but he makes friends easily so we didn’t think he’d have much trouble.

Last year, he started in what’s called Single A “coach pitch” which is really coach loading the machine and hitting the button for the machine to pitch to the kids.  We didn’t know anyone around here on his team, but he quickly made friends with a little guy named Ryan.  Just as quickly, we made friends with Ryan’s parents and Julia and Ryan’s little sister Gracie would hang out during games.  Ryan and Nate are a grade apart (Ryan’s a second grader) but they’re pretty much inseparable at baseball. 

This year, Ryan and Nate requested that they be on the same team, and as luck would have it, last year’s coach got to keep about half of last year’s team together as many of us kept our kids in Single A for another year.  So you can imagine how thrilled Nate was when he and Ryan found themselves as “Ironbirds” again.

About a third of the way into the season, we’re discovering that Nate and Ryan not only are really good friends, but they work really well together on the ball field.  They have made some pretty great outs, whether they’re playing shortstop and second base, or in today’s case, third base and catcher.  They both have an instinct for the game – knowing where the ball should go even if they haven’t quite gotten the execution down.  I hope they will be able to stay on the same team as the years go on, because I’d hate to see what happens if they have to compete AGAINST each other rather than with each other. 

At last night’s game, Nate had a rough at-bat.  Our friend Paul said he thought maybe Nate’s bat was too heavy, so I went around to the dugout to see if he had a lighter one in his bag.  Ryan’s mom said Ryan’s bat was lighter, and Nate could try using it.  He got up to bat, and launched the first pitch he got clear into the outfield.  Now, Ryan isn’t a fan of the other kids using his bat, because kids tend not to take care of things that aren’t theirs as well as they should, but he had no problem with Nate using his bat.  And today, after Nate slid into home, Ryan came from the far end of the dugout to high “10” Nate on the field.  They never fail to be there for each other, whether it’s to cheer each other on or to give a pat on the back after a rough out.

I’m loving watching Nate grow as a baseball player, but I’m also loving watching him create what I hope will be lasting friendships bound by a love of the game.  It’s humbling to watch my child create relationships outside of our family, because I see them as reflections of the things we’ve hopefully instilled in him all this time. 

This morning, as we were talking about last night’s game, and Nate using Ryan’s bat again, Nate said, “Me and Ryan, we’re like brothers in baseball.”

Brothers in baseball.  I’m not sure there’s any cooler thing for a kid to be.

Almost 7

Dear Nate the Great,

You’re going to be 7. In exactly a week. I don’t understand how any of this happened. One second you were starting mini little league at 3 and now you’re taking batting lessons and reciting baseball stats.

You’re quite an amazing little boy, in my opinion. You’re so sweet and sensitive and such a kind-hearted boy. You are so smart, too smart, that we don’t know quite what to do with you. Your teacher is doing a great job trying to keep you engaged but you have me worried how we’re going to keep up with you here pretty soon. You’re doing multiplication and reading well beyond grade level, and you continually surprise me with your grasp of things that you really shouldn’t be yet.

You’re current obsession (other than sports of course) is Harry Potter. We are in the middle of the third book and almost every other comment you make is repeating something from one of the books and a lot of your “what if” scenarios are HP related, as in “What if I was a wizard?” It’s so much fun to have something that you and your sister are both excited about and I love reliving the books through your eyes.

You just finished your second season of basketball where you had an absolute blast. You struggled a little emotionally with the times when things didn’t go the way you wanted, but after a little mid-season pep talk between you and I, things got so much better. Now you’re in the first half of your 5th little league season (if you count the summer ball league you played) and it’s incredible how much your skills have improved. You’re hitting off the pitching machine fairly regularly, and you’ve made some great plays on defense. You still like to initiate the ESPN replay after every play you make, which probably will stop being funny at some point but right now it’s hysterical.

I’m so proud of you my little man. You’re growing into such a good kid. This year you had your first bout with teasing at school as well as a little girl asking for you to give her the answers on a math test. You handled both very well, and I probably was more upset by these episodes than you seemed to be. Your sister can be sort of relentless with you, and you’ve hit your limit with her more than once this year, but for the most part even she can’t force you not to be the sweet kid that you are. The other day we were sitting down to read another chapter of Harry Potter and while we were waiting for Sissy you said to me, “Mommy, everybody loves you. Even the dogs love you.” And my heart melted. This morning I wrapped my arms around you after I’d walked you to class and you looked up at me with your lips pursed for a kiss. I know you wanting me to kiss you in front of your classmates will abruptly end sooner than I’d like it to, so I just want you to know for the record that it makes me feel really good that you don’t care yet that mommy kisses you goodbye.

We got some really good news for you at your last parent-teacher conference. Your teacher has been selected to pilot a program called “looping” which means that you and all your classmates will be with her in the same room for 2nd grade next year. Since we love your teacher and you have a great set of classmates, this was in and of itself fantastic news. But given the intense amount of anxiety you experienced the last three weeks of summer last year worrying about who your teacher would be and who your classmates would be and where your class would be, this new plan means we won’t be worrying about ANY of that come the new school year.

It’s really difficult for me to explain how much I love you. Watching you play baseball or basketball, listening to you talk about Harry Potter or whatever else you’re reading, having “what if” conversations with you, listening to you sing at the top of your lungs to Justin Bieber or One Direction or Glee, everything you are and are becoming just makes me so happy to be your mommy.

It blows my mind that you’ve gone from this:

…to this:

Thank you for choosing us. I love you more and more every day, and I’m so excited to know what comes next for you. Never ever doubt that we love you more than words and that no matter what you do, who you love, or where you go, you will always be our baby boy.

Happy almost 7th.

*********************

Dear Jujubee,

One day I was holding a 5 ½ pound baby in my arms and the next you were yelling “watch me!” as you swung from the monkey bars on the playground. One day you were barely saying your ABC’s and the next you were reading Harry Potter aloud all by yourself.

You’re a pistol, little one. You’re going to be keeping us on our toes for many years to come. You push all the limits you can, and then you turn around and yell “Mama!” and jump up in my arms and snuggle me so hard I can barely breathe.

You played your first season of soccer this year – your first sport ever. And even though you could really care less about sports, you seemed to have a fantastic time. And near the end of the season you all of a sudden exploded with understanding of what was expected of you, and had an amazing last game. You can’t seem to really decide what sort of activities you want to be in, hemming and hawing at everything. You love to sing and act, but the thought of being on stage seems to make you freeze. I think we’re going to try gymnastics again, since you seem to love doing cartwheels and handstands all over the house.

You seem to love Harry Potter almost as much as your brother, although you are content to read other things like Judy Blume. You love to draw and color and just about everything “girly.” Your room in the new house is as pink as pink can be, and you asked for “fairies and unicorns” and got exactly what you asked for.

You’ve struggled a bit with figuring out this crazy world of girl friendships. You often come across as a stubborn, strong girl but dealing with other girls can be so hard. I was so proud of you when we sat down and talked to you about treating other girls with respect, even if you aren’t friends with them, and you really seemed to take it to heart. Navigating those waters is going to be hard for a long time, babygirl, and I hope you always know you can talk to us about it.

You’re so bright and vibrant and full of life. I have to admit I’m loving your current phase of being overly attached to me, because I know it won’t last long. This year you’ve lost a bunch of teeth, and even though I worry your faith in the magic things of childhood is waning, you’re on board for the tooth fairy.

Little J, I have a hard time explaining to you the hold you have on my heart. You can drive me insane and bring me great joy all in the matter of 15 seconds. One of my favorite things to do is surprise you by picking you up from school, and watching you come flying out of the classroom into my arms makes me so happy just to have the privilege of being your mom.

From this:

Though she be but little…

To This:

…she is fierce!

I love you, Julia. You’re my mini-me and best girl. I adore every fun and infuriating minute with you.

Happy soon-to-be 7th.