Happy Birthday, Emma Grace!

   

8 days old

      

6 years old

 

Emma Grace,

I absolutely adore the person that you are. You are such a fantastic human being, special and smart and sincere and sweet. There is so much about you that Daddy and I are proud of, but most of all, we’re proud that you are you, no matter how you change and grow in the years to come.

Right now, as a brand new six year old, you are one of the sweetest kids I have ever met, and I’ve known a lot of kids. You are really considerate of others and so empathetic. You are able to put yourself in someone else’s shoes better than most adults, and this makes you a joy to be around.

You love to bring happiness to others. At first, you weren’t sure you wanted to have a birthday party because we all miss Grandma so much. I assured you that it is okay to feel sad, but that Grandma would still be so glad to see you enjoy your birthday. We settled upon a small kid party and a small family party. For the small kid party, you invited two of your classmates and your little sister. You, always thinking of others, wanted to do something that both the little girl and little boy would enjoy, and you decided an animal theme was one that would appeal to everyone. In addition to this, though, you told me you wanted to have a special kind of party, a “giving party.” You said, “Mom, I just want to give my friends a nice time, let them have fun. Can you please tell them not to bring me any presents? Instead, I want to give them presents. Is that okay?” Moved by your generosity, I of course said this was okay, but I proceeded to explain in detail that this would mean no presents for you to open after cupcakes. You assured me that this was okay. We had such a fun party with a jungle theme, time to make our own pizzas, do animal crafts, and eat monkey cupcakes. 

After, with total joy, you gave your friends such well thought out gifts. The gift that moved me almost to tears was the one for your little sister. Grandma had sewn you a beautiful, fancy purple gown for your American Girl doll for Christmas. You told me you wanted to give it to Lily because she wasn’t as old when Grandma died and wouldn’t have as many doll clothes made by her. Sometimes I am so blown away by what a pure heart you have. You still get frustrated sometimes that Lily copies you or acts in three-year-old ways that you don’t understand, but you are such a sweet sister and friend so much of the time. At conferences this week, your teacher said that you are everyone’s friend, showing kindness and help to anyone you can. We are really proud of how you make the world a brighter place.

You are also so smart. I believe that every person has gifts and talents, certain ways that they are smart and contribute to the world. You do, as well. You are smart about people, with such great social awareness. You pick up on how others are feeling and respond well, comforting, encouraging, and complimenting. You are intelligent about learning, reading books that are advanced for your age and finding math in everyday life. Your teacher gives you challenge work to do each week, and we are grateful for the ways she helps you grow in your learning. You are smart about questioning, loving to read Magic School Bus books with me and ask probing questions to understand more about the world around you. You are wise about deeper thinking, reassuring us adults on the day of Grandma’s funeral with the words, “There are two Grandmas now. One Grandma is in the box, and one Grandma is in heaven. The Grandma in the box isn’t the real Grandma. The real Grandma is in heaven.”

You love to sing, and you read with such expression. I look forward to seeing how your interests develop as you grow older, how you use your strengths in the world. You love to have fun and be funny, the serious part of your personality still there, but beautifully complimented now by a desire to enjoy life more with each passing year. You are respectful of our rules. Your teacher has told us that she would love a whole classroom full of you. You try to think about how to let other kids learn well, how to show respect to your teachers, how to get the most out of each school day. Still, you are a typical kindergartner, loving recess and prizes from the treasure box and special days at school.

Daddy and I never expect you to be perfect. You have so many wonderful qualities, but like all of us, you are human. We will love you through the years to come, come what may. We know you will go through different stages and phases, and who you are may be easier or harder for us to parent depending upon the stage, but we are always here for you, loving you, pulling for you, seeing the best in you, and trying to help you grow in the areas where you need to stretch. But right now, in this moment, we want you to know that we really enjoy our six year old Emma and are so glad that we get to spend each day getting to know a little bit more about the daughter that we are blessed to raise. Happy Birthday, baby.

I love you with all of my heart,

Mommy

Remembering my Mom (What I Was Honored to Share at Her Funeral)

This is the eulogy that I gave at Grandma's (my mom's) funeral yesterday.  We paid tribute to her with about 700 friends and family at her visitation and a full church at her funeral.  It was really moving to see how she had touched so many lives deeply and sweetly.  She was a truly special person in all of our lives:

My mom was a giver in the truest sense of the word. She loved on people daily, hourly. She loved on them with her caring, listening ear, her renowned pies, the doll clothes she sewed for her granddaughters, the way she proudly cuddled her grandson, the way she loved on my brother and me, raising us with wisdom and kindness and absolutely unconditional love, the way she welcomed her son-in-law and daughter-in-law into the family as her kids 

and learned to cook new recipes just so that she could brighten their day with their favorite foods, the way she did so many things for my dad without even thinking about it, the way she cared about and for her parents and my dad’s parents, the way she loved on her brothers and lit up when they called, the way she loved on her sisters-in-law and nieces and nephews and church family by taking such an interest in their lives, the way she was more than a teacher to students and more than a coworker to colleagues--she pulled for them, wanted the best for each of them, thought of anything she could do to help them, the way she hurt for friends who hurt, the way she found so many ways to help her family, friends, and community. My mom was always looking for chances to enrich our lives. She often filled our fridge with fresh produce from her garden and home cooking from her kitchen. She mended our clothes, cared for our children, and made sure we continually had farm fresh eggs. She was extremely considerate of always being a blessing and never inconveniencing, giving so selflessly. My husband very sweetly says that I am a big walking heart, and if I am, I owe it to the example my mom set for me. Right after my mom died, my dad paid me a tremendous compliment by saying, “It’s a good thing that there’s a lot of your mom in you.” I only hope that that is true, because not just on her funeral day, but every single day, I can say that I was proud to call her my mother.

My mom was able to donate her eyes, which seems perfect, because she had the vision to see the best in others and would want to help someone in need. She lived by the principle of “waste not, want not.” She was frugal by nature, delighting in a good coupon or a great sale...better yet, both together. Still, she was incredibly generous with others, wasting not so that she could share so much. She also espoused, “Do onto others as you would have them do onto you.” Though she thought this, she only really expected the first part out of herself. She did onto others so very well, but she expected so little in return. The very last time I saw my mom, she did so much for me. I am guessing there are many people in this room that can say that the last time they saw her, she served them in some way. She put so much of her heart into mothering, teaching, grandparenting, and serving at this church. In each of these roles, she was such a gift.

She had a really fun sense of humor. Though she was very responsible in many ways, she was also a big kid in others. She loved to call her seven brothers and tell them she was their favorite sister, to laugh with us over the silliest things until tears ran down her cheeks. She would pick up my dad’s stud finder, grab his arm, and say, “Beep, beep. I found mine.”

My mom loved the color blue, sitting outside together on the Adirondack chairs enjoying the peacefulness of the countryside, kissing and cuddling my dad, eating Conant’s quesadillas, enjoying the Bohle Christmases, watching a hummingbird outside her living room window, telling me about what was on her mind and heart, loving on her grandchildren, making sure others felt comfortable and encouraged, and reveling in each chance our whole family had to be together.

Her voice was filled with such excitement when she knew she would be seeing her kids or grandkids or meeting a friend for lunch. I could literally hear her bubbling enthusiasm when she reported to me the joy of her day ahead. She would write me letters and emails which included many of the smallest details of her day. I cherish these.

My aunt recently mentioned how my mom was the center of our family, and that was so true, both for our family of ten and for the extended family. My mom had such an authentic humility about her, and she was definitely a servant leader. She had a way of bringing people together, taking care of so many things, and never taking credit for any of it. This week, many people have told me that my mom is the kindest person they have ever known. I feel extremely grateful that I was given such a caring woman to grow inside of from my very beginning, to receive invaluable guidance and love from as I grew up, and then to grow into such a precious friend of mine when I became a woman. After having eight brothers, marrying someone with two brothers, and having my older brother, she was quite amazed to have me, a girl. She loved the men in her life and my brother so much, but I’ve been told that she enthusiastically proclaimed, “I’m going to sew for her!” when she was surprised with a daughter. And sew for me she did, both clothes and a close-knit relationship.

Truth be told, I would never have been ready to say “goodbye” to my mom, certainly not this soon and with such a tragedy. It is unfathomable that she will not be here with our family and our friends. We do give thanks that she is in heaven, that she knew she would go there by grace, and that we will be reunited someday. Still, there is a hole in each of our hearts that will never be filled here on earth. The fact that her grandchildren are richer for having known her is heartwarming but also heartbreaking, in that they will be so much poorer for not having her weekly visits, her daily prayers. She read hundreds of books to them, played so many games, had such a sweet relationship with them that they cheered her arrival at our home and couldn’t wait to visit her at hers. My mom told me that being a grandma was absolutely the best thing ever.

I am so grateful we were able to move back and spend this time with her. My girls cherish their grandma. Five-year-old Emma Grace has inherited my mom’s thoughtful heart, making a card for me on the day Mom died that read, “I hope you feel the same way I do. I’m so sad that your mom died.” Three-year-old Lily Rebecca bears her name and her grandma’s fun, silly sense of humor.

My mom often said that she couldn’t ever imagine retiring. Just weeks after her first grandchild, Emma, was born, she quickly changed her mind.

I don’t know how all of the details work, but it brings me a small measure of comfort to imagine my mom in heaven, cradling the two babies that we lost to miscarriage in her lap. If anyone could be Super-Grandma to infinity and beyond, it would be her.

When we were young, my mom mostly stayed home with us while teaching part-time, and my brother and I are so grateful for the tremendous amount of time we were able to spend with her. I remember her making us homemade breakfasts every morning, praying with me every night. Her Sunday night homemade pizza continued to be Jason’s and my most requested meal into adulthood. I hope I can always recall the taste of her pizza perfection.

She made beautiful quilts for her children and grandchildren, as well as for impoverished people abroad. We have so many tangible reminders of her in our life…things she’s sewed,

quilts she’s given, notes she’s written, even food she made. She left a fresh pecan pie in the refrigerator that we found Thursday, cut into pieces, and froze for Dad to have eight sweet reminders of how very much she loved him.

I’ve told many people that my mom is like Superwoman. She just had a knack for doing so many things well.

I spoke to my mom on the phone daily…more often like two, three, or four times a day. She was my mom, my best girlfriend, and my absolutely biggest fan, cheering for me in my triumphs and hurting for me so deeply when any adversity would come my way. Thankfully, we mostly had much to celebrate together, but we were authentic about our feelings and could talk about so much. Every time we said “goodbye” in person, we hugged, thanked each other, and expressed our love. We ended every call with “I love you,” and there were not words unspoken between us. Still, I know that every time my girls do something cute, or I have a question about a recipe or stain removal or life in general, I will feel the deep loss of not being able to call her. Every time we gather as a family, there will be someone priceless missing, and we will feel that acutely. I ask for your prayers for all who knew her, her parents who have lost a child, her brothers who have lost a sibling, the rest of our family who has lost a loved one, her friends who have lost someone so dear, and for her kids and grandkids, whose lives will never be the same. With all of my heart, I ask that you pray for and support my dad, who has lost his best friend, helpmate, love of his life.

Our hearts are broken at having lost my mom, but we are so grateful to have my dad, who is such a man of faith, family, integrity, and generosity. He and my mom’s commitment to one another, to death do them part, was an inspiration to my brother and me, and their love lives on in our own marriages and in my dad’s heart.

So today, I want to thank you so much for your friendship to our family, for how you made my mom’s time here on earth richer. I want to ask that as you leave here, you are inspired by my mom’s example as we have been, to live big in love, rich in faith, generous in spirit. My husband has said many times over the years, “If everyone was raised by Rebecca Jane, this world would be a much better place.” Please go out and hug your loved ones, help one another, actively make this world a more beautiful place…many of us have much work to do to even try to begin to fill the gap of all the ways my mom brightened it.

Done by 9 a.m.

This morning, I was done by 9 a.m. 

7:20 a.m.  I was praying and thanking God for just how blessed I am to have my girls, a hubby I love, family that is healthy and such a positive presence in our lives, a home, food, and on and on…I felt wonderfully overwhelmed by all that I have been given.

7:30 a.m.:  I was informed that there were newly washed sheets that had just been soaked through (and no, I couldn’t “just let them dry” as sweetly suggested by my three-year-old.)  I stripped the bed, got the laundry going, finished packing Emma’s lunch, made sure she was ready, fed the girls breakfast, scarfed down my now cold oatmeal too quickly in an attempt to get us out the door on time, and got to the bus stop near our house.  Both girls were dressed.  I was in my pajamas. It was just one of those mornings. 

8:07 a.m.:  After getting to the bus stop with a few minutes to spare, we then held up the bus (and also the person sitting behind the bus who was probably now late to work) when my big one suddenly refused to take a seat on it.  The afternoon before on the bus, she had gotten out a piece of candy her teacher had given her.  A friend told her that they weren’t allowed to eat on the bus, and my tender hearted one thought that she was in terrible trouble.  She sobbed it out yesterday, we talked it out, the jury was out, and then I thought she realized that she had been absolved of the crime.  However, this morning, she decided that getting on the bus was just too tough.  I got her to climb up the bus stairs, the bus driver said that her behavior on the bus is excellent, and her friend that she was worried would bring up the candy crime wasn’t even on the bus.  Still, she cried ambulance siren loud, capturing the attention of the kids on the bus and the crowd of parents standing nearby.  At that moment, I committed a rookie parenting mistake in my desperation to get her to move forward and let the bus driver get to school on time.  I said that if she didn’t sit down in a bus seat, she couldn’t go to school.  Read here, a consequence I really didn’t want to enforce.  I value school and want her to feel that it is a privilege to go, yet not an optional activity.  So, we went in the house and I did some quick brainstorming.  I explained to her that the bus was going right to her school from our neighborhood, and Mommy would need to spend money on extra gas to drive her there.  Emma works hard for her money in her piggy bank, making a quarter for putting away the whole family’s laundry or other small wages for jobs that seem big to her.  I told her it would take two quarters to get to school (sadly, a bargain rate at today’s gas prices, I know, but an economics lesson is for another day.)  She hurried to get the money, promising that she would willingly take the bus home.  I hurried to change from pajamas to an actual outfit.  As we got in the minivan, she said, “Thank you so much, Mommy.”  The fact is, I was willing to drive her to school the whole year if necessary, but I wanted her to learn the consequences of not listening when I asked her to sit down on the bus.  No one was being unkind to her on the bus, she just felt guilty for getting out her candy.  I want her to be able to talk out her feelings, but I don’t want her to live in fear of a mistake she might make.  This parent thing, in all honesty, involves a whole lot of love and a fair amount of winging it and hoping and praying you’re doing way more good than harm.

8:40 a.m.  We walked Emma into school, got back in the car, and then my little one started lamenting that she doesn’t want to go to preschool, doesn’t like preschool, and just wants to stay home with Mommy.  Did I mention I don’t have all the answers?  I am torn between teaching her not to quit when something seems hard and pulling her from preschool and keeping her home with me another year.  On Thursday, I discovered that my sweet, bubbly Lily has not said a single word to an adult or a child in the month she’s been at preschool.  She has been completely silent, not talking to her peers, teachers, other parents, anyone.  No wonder she isn’t thrilled about going.  She loves to vocalize at home.  Next week, I plan to spend the whole preschool afternoon with her and hope to figure out what is going on and whether she should spend about five hours a week there or should wait until she’s older to hit the school scene.  I have analyzed this greatly, and her complaints four hours before she even needed to be at preschool wore me out just a little more.

9:00 a.m.  I say I was done by 9 a.m., but I should really say “undone.”  For, there is no being “done” as a mother.  The responsibilities, the fact that you are accountable for how you handle things and how you mold your kids, does not allow you to be “done” at any point in the day.  Coming “undone,” on the other hand, totally happens.  On more occasions than I can count, I have let things get to me and not been at my mothering best.  In an attempt to reclaim myself before I took my morning’s exhaustion out on Lily, I jumped in the shower and left her with books to read in my room.  I got out of the shower and heard her crying hysterically.  I hurried into my bathroom and discovered her with tears streaming down her cheeks, her dress having fallen in the toilet while she was using it.  Though I was just finishing my second and final load of laundry for the day, I made sure to tell her it was no big deal, that I didn’t mind at all.  I gave hugs, reassured her, and dried her tears.  Good thing Calgon had taken me away during my shower!

9:15 a.m.:  I realized how quickly L was able to move on after this.  And then came my moment of revelation.  Each of these exasperating, draining, stress-inducing moments of motherhood is also an opportunity, a teachable moment, a chance to strengthen my children’s character and allow them to grow.  It may be inconvenient for me; it may make me feel drained before the day has really begun, but without it, my children wouldn’t learn how to deal well with adversity, may not understand how people make mistakes and there is grace and a way to move through it, how it really is an important life skill to keep the small stuff in perspective.  Each of these inconveniences is actually useful, helpful, part of the schooling my children receive at home.  They don’t mean life is easier for me, but they do mean that it is more meaningful for them.  I may not have all of the answers, but I can provide support, turn moments of crisis for them into learning experiences, and model resiliency and an appreciation for acknowledging our feelings and keeping things in perspective.  I can teach them that I love them in all moments, the times they feel proud and the instances where they want to hide from their crimes.  The problems they cause now are small, but the way I handle them are huge in who they will turn out to be.  So, I have decided today, at 10 a.m., that I am most certainly not done.  I am only getting started in helping them discover who they are, how it is okay to feel how they feel and mess up and get up and keep going, how they are perfectly imperfect and though I love them imperfectly, I love them greatly and deeply and through anything.

10:00 a.m.  I am once again overwhelmed by all that I have been given, grateful for my children and their ability to laugh and cry, worry and wonder, create mounds of laundry that I need to do but am blessed to have.  And I am looking forward to the day ahead.

Preschool Popsicle Party

Lily Rebecca started preschool yesterday.  I have been nervous about it all week and woke up yesterday sick to my stomach, thinking about the transition ahead.  She and I have been enjoying our one-on-one time since Emma started kindergarten a couple of weeks ago.  We do miss Emma, but I have also found that Lily has learned so many things since she has been able to shine on her own.  She now loves to tell me her letter sounds, to practice counting, colors, shapes, and more.  We are getting a rhythm to our days as mommy and daughter, and it is tough to break up that pattern.  She even has said, “We are the two girls.  Emma is the three girl, but she is gone the whole day, so we’re the two girls.”  Even though she has enjoyed our time, Lily has been so excited to start preschool.  Having been through this once as a mom, some of my fears aren’t as great as they were a couple of years ago.  I know what a positive experience preschool was for Emma, and I am hoping and praying that it will be wonderful for Lily, as well.  She is so precious to me and our whole family.  It is tough to share her with a world outside of our family, but I also know that her life will most likely be richer for the experience. 

Last week, we went to her open house, and she quickly settled in with the many fun toys at preschool.  Since then, she has asked regularly when it is her turn to start school.  She and I had a mommy / daughter date complete with playground time and an ice cream treat in anticipation of the start of her school career.

After much anticipation on Lily’s part, preschool finally started yesterday afternoon.  Emma very sweetly expressed her disappointment that she wouldn’t be here to see Lily’s first day.  She said, “I want to be there.  I want to see.”  I assured her that we would take pictures and tell her all about it.  I loved that she wanted to be there for her little sis.  Conant took vacation time so that he could be a part of Lily’s big day.  They were so cute together yesterday morning, cuddled up with books in the recliner I used for Lily’s nighttime feedings when she was a baby.  Lily wanted to read her new book, Preschool Day, Hooray!, again and again.  Her aunt, uncle, and cousins had thoughtfully given it to her the day before to celebrate her start of preschool, and she took it quite seriously.  She worked to memorize each part of the book, trying to learn what was in store for her.  My favorite part is the last page where you lift a flap and it says, “It’s Mommy time!” when the mom comes to pick the preschooler up.  Each time she read this, she cheered and smiled a huge smile.  I think it was just as reassuring to me as it was to her.  I went over her preschool schedule with her, talking about each part of her afternoon so she knew what to expect.  It was so cute to see her practicing the things she knew all morning, though I reassured her that she didn’t need to worry about knowing everything.  She seemed to think that they were going to test her.  She would say, “Which color first?” to ask which color they would cover this month at preschool.  She told me the sounds of many letters and counted, too. 

Before we left for her afternoon preschool class, I had her decorate a sign that commemorated her “1^ST DAY OF PRESCHOOL.”  She colored a sun and a spider web, then started to write some letters on it.  C took pictures of our favorite preschooler while I provided entertainment behind the camera.  At one point, I picked a flower from a tree in our yard and gave it to her.  She loved it and wanted to take it to school.  When I asked if she wanted to give it to her teacher, she shook her head “yes.” 

When we arrived at school, it was still locked, so we got a quick photo of the three of us.  Proving that she is still our baby, she was sucking her thumb for the picture.  We are working on that habit, but it continues to provides comfort for her when she is concerned or tired.  Soon, we went inside, and she found her name by a hook.  I helped her hang up her backpack, and she went inside.  When it came time to give her teacher the flower, she gave it to her with my help, suddenly clinging to me.  Though she was very shy near her teacher, she soon fell into a rhythm of playing with the play kitchen and caring for a baby doll.  She colored and played some more.  Conant and I watched her for a while and met some of the other parents.  Finally, satisfied that she was settled, we told her goodbye.  It was tough for me to give her a goodbye hug and let go, but she was ready.  I felt a lump in my throat and thought that I would cry, but I was able to take a deep breath and just smile at how proud I was of her, sitting and independently creating with Play-Doh in such a new environment without shedding a tear. 

As we walked back out to our very empty minivan, Conant looked at me with the concern of a husband who knows the waterworks are imminent.  However, we had cleverly planned a diversion so that I wouldn’t just sit and worry about our baby girl.  It had been a while since Conant and I were on a date, so we took this opportunity to turn a tough afternoon into some fun couple time.  We went out to lunch, Emma snugly settled in kindergarten, and L excitedly starting her preschool year.  We had a wonderful time out together, and it was reassuring for me to have Conant there reminding me how happy Lily was to start school.  After lunch, we headed home, and I looked through Lily’s baby book, thinking about how blessed we were to have that smiling baby girl, how grateful we are to have such a fun loving three year old, and what a gift the days in between have been.

After school, when I picked her up, she was less than thrilled.  At first, I arrived and they were still playing outside, and she was in her element.  Then, they went inside and sent them out to the waiting parents in the hallway.  At that point, she wanted to cling to me and be held.  She said, “They did painting for art, and I didn’t get to paint at all. Not at all!  Not at all!  Nothing!”  She was clearly upset that the day was different than she had expected.  She hadn’t understood that painting was a center she could choose.  I think the separation was also tougher than she thought.  Later, she said, “All we do is work and play.  Work and play.  Work and play.”  When I asked her her favorite part, she said, “Snack.  We had pretzels.”  She did say she wants to go back, so hopefully her reaction of being tired and overwhelmed the first day will fade, and she will love her afternoons at school.  She has class two afternoons a week.  My guess is that she will adore it before long, but I don’t mind her being extra happy to see me at the end of preschool for now.  

After 5 ½ years of running errands and cleaning the house with little ones at my side, it will be a huge change to be alone for a little over four hours a week.  As much as it is hard to see Lily move away from our small family circle, there is a part of me that is excited to have time to get my “to do” list done so that the time I do have with her at home will be even better spent, quality time without as many distractions.

We had friends over last night, so we waited until today to officially celebrate her first day of preschool.  We made popsicles and had a “Preschool Popsicle Party” while I sang “Hooray for Lily!” again and again.  She beamed almost the whole time. 

Though it was hard for me to send Lily yesterday, I am also excited for her.  As she is able to learn and process about the world, she has us waiting at home to encourage and guide her.  Being a parent is tough, but it is such a gift.  As our children grow, we do, too.  We learn what they are capable of as we step back a little bit at a time, waiting for any moment they need to come back to us, but knowing that growing up is a process.  They need room to stretch even when we would just like to pull the covers over both of our heads, snuggle them tight, and keep them safe.  It is kind of like sucking your thumb, something that is soothing and comforting for a time, but not a healthy way to grow into adulthood.  Though an eighteen year cuddle fest with my girls might be tempting, I more want them to grow into healthy, happy adults, able to come back to me whenever they need encouragement but move away from me whenever they are ready for their confidence and skills to grow.  May I have the courage to let go one new step at a time, much the way I did two years ago when my now preschooler was learning to walk. 

I am so very proud of Lily and thankful to be her mommy.  I cannot wait to hear about all that she learns as I love her enough to learn to let go.

Emma's First Day of Kindergarten

Motherhood is often about transitions, and we try our hardest to both love and let go well.  Love happens to be the easy part.  Today, my Emma Grace, you started kindergarten.  We have been talking about this day for quite a while, and maybe it is just a credit to how very much I love your daddy, but I was more nervous this morning than on my wedding day.  That day, I knew that I was marrying my best friend.  This morning, I was letting one of my best girls spread her wings more than ever before, and it was tough.

On Monday, we got to go to your Open House and meet your teacher and see the other kids.

   

You were so excited.  After, you wished that school would start the very next day.  I wished that it wouldn’t start for quite some time.  Don’t get me wrong, I am so happy for you.  It’s just that I love spending time with you, and I will miss you.  Monday, you told me, “Mom, it’s kind of like Mrs. P. (your teacher) will be my mom because I will spend all day with her.”  Now, if you’re a mother someday, you’ll understand that I didn’t take this personally but did feel a sinking in my heart.  I told you that you would have so much fun learning with your new teacher, but I will always be your mommy. 

Yesterday, the reality of the new change started to sink in for you.  First thing in the morning, you told me, “I am so glad I got you for a mom, the best mom in the whole world.  I got the very best mommy.”  Of course, this is said by most kids, but somehow it still makes a parent feel warm and fuzzy.  It is kind of like “I love you,” often used but still powerful when you can feel the emotion behind it.  Your kind words and sweet snuggles started my day off right.  You also said, “Saturday and Sunday are going to be my favorite days.”  I assured you that you would have so much fun at school, but Saturday and Sunday would be my favorite days, too.  We finished the Little House book These Happy Golden Years, snuggling and reading together most of the afternoon.

Last night, you picked out your dress.  I ironed it and laid it out for you and found a matching hair bow.  This morning, about 15 minutes before we planned to leave, you told me you wanted a different dress and hairstyle.  Normally, I would tell you that it was too late and you’d have to wear it the next day, but I wanted you to feel confident today, so I quickly ironed your other dress and styled your hair.  Then, Daddy took lots of pictures of you for me.  I took video.  On the video, you said you were most excited to “ride the bus,” which is funny, because it’s one of the hardest things for me to let you do.  Last night after you were in bed, I was crying pretty hard because I was having a tough time with all of this, and then Daddy said that I could always drive behind the school bus.  Pretty soon, we were laughing just as hard as I had been crying at the thought of a line of minivans following the bus, nervous parents forming a conspicuous parade that everyone would notice at each bus stop.

At breakfast, I gave you a kiss on the inside of your hand and wrapped your hand over it, reminding you that mommy’s kiss would stay with you all day.  We have read The Kissing Hand  together before, and you gave me an encouraging smile to let me know you understood.  I handed you your lunchbox which includes some of your favorite foods and a love note from me.  I hope it makes you smile.

When Daddy was taking pictures at our house before school, you were wishing you could just go to school, but then you saw the school bus picking up the kids in the neighborhood, and you smiled so excitedly.  L and I drove you to school, and Daddy came, too, to help drop you off.  

  

 

They had a cool balloon arch at the entrance.  The principal greeted you by name at the door.  We walked you in, stopped at your locker, and went into the classroom.    There were plenty of tears from parents and kids, and the little boy sitting next to you was crying hardest of all, poor thing.  I was worried this might get to you.  You looked very serious and somewhat concerned, but you stayed so brave.

 

After a few minutes, I could tell that I wasn’t going to stay as brave as you were, so I gave you one more kiss on your hand, asked you one more time if you wanted me to pick you up (and you said you still wanted to take the bus), reminded you to be a good listener, and told you that I couldn’t wait to hear about your fun day.

The school had a Kindergarten / New Parent breakfast after, or as your teacher dubs it, a “Boo Hoo Breakfast.”  We went, and while we were having breakfast in the library, only one class walked by the windows.  It was yours!  You gave us the biggest smile and wave, and it was such a priceless moment for me.  I was very grateful to see you so happy, comfortably walking in line, looking confident. 

 

After the breakfast, L and I drove away.  When we got home, I felt such an empty, sick feeling.  Though I know it sounds cheesy, I truly feel like part of my heart is inside your school.  I am so very proud of what a big girl you are becoming, thrilled to see you so excited to meet new kids and learn new things, so I will do my best to keep my tears to myself.  I want you to have the chance to love school for the wonderful place it can be, full of magical learning and fun friends, teachers who put their whole hearts into their job, and experiences that you will remember fondly.  I am happy that L will get what you got your first two years, lots of one-on-one time with me.  Still, she and I will both miss you very much.  She started playing dollhouse shortly after we got home.  I overheard her role playing with the dolls, saying, “Your sister, Emma, is at school.”  This summer, you told me that you will miss playing with her.  This will be an adjustment for all of us, but I can’t wait to hear about all that you experience.  The time we do have at home will continue to be sweet family time, but your world is getting bigger, and I am very proud of the little girl that I am sending out into it.  I love you with all my heart, my precious kindergartner.   

And now that you are home from school, I have to quickly add that you came home very happy. "The bus!" was your favorite part of kindergarten. When I asked why you, a devout lover of food, ate very little of your lunch, you said, "He said that it was almost time for recess, and I didn't want to miss recess!" Finally, you told me that you cried at recess time. I love how you articulate things: "Mom, I cried. I looked all around, and there were so many strangers everywhere. There was not a glimpse of Mrs. P. anywhere. Then, a lady with a green shirt and a microphone came up to me and asked who my teacher was. I cried more. Then, someone made the right guess of who my teacher was, and they called Mrs. P. over. I stopped crying when I saw her." Though I wished I could have been there for you, I am happy to hear you got the help you needed and proud of you for being such a brave girl on the bus. You can't wait to go back tomorrow! And now, I need to go snuggle with you and read our last Little House book, The First Four Years, per your request. So much changed today, but our connection is still as strong as ever. Can't wait to share a good book with my favorite kindergartner.

Sweet Spot

This summer has been such a parenting sweet spot. I have always been a baby and toddler person, but I quickly learned that having my own babies and toddlers was an awe-inspiring but unrelenting task. As my babies have grown into young children, I have discovered that I not only love them more with each passing day, I enjoy each new stage more, too. And I am head over heels in love with their current stage. Seriously, I can’t get over how cool it is to have a five year old and a three year old.

Five is truly my new favorite age. Emma is happy much of the time, sweet almost always, funny and creative in remarkable ways, and altogether lovely. Though she has her moments like any kid, she absolutely brightens our home daily. When I had a stomach bug earlier this week, she made me the most beautiful card that she thought of herself, found the supplies for, decorated, and wrote, all without any help: “EMMA LOVES MOMMY. LOVE [picture of a heart] EMMA AND LILY.” She enthusiastically pointed out that she wrote her letters in my favorite color, blue. On the inside, she drew our family, all holding hands under a bright and golden sun. She gave me a very colorful and stylish dress. On the back, she drew a sun with a big “MOM” underneath. I mean, five years of round the clock care can’t even buy that kind of love. I melted. Though I was feeling pretty rough, it cheered me up the instant I saw it and her proud, beaming face. The card also symbolized why this stage of parenting isn’t quite as exhausting. She is beginning to do things herself and do them well. She is able to get herself dressed, can help get out her snack if I am busy, and can even buckle herself in her car seat. Small victories, maybe, but a world of help when it is often 2 kids to 1 adult trying to get somewhere.

Emma is also so creative. She and Lily play a Memory game, “I Never Forget a Face,” that has multicultural pictures of people from around the globe. They both confidently name each person’s country of origin: “Haiti, Afghanistan, Tanzania, Bolivia, Russia, Scotland,” and on and on. They both start laughing when they come to Hawaii, saying, “Hawaii’s not a country!” They love their new game, which they were given as a gift last month. Well, this week, like many families around the globe, we have been watching the Olympics. Being a teacher, I wanted to get out a map so that they could see where each athlete came from. Emma went and got her game and started placing the faces on the corresponding countries. Seeing her mature into someone capable of thinking of that herself, much less doing it, is such a joy. I thank God for her growing mind and her passion for learning. Kids are sponges, and Emma definitely loves to soak up information. I love to have fun learning together.

The thought of sending her to school full time in a few weeks breaks my heart. I told my hubby, “I feel like I’ve put in all these years with her, and now she is getting to such an incredible stage, and I have to share her.” The truth is, I would have had trouble sharing her if she was five months or fifteen years. It probably has less to do with the stage and more to do with a huge transition for me. I feel blessed that I have had this time with her. It wasn’t always easy, but it was so worth it. As she heads to school, I know she will learn a ton, have a wonderful time interacting with her peers, and benefit so much from the great school she will be at, but it still hurts to think of letting her go. I question if I’ve taught her enough, played with her often enough, taken enough advantage of each moment I’ve had with her. In the beginning, the time really didn’t go that quickly. There were sleepless nights and days filled with crying (usually her tears, sometimes mine.) However, somewhere along the line, time began to seemingly pick up the pace. I feel now like things are on fast forward, and I wonder if I’ve fully taken advantage of all of the moments I’ve had. I hope she looks back someday and feels like I did.

As Emma heads to kindergarten, the only one more devastated than me will probably be Lily. The girls are the best of friends. I mean that. They play together almost constantly, coming up with so many imaginative plays, scenarios, tea parties, and reading sessions. They are beyond my best dreams for what sisters could be together. I fear that Lily will be adrift without her favorite big sis. For her part, Emma has told me she will miss Lily. Three is a rather challenging age, with emotions often wide ranging, potty battles ongoing, and opinions bigger than independent skills and abilities. However, the girls’ tight bond allows me to adore this parenting stage, even with Lily still going through the difficult transition of three. Lily is so joyful when they play and create together, it often pulls her out of the toughness of three and makes her beam proudly and reach farther than she would alone. I am grateful that I will have one-on-one time with her like I got with Emma in the beginning and that she can discover who she is without a mastermind behind her creative games. Still, I know that I can’t compete with a big sis whose imagination carries Lily places I might not even think of now that I’m solidly into adulthood. We still have fun. This morning, I planned a Tea Party breakfast in our three seasons room in celebration of the London Olympics and had two very delighted girls, but I know I have my limitations, brought on by age and the need to handle household tasks throughout the day. I only hope that I can continue to help Lily blossom into all that she is meant to be, that I can remember to take the time to be her playmate and friend as well as her mom. She has such a phenomenal spirit, a sparkle in her eyes and a smile that emanates from within her petite little body. I want to do justice to the precious gift I was given in her.

Change is always hard. This year, we’ve moved, and now I need to prepare to send my oldest to full day kindergarten and my youngest to preschool a few hours a week. I am definitely struggling with the emotions of this transition. When I think about all that I have been entrusted with, I am overwhelmed with gratitude and humbled by the ways I could have probably done better the past five years.

As I was in the middle of typing that last sentence, Emma just came in to ask for help with something. Feeling reflective, I asked her, “Do you think, in the past five years, I’ve done okay as your mommy?” Thoughts of times I’d checked my Facebook account or put her off for “just one more minute” that turned into twenty as I checked laundry or called a friend came to my mind.

She looked at me, said, “Mmm-hmm,” paused for a moment, then said, “I love having you for a mommy so much. I don’t think any other mommy would be just perfect for me.”

Wow! Did I mention that I love having a five year old? It doesn’t hurt that she’s the absolutely perfect five year old for me. So thankful today that I was given two girls that I love with all my heart. Through the transition ahead, they will still be my girls, and I will still be their mom. And that is the sweetest spot of all.