It's great to be eight.

 Dear Ollie Bear,

Here we are, again.  I feel like this birthday came so quickly this year.  I believe it’s because the last six months were a lotta bit crazy.

Here we are, regardless.  Tonight is your last night being seven years old.  “It’s great to almost be eight,” you told me tonight.  I presume tomorrow morning, it will be “great to BE eight” for real.  Eight years ago this evening, 12 days after your due date, I was not-so-patiently waiting for you to be placed in my arms after being induced in the afternoon.  You came after midnight, with your umbilical cord tied in a stacked-double knot.  I think I say that every year, as it is a fact and an image that will forever be burned in my mind.   You’ve been a resilient little miracle from the beginning, you know.

Oh, my dearest Collin, this year was one for the books.  Over the course of the last year, you have grown immensely, not only in stature, finally breaching four feet tall, but emotionally and socially as well.  Despite your first-grade school year being cut short, meaning that your time in the classroom with your absolutely phenomenal blessing of a teacher came to a close earlier than any of us wanted, you finished first grade filled to the brim with knowledge and beaming with pride.  I was beaming with pride right alongside you.  You have approached the second grade school year, just two school days ago, with confidence and calm, despite a chaotic world around you.

I have to admit, little man, I am incredibly proud of you.  I have seen you transform right before my eyes in ways I find it hard to describe.  While you still have a firecracker spirit, your reservoir of calm has begun deepening in your spirit.  You have grown in your ability to pause before reacting, and although it’s never perfect for anyone, you’ve grown leaps and bounds in your impulse control.  Just recently, a teacher at daycare boasted to me with pride in her voice about how another boy hit you for seemingly no reason, and instead of being upset, lashing out, or getting even, you simply told him it was not okay and you walked away.  You even told her about how you were going to give the boy another chance to play with you soon, because he could be a good friend.  I had tears in my eyes hearing the story.  

As you have been all of your years, you are such a caring boy.  You have a gentleness in your soul that shines brilliantly with younger children.  You have loved babies for as long as I can remember, but you’ve also come to love toddlers, taking little ones by the hand and playing with them, just because you can.  You have done the same with preschool aged children as well.  You are really maturing in your relationships.  I know there’s still growth to be gained upon and progress to be made, but you have come so very far from the struggles you used to have.  I am excited to see what the coming year brings.

The level at which you read amazes me, as well as the speed at which you pick up knowledge, even, or especially when, it seems like you’re not paying any attention at all.  The amount of information in your brain must be coming up close to an encyclopedia worth, I am fairly certain.  

Your sense of humor brings me such joy.  You are such a funny guy.  I love the witty little things you say and the ease at which you say them.  I think we are similar in that way.  You keep me laughing and smiling, even on hard days where we struggle.  You’re also clever in your problem solving, which is sometimes quite comical as well.

I covet your hugs. You have always been one to hug with such energy.  It’s like your love just has to be shared.  

I love that your getting bigger, but in some ways you still remind me so much of how you’re little.  You still adore dinosaurs and playing in water.  You love to read.  You also have grown to love video games, and are becoming quite good at playing them with your brother which is a little new to me still.  In that way, you’re growing up to be a big kid, I know.

I realize this year, as it was for your sister’s birthday, is one unlike any other.  Fortunately for you, we are no longer in covid-19 isolation, so your birthday, unlike your sisters, can be spent with people outside our walls.  However, this pandemic has changed some things about the way in which we can celebrate.  It makes my momma heart sad to know that I cannot come have birthday lunch with you at school.  I hope tomorrow, you enjoy the little surprises and funny card I sneak into your lunch box.  I hope that your friends enjoy the suckers we are sending, instead of cupcakes or other non-individually wrapped treats.  I know that hugs are probably going to be more scarce this year due to social distancing, but I hope you can still feel the love and celebration of others around you.  I hope you can begin to understand the great joy you bring to others’ lives.

Oh, Ollie, this year I pray that you continue to grow in patience and calm, that your impulses continue to be easier to control, and that you are able to embrace your emotions in a healthy way.  Emotions are a gift from God, you know.  They’re good to have. 

I pray that you make dear, lasting friendships.  I pray that you see your immeasurable value in this world, on a large scale, but also in the smaller scale. I pray you realize you carry light, joy, and love with you wherever you go.  I pray that you never feel discouraged, or if you do, to realize that you’re a warrior, and overcomer, brave, and worthy.  

I pray that every day you find reasons to smile, to laugh, to run and play.  

I pray that you never doubt that you are loved.

I pray you feel God with you every single day, and see Jesus alongside every step you take.

I pray that you always know what a resilient little miracle you are.

I pray you always know that your brother and sister are in your corner and they love you with all of their hearts.

Sweet boy, I am so thankful God placed you in my arms at 2:11am, nearly eight years ago.  I am so blessed to be your momma.  You make me a stronger, kinder, more patient woman.  You teach me so much about unconditional love.  

You are, alongside your siblings, my greatest treasure.  

You’re the best things that ever happened to me.  I am so glad that you’re mine.  I will tell you that, every night we have together, as long as I am able.

Happy birthday, in the morning, Collin.

I love you,

Mom

Begin Again

 This year, as we are all aware, has been one unlike any other.  That sounds so cliche because every year is different, but with an on-going pandemic still taunting our lives, there have been so many events we have never faced before.

The school year is no different.  In-person learning, locally, ended abruptly in March right about the time that I came down with covid-19.   The week I awaited my test results and gradually became sicker, we attempted the distance learning model at home.  When I became so sick I could hardly breathe sitting still, let alone walk around the apartment or deal with school work, we quit for multiple weeks.  

The children never went back to their classrooms again, not even to pick up school supplies.  Everything was handled outside the school building.  Playgrounds and parks were closed.  Swimming pools never opened.  The summer was also, one we had never experienced before.  As I have still been dealing with lasting effects of a six week fever from covid-19 and subsequent pneumonia, then a break and two weeks fighting off bronchitis, I have worked very little at my job, and we have been at home more than we have since I was a stay-at-home-mom six years ago.

What simultaneously seemed like suddenly and also ages later, the school year approached.  

Locally, the decision was made for the kiddos at our elementary school to have two separate first days, divided alphabetically.  That meant that my littles had their first day back inside the school building this past Friday.

They had been excited, nervous, anxious, and occasionally dreaded going back.  There were so many changes happening this year.  Masks are expected for students and faculty, and although not mandatory, we are told that if your child doesn’t wear a mask, they’ll be repeatedly asked to put one on, questioned, and parents may be contacted.  (Side note: this is not a mask debate, so please do not start one.). Each of my children’s classes will be eating lunch in their classrooms this year.  The playground has been divided into sections, and none of the classrooms in each grade level are permitted to play together during recess.  Visitors are restricted.  The sick policy is very stringent... so forth and so on.

So, when we prepared for school to begin, there was a lot to process.  Truthfully, having survived the virus, although it’s still causing me issues, my children and I have looked the potential fatality of it straight in the face and come out the other side, so I haven’t felt worried or anxious about sending my children to school. I know the risks involved, and I’ve heard all sides of the debates going on.  It was the right choice for my family for my children to return to school.

The first day of school for my children was riddled with initial excitement, some grumpiness, a little rain, a little sunshine, typical first day photos, and a fun new addition in that they were able to take a photo with their future step-sister, who also started the same day, and is now going to the same school they are.  As we walked to the school, knowing that unlike years past, we could not wait together on the playground, and children could not play on the playground before school, their nerves started rising slightly.  As we approached the doors they will enter this year and pulled up their masks over their noses, both boys hugged me and walked in with slight-to-no-hesitation.  Their sister was a different story.  She cried and clung to momma as hard as she could, eventually taking the hand of a friend and going inside.

I cried as I walked away.  It was not tears of fear or anxiety.  It was tears of letting go, tears of change, tears of momma-hood.

I was fortunate to pick them up for daycare myself, and each ran out of the school with a smile.  We talked about the days and they all reported that the first day was good.  The only complaint came from the middle kiddo.  There’s a nut allergy in his classroom and because they are eating inside the classroom, this year he cannot have peanut butter or Nutella, which is his favorite sandwich combination.  After researching and connecting with the proper faculty, we decided on Wow-butter and jelly as an alternative.  I sampled it and thought it tasted nearly identical.  I did not tell him about the swap because I was sure that if I did he wouldn’t give the sandwich a chance.

The report, his day was “good but there was something wrong with the sandwich at lunch.”  He took two bites and declared that to his classroom.  I tried it again today with more jelly.  We shall see what the report is.  He knows the science behind acquiring a taste for new foods, because he’s told me all about it before.  Somehow, the boys seem to think that it doesn’t apply to them personally however.  

Today was the second day of school.  Due to a light work schedule this week, I am able to walk them to their doors again.  This morning went more breezily, and there were less tears from the little miss.  There was more sunshine in the sky and less supplies in the backpacks.  There were still masks on the faces, but bigger smiles in the eyes.  Hopefully, there will be less wow-butter sandwich left in the box.

Once Upon a Lifetime Ago

Once upon a lifetime ago, on August 5, 2006, a bright-eyed, creative, social justice seeking young lady married the man she dreamed of for as long as she could remember, a kind, caring, hard-working, musical and charming young man.

Their friendship had blossomed and deepened quickly, and grew into a deep love for one another, and on that hot summer’s day, in front of family and dear friends, they pledged their lives to one another.

Now, as we know, sometimes forever doesn’t last that long, at least not when humans are in charge.  As is the case more often than we would wish, “Come What May” faded and the fairy tale took a turn that two devoted love birds would never imagine possible, and the union between those two was severed.

I was the young lady in this story.

It’s been over four years now since my divorce was final.  As many know, the divorce did not come easy, and it was actually something I had to work very hard to be granted, for multiple reasons.  It was never anything I really wanted, but it was something I had to have.  Throughout the past six years, actually a little more, life has been a rollercoaster of occasionally unbelievable variety.

Here we are, 14 years after my wedding day.  After separating from my former husband, and especially after the divorce, I sit and wonder, each year, on this day, if it’s something I should acknowledge, publicly or privately.  It’s not an anniversary of continued marriage commitment, but yet, it is an anniversary of a huge life milestone.

I decided, this year, I will acknowledge it, publicly.

It is a big deal.

That love shaped me into a kind, devoted woman.  That love battled infertility to allow me to be a mother.  That love created innumerable memories, both good and bad.  That marriage shaped my life.  In the good times and the bad times, it molded me into a strong, brave, compassionate, woman full of faith in God.

Now that my youngest, my daughter, is six, and her father is in a new relationship with a woman he loves, a woman I am quite fond of as well, my little girl has a lot of questions about love and marriage.  She thinks kissing is gross, but she knows once upon a lifetime ago, I used to kiss her dad. She knows her dad kisses someone new now.  She thinks both situations are yucky.  Oh, I love how innocent she is.

In this new season of life, the kids all three talk about marriage and divorce more than they ever had in the past.

This year, on the anniversary of my wedding, I decided I will do something I have never done before with my children.

I will talk about my wedding day.

I will show them photos.

I will let them ask questions.

I will remember the day for the beautiful celebration that it was.

Being the sentimental and emotional woman that I am, someday I will also show them my wedding dress, if they’d like.  It currently is stored with my sister-in-law.  I believe my wedding rings are there too.  I saved both in the event that my daughter, especially, would like to see them.  I did not know then whether her dad would ever be in her life again, because for most of it, he really wasn’t, but I wanted her to know that she was created by love, out of the dreams her mom and dad once had together.  I have a shadow box their dad made me with my bouquet, our vows and my jewelry, which is stored with a dear friend, that perhaps someday I will desire to get back and share with them.  I just don’t know.

But what I do know now is that this year, I think it’s okay to open up those memories for my children.  I will let them see the joy in our faces as we became man and wife.  I will let my daughter marvel over my pretty white dress.   I will let them create their own memory in their minds of what could have happened that day, and let them know that it’s okay to talk about the joy that led up to their lives, even if that marriage no longer exists.  I will celebrate that lifetime ago that began their journey.        I will remind them (and myself) that even though happily ever after did not turn out the way we imagined, because God is SO GOOD, we have a happily ever after that we can love to live this way too.

(And what’s an anniversary without a wedding photo?  Here’s one of my very favorites of that day.)