To my first on his 14th, 15th, and 16th

Dear John,

Happy Sweet 16th, sweet boy. You are now taller than me and your dad. You can pick me up. You have a job. You built a motorized bike. You are a Boy Scout (sort of -- I think you're mainly in it for the campouts and other trips). There's too much catching up for me to appropriately address all 3 of the years that have gone by without me writing. I'm sorry. These past 3 years have been hard for me. Thank you for being there for me, for supporting me the best way you knew how. Hopefully, someday we can sit down and have an adult conversation about it all. Until then, I'm grateful you are my son. And anyway ... this is about YOU, not me. (That's a hard concept for me, even as a grownup mother of two.)

Now that baseball is finished, your biggest hobby is fishing and biking. You've actually made two motorbikes at this point -- one you sold (and then agonized over because you were worried it might stop working and the guy might come back and blame you, and the other is still with us, in all its noisy glory). You ride it to your job and to your friends' homes. Sometimes I suspect that you ride it up and down the block to annoy everyone. Except I think I'm the only one who's really annoyed. The fishing obsession is so fun to watch. A few months ago, you got out each of your baits and explained them to me. I listened patiently, though I had no clue what was really happening. I just loved listening to you talk.

Sometimes at night, usually pretty late, you tell me you have anxiety. I go into your room, and we talk. You have no idea how much that means to me, John-John -- that you trust me, that you rely on me, that we talk. I have heard from a lot of other moms that teenage boys just. don't. talk. ever. But you're different -- you're sensitive, and you recognize that you need someone else to share the burden with. This is a key life skill, and I hope you continue to hone it as you get older and move away from us. I know it won't always be me that you turn to, so I cherish the time that's mine now. I know that eventually, you will stop talking to me just like you stopped asking me to rub your back every night. I waited all through middle school for it to stop, you dragged it out, but finally, now, it's gone. So, I recognize fleeting moments quite easily now. 

Since you are 16, everything sort of seems like a fleeting moment. Only two years until you can technically move out and get your own apartment ... something you have wanted to do for nearly a decade. I'll never forget the day you came home from a playdate and said, "Dad, why can't me and Quinn and Cohen just get our own place?" You were 8. Below I've written 16 of your fleeting characteristics that I'd like to capture:

1. Your gullibility
2. Your patience with chores (NOT)
3. Your gorgeous hair
4. Your newly-hairy legs (and armpits)
5. Your desire to look nice (you even wear collared shirts without me asking)
6. Your 3 showers a day to ensure you don't stink
7. Your stink
8. Your fixation with stuff that will prevent you from stinking (primarily Axe products)
9. Your honesty after you've lied
10. Your understanding nature about our limits on video games (NOT)
11. Your independence when it comes to academics
12. Your ability to feed yourself 
13. Your penchant for sleeping until noon (if we let you)
14. Your love of shoe technology (Beckers are weird, honey, you got it honest)
15. Your adoration of George's "poodle gluteals"
16. Your marvelous mechanical mind

Unless I continue this tradition into your adulthood (which might be weird), I'll only get to write two more such birthday letters. It makes me regret even more the ones I missed in 2018 and 2019, when taking care of myself took all my energy. I am so proud to be your mom. I am so proud of you! I love you just the way you are. Nothing you could ever do or say or be could make me love you any more or any less. I know that's hard for you to understand. I know that's why you lie sometimes (why we all do), but I'm going to keep saying it so you will know that you ARE enough. Just the way you are. 

All my best love,

Mom

To my second baby on his 8th birthday (ahem, which was nearly 7 months ago):

Dear Sam,


Tonight we were reading Ribsy and you almost fell asleep 15 pages in. Which is fine -- we've read it at least once before. I turned the light off and then lay there with my nose in your hair, taking in all the fleeting little boy smells of scooters, basketballs, trampolines, Legos, and that nasty blanket that you call Sucky. I'm gonna have to call you out on this Sam: Can we please be done with Sucky? I mean, you hide it when your friends come over, and it smells like a combination of urine, feces, dirt, and barf. Please? Almost every night we do this, and almost every night I tell you that it is my favorite time of the day. I love reading to you.

But now that you're 8, you like reading to me too. I am fascinated by your curiosity about words and your ability to extrapolate from the text and explain why something happened even if it's only implied in the story. We talk about connotation, denotation, and the range of negative, neutral, and positive that each word might hold. 

Between the smell of your hair and the discussions of words and now the poodle that warms our feet, I just about burst. In these mostly quiet, still moments (which are extremely rare for you), I feel like we reconnect no matter what happened earlier in the day (and a LOT has been happening lately, unfortunately).

Sam, we finally know a little bit more now about how differently you perceive the world. Every parent wonders how their child develops personality traits -- is it genetic? environmental? Are we totally messing this whole thing up? (This whole thing = YOU.) And what I hope is that you see us trying ... maybe not now but perhaps in retrospect you will be able to look back and see that we are trying our absolute best to understand you, meet you where you are, and love you unconditionally. That last part we don't have to practice. It just IS the case that we love you unconditionally, of course. But sometimes you try to tell me that you love me more than I love you, which is very sweet but not even remotely possible.


The 8 and a half year old Sam is a flibbertigibbet, a will-o'-the-wisp, and yes, sometimes even a clown (the good kind -- go to minute 1:00 in the video linked to the word clown). And like Maria in The Sound of Music there are many a thing we know we'd like to tell you; many a thing you ought to understand ... but how do we make you stay? And listen to all we say? How do you keep a wave upon the sand?


Unlike the nuns' views about Maria, however, we know that you are not a problem to be solved. A challenge, yes. But never a problem. Even if we mistakenly cause you to feel that -- please know that it's only your behavior that is sometimes problematic, not you. Underneath all that is the Sweet Sam, who always makes me a mother's day card, always picks me out the best jewelry for birthdays and Christmas (I particularly like the necklace that you used for teething. You actually chipped a piece of it, and I love that imperfect stone so much.) My mom got a gold heart necklace once when I was a toddler, and I did the same thing (chomped down on it). I could never understand why she still wore that mashed-up-looking thing ... until I had one of my own. 


I think I'm starting to understand now that parenting -- like every other thing we might perceive as a problem or challenge -- is likely to be our best teacher in disguise. I have been a fan of Rumi's Guest House poem for a long time, and while I understood it on a theoretical level, I think it must take years to learn how to act like I believe it. If we have faith that God is omniscient and beneficent, then we must also remain faithful to the notion that he sends everything to optimize our outcomes. 

What that looks like for us as parents lately -- this year in particular -- is facing situations in which we have had opportunities to practice and develop patience, letting go, trying, and most importantly, focusing on your progress without expecting any certain ideal. That is hard to do, so God keeps giving us opportunities to practice these things through experience. We can't learn it all at once. We can't find every solution in a book or with a therapist or a doctor (or even with five doctors). Sometimes we have to just wait and pray and start over again and again and again.


Thank you for being that kind of teacher. We love who you are and who you are shaping us to be, Sweet Sam ... we wouldn't want you to be any way except exactly how you are. 

So, let me reiterate what I say every night: "I love you so much. Nothing you could ever do, or say, or be could make me stop loving you. I hope you have sweet and long dreams ... If you need me, call me, and I'll be right here."

With my biggest hugs and more love than ever,
Mama

To my first on his thirteenth

Dear John, You are a teenager now, and nobody told me this would happen. They said, "Time flies" or "You'll blink and he'll be grown" or "Savor it ... pretty soon he'll be gone and you'll wonder what happened!" And I rolled my eyes and thought, "Yeah right. They don't have to live with it." The truth is that in raising children, the moments are long but the years are short. And now thirteen of them have disappeared. Now you only have to endure five more years of torture from us before you flap away. When you were smaller, I used these letters to record all of your changes and growth. These days, there is certainly growth, but it is harder to document because it is subtler, more nuanced ...  much more difficult to describe. For one thing, there's your hair, which has always been amazing, but now you seem to have opinions about it much much more than ever before. You have recently gone from long, to medium, to short in a matter of a month. Now it is short and apparently needs a certain product called "Bedhead Manipulator" that comes in a 2-ounce tub for $20. You're 13, and we spend $10/ounce on your hair products. That's love, buddy. You have a couple of jobs (mowing lawns) which earn you a little money, and generally you do not complain too much about this work. But we are still trying to tame the drama surrounding the chore of emptying the dishwasher.  And the drama around photos.  And the drama around eletronics.  And the drama around haircuts.  And the drama around ear drops/ear doctors. Where did you get all this dramatic flair (and hair)? 😉 Lately, you have wanted me to scratch your back before bed. We no longer read stories anymore because you have long been reading on your own, but I miss that. It is, however, making me treasure that time with your brother, so I guess I'm learning something from being your mom. I have been saying yes to this back-scratching request because I know that the time when you will want me around is fleeting, so I'm trying to savor it.   John -- your dad and I are SO proud of you. As I wrote in your birthday card ... we love you AND we like you! Here is a poem that in many ways encapsulates what I want to say to/about you ... just ignore the bits about portobellos, activism, and being a pescetarian and look for the similarities, including a love of raspberries, a history of hair changes, and my efforts to keep you alive. Happy 13th birthday John-John! Don't flap away too quickly. All my love, Mom

Hours Days Years Unmoor Their Orbits Rachel Zucker

tonight I’m cleaning baby portobellos for you, my young activist wiping the dirty tops with a damp cloth as carefully as I used to rinse raspberries for you to adorn your fingertips before eating each blood-red prize these days you rarely look me in the eye & your long shagged hair hides your smile I don’t expect you to remember or understand the many ways I’ve kept you alive or the life my love for you has made me live About This Poem “I wrote this poem for and about my oldest son when he was about nine years old and had decided to become a pescetarian after reading a book about the meatpacking industry. My son is now about to turn eighteen and will leave for college this summer. We are still dancing the beautiful, painful dance of mother-child separation and attachment, different steps, different haircuts, same love.” —Rachel Zucker

To my 2nd on his seventh and a half

Dear Sam,

Happy 7.5 buddy! I failed to get a letter out to you on your actual 7th birthday, so this will have to suffice. I want these letters to be a Yearly You Review. So, here we go.

Well, first of all, you’re the best 7.5 year old ever. Especially if we’re measuring by wit, charm, snuggliness, size of inappropriate vocabulary, etc. You have had such an awesome year in first grade -- so much better than kindergarten. For a long time I was worried about not hearing from the teacher because we never got update emails. I was afraid to contact her and ask how it was going. I wanted to believe no news was good news … and it was! It’s like you just figured it out. It’s no fun to act out and get in trouble in school, and you came to that conclusion on your own, and we are SO proud of you for that. Some adults are still figuring out what types of behaviors to avoid in order to stay out of trouble, so you’re well on your way, love.

One of the things that your dad and I love best about you, Sam, is that you get really into the things that you do. For example, you love baseball so much. You love every position you play, and it is so much fun to watch you.  You don’t love school, but you’re proud of your reading ability, art work, friends, games learned at PE, new books from the media center, etc. And at home, your Lego creations are out of this world. You’ll make something and then say, “Look mom! This looks like it came from a box … with directions!”

Seven-year-old you is very practical. This week that I’m writing to you is your last week of first grade. On the first day of the last week, I asked if y’all were doing any work or if you were just playing this week, and you replied, “We have a crap ton of word searches. Like, three a day.” The practicality comes out in your attitude about attending baseball practice, school, having necessary medical procedures (e.g., blood draws -- you just stick out your arm), etc. And when dad tells one of his crazy stories, you can tell the difference between the real and the imaginary. You aren’t gullible. You can tease and be teased, and I love that about you.

You and I have done a lot of artsy events this year, and I have cherished that time with you --The Nutcracker, two plays, and all of our movie nights. We have also made more than a few visits to Dairy Queen and Orange Leaf.

You and your dad have a very special bond too, and we both get such a kick out of the fact that you say you want to live with us forever. One night you had a nightmare, and you came downstairs and crawled in between me and dad. I asked if you wanted me to go back upstairs with you (because you do love your bed!), and you said, "Well, thanks mom, but since I'm already here, I think I'll just make a spot."

You have definitely made a spot on our hearts Sweet Sam. We could not be prouder of you or more in love with your snuggliness, fiestiness, and life commentary. You can live with us for as long as you want, love -- you will always be our baby.

With all my love,

Mama

To my first on his 12th

Dear John,

Every year, my letter gets later and later because every year I have to consider more carefully to discern what is the best way to say happy birthday to someone who has very likely changed my life more than any other person on the planet. It is now October 27th, a full 5 weeks after your 12th birthday, and I’ve waited long enough, so, I guess I’ll keep it simple and just say, “Happy 12th birthday!” (I’ll leave off my new pet name for you in an effort to save your reputation.)

POOKY BEAR! (sorry.)

During and after my pregnancy with you, everybody around us said, “This is baby is special” or “It’s a boy, and he’s lucky; I feel it!” We thought perhaps people said this to all people starting families, but usually it wasn’t just passing chatter. These people knew that you were special and/or lucky, and they had specific reasons:

• your name had special meaning
• your birth date was lucky
• it was fortunate that a bird had pooped on my head during my pregnancy because that’s considered extra special good luck in Africa
• You would bring us out of our joblessness (and truly, your dad found a job in the delivery room of the hospital where you were born), etc. etc.

And even now you do seem to have some “lucky duck” super power. You have many times been randomly placed on sports teams that are highly successful, you got into the Spanish immersion school in Nashville even though we didn’t live in that neighborhood, and of course there is the “Parking Fairy” situation, wherein every time I’m with you, we get a parking spot that could rival even the motorcycles or differently abled.

But really John, you are the amazing parking spot we landed 12 years ago. We have moved numerous times since then, and you have had some moments of not seeming so amazing (haven’t we all?), but you still make us feel pretty lucky. Nevermind that you are in the throes of some weird 6th grade/ tween desire to seem idiotic and angry … I still think you’re clever, and I know that you’re happy even though you often seem full of angst. Some of that is age-related, but some of that is, unfortunately, inherited from me -- like our proclivity for agonizing over decision making and worrying too much about what other people think. But those are few and far between. Most of the time we have to tell you repeatedly to stop whistling or singing because you happily bop around the house clueless to other forms of human life, just in your own world -- and that world seems relatively peaceful and content. When it’s not, and you are disturbed, you are starting to recognize it more and be conscious of the disturbance. And that’s how I know that you are growing up. Because little kids are less aware … they just act in order to get their needs met (appropriately or not). But I am starting to see forethought before you act and analysis afterward, and that is simultaneously beautiful and terrifying.

Here are a few of the things that you find particularly disturbing at this stage of your life, and I think you’ll see that these truly run the gamut from childhood fears to grownup stressors:

• 
  Anything your brother says
• Anything your brother does
• Any way your brother looks at you
• Any noise your brother makes (I won’t go on, I think you can see the pattern)
• Mondays
• Obligations
• My calling you pet names POOKY BEAR
• Puke
• The idea that people puke
• The idea that there are germs out there that cause people to puke
• The fact that you have to live in a house with people who might be carrying germs that cause people to puke.
• Band
• Getting locked out of the house (sorry, bud!)
• The closet door and what’s behind it
• Ventriloquists’ dummies  
• Your very own collection of Nutcrackers, which has now been removed from your room
• Clowns, not surprisingly
• The following questions:
• “Do you have homework?”
• “How was school?”
• “Did you brush your teeth?”
• “Have you washed your hands?”

And here are some things you LOVE, which tow the line between childhood and adolescence:

• Video games
• Reading the same books repeatedly:
• Wimpy Kid
• Big Nate
• Sisters
• Far Side comic compilations
• Guinness Books (yes plural) of World Records
• Anything Nike
• Expensive socks
• The idea of owning more electronics
• Drones
• Nerf guns
• Your GoPro camera
• Sleepovers
• When your brother sleeps in
• When your brother has a playdate
• Mandarin oranges
• Ham and salami sandwiches with jalapenos, purple onion, lettuce, tomato, and honey mustard
• The idea of a pet dog, cat, bird, ferret, rat, or pot-bellied pig
• Nanny’s pies
• Packages from Macy
• Breakfast at Panera (you always order a breakfast quiche/souffle and a scone)

So overall, I think that you are, as always, both exactly where you should be and, in our opinion at least, WAY beyond. We love you even when you have those drama fits, we are proud of you even when you whine about how running sprints at soccer is RUINING your life, we are happy for you even when we yell across the house for you to PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF PETER PAUL AND MARY STOP WHISTLING MEGHAN TRAINOR SONGS ON REPEAT. We wouldn’t trade your lucky duckness for anything, and I can’t wait to see what it brings you next.

With all my love,

Mom

p.s. I am amazed by your vocabulary. Just in the last week, I’ve heard you use: gullible, assemble, modify, sensitivity, and lag!