Dear Miles,
Today you will be a kindergarten graduate and I am feeling an overwhelming rush of emotions. I picture you as the toddler that you were, barely able to speak coherent words. The years we invested in speech therapy for you–spending countless time at home teaching you the sound of letters, pointing to words, enunciating everything, forcing Olivia to just be quiet for one second so you could find your own voice.
Dear Olivia,
I feel like a ping pong ball at the moment between school, work, extracurricular activities and just with life in general. You might be asking yourself, why am I no longer writing these letters to you more often? Am I no longer interesting? Are my interactions with you unworthy of a blog post? Do I not embarrass you enough that you have nothing to share amongst family and friends? You can rest your weary head because you still drive me looney, you are still wildly interesting, our interactions can sometimes be unbelievable and I’m still crazy about you.
Dear Miles,
I’m not going to lie, I am a very competitive person. I like winning in everything. Unfortunately, this umbrella of winning includes you and Olivia. I like successes and this includes yours and Olivia’s endeavors. Whether in sports, academics or milestones, I want you and Olivia to succeed at it all. I want you to be the best. You both are an extension of me so perhaps in some weird unhealthy way, I’m reflecting and experiencing your successes as my own. I know it’s wrong and sad but I can’t help it. You and Olivia are my children after all so isn’t it natural for a parent to want their kids to be the best? Don’t we all secretly hope that our children become these little prodigies where us parents sit back and acknowledge that, yes, I created this. My superior genes created this almighty human. Bow down to my amazing offspring and my magnificent procreating abilities. I mean, that’s what we’re all thinking, no? Just me?
To those who follow my Instagram, know that we are busy folks. We can’t sit still and when we do have a free moment, we’re usually out exploring. Early last year, we discovered a love for hiking. It came at a time when we were cost-conscious (still are) and were looking for activities we could do as a family that would require little to zero money and something that would get us out of the house and moving because these kids of mine have a tremendous amount of energy that needs to be expelled or I’ll be screaming into a pillow try to expel my frustrations.
Dear Olivia,
The holidays are over and despite it being my favorite time of year, I’m excited to send you and your brother back to school. I need routine like nobody’s business and when you’re both here at the house, asking what the plans are for the day, I stress. Not to mention you and Miles have a question for me every other minute so being even remotely productive is impossible. I’m amazed I was able to get pants on back in the day when you both stayed home full time. It’s amazing the things we forget.
As I reflect on 2016, I see a year filled with so many adventures. We took our first family trip to Europe, discovered a passion of hiking, continued our love affair with water and embarked on countless other adventures.
This family has a really difficult time sitting still so I’m fairly certain 2017 will be just as exciting. We have some potential trips in the works and of course, Summer of Awesome will make its spectacular return later in the year. All in all, we’re looking forward to a great year ahead!
Cheers and Happy New Year everyone!!
Dear Miles,
I don’t even know where to begin with you. You’re only six years old and your personality is bigger than some adults I know. You are very charismatic and say things that leave me without words. You say things that make me just look at you and laugh out loud. For instance, I’ll be in the bathroom yelling at you about the mess in your sink and very suavely, you’ll saunter in to the bathroom and ever so gently, rest your hand on my arm and respond, you don’t need to clean, sweetheart. What the fuck? Who are you and why are you so creepy?! Is your Dad teaching you these things? He is, isn’t he? You will not be a creepy casanova. Nobody likes that. NOBODY! I laugh because I don’t know what else to do. This isn’t normal. This behavior can’t be normal. Nor can it be good. Oh please, don’t make me a young grandmother.
This is how you pose when I take your picture now
Dear Olivia,
You are 8 years old. Is there anything more frightening than that? Ok, 16 will be terrifying but I refuse to think that far ahead. 8 is a huge number although I feel this way with every passing birthday. You are the oldest in your class and I’m still very happy with that decision. You love school, you’re confident in your ability to learn new tasks and you seem emotionally capable to handle the onslaught of tests and demands that second grade thrusts upon you. From what little I remember from my own second grade experience, I remember just learning to read. Now in second grade, you’re pretty much expected to already know how to read and to read well. I was an anxious child and I was one of the youngest in my class. I suffered from anxiety when presented with tests and work in school. I didn’t realize it then but when a project or an activity was given to me that I deemed too difficult or confusing, I began to hyperventilate and eventually I would begin to cry. Kids would loudly announce, Jennifer is crying again! I even remember on a few occasions, teachers looking obviously annoyed that I was in tears yet again and they would walk over and say, why are we crying this time? Not exactly a nurturing environment to learn in. I don’t know if my age played a factor into this or whether my lack of preschool contributed or perhaps none of these things mattered. Perhaps I was just an anxious kid. I’m happy to see that you’re the exact opposite when it comes to school and learning.
I don’t know why but this looks reminds me so much of Brian Fellows
Dear Miles,
I’m currently sitting alone in the kitchen basking in the glorious quiet that is currently enveloping the household. I do not hear siblings fighting. I do not hear the request for another snack. I’m not being berated with question after question about everything under the sun. The quietness feels so foreign to me but I accept it with open arms.