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A Letter To My Five-Year-Old Son (To Be Read When He Turns Fifteen)

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Dear Son,

Today, upon your request, I visited your school and brought you lunch. You asked me to bring you a Jimmy Johns sandwich (turkey, white cheese and lots of mayo), Doritos and a chocolate milk.

I stood outside your Kindergarten classroom and watched you reading a book in the corner. After a few moments you noticed me. Immediately your eyes lit up and you started waving uncontrollably saying, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

When all of the kids got in line to wash their hands, you came and gave me a great big hug.

I glanced at your teacher and she whispered, “He is so excited!”

I followed your class into the lunchroom and smiled to myself as you saved me a spot next to you at the cafeteria table. You patted it with your hand and said, “Right here, Mom. Sit next to me.”

I forgot the mayo on your sandwich and brought BBQ chips and a lemonade. But you didn’t seem to mind.

We ate lunch and talked about important things, like how great mayonnaise is. You introduced me to the kids sitting at the table. I helped them unscrew their thermoses and open their snacks. You pointed out the clock on the wall and told me that lunch is over when the big hand gets to the twelve.

After you finished I suggested you go and throw away your trash and you told me that you needed to wait until the teacher called your table. Then you asked me to stay for recess so you could show me the playground.

So I did.

When the bell rang, you stood up, grabbed my hand and, together, we walked down the hall to go outside. You said it was the “secret” way.

Once outside, I watched you climb, hang and jump your way around every single piece of playground equipment.

We fell into a cadence of You: Mom, watch this!

And then Me: Wow, that’s great!

You showed me the swings, the sandbox and the trashcans.

At one point you told me that you had to go to the bathroom and made me promise to sit on a big tire and wait for you.

So I did.

After you came back, we played some more. And then I said I needed to go because it was time to pick up your brothers, and you begged, “No Mom, can you please just stay five more minutes?”

When five minutes was up, you asked for two more. And then one more.

When it was finally time to go, you gave me hug after hug after hug. You asked me if I would come back tomorrow.

I walked away from the playground and you stayed by my side. And when we reached the edge, I said goodbye and continued on toward my car. I turned around one last time and saw you standing at the corner with your hand raised in a wave.

I ducked behind the building for a few moments and then peeked back at you and saw your blond hair and blue shoes swinging from the monkey bars.

I stood there and thought about how important it was for me to remember this day and all of the little things you did to make it so special.

So I came home and I wrote you this letter to thank you.

Thank you for today, this big day for a lot of little reasons.

Thank you for being you.

And thank you for reminding me how very lucky I am that you picked me for your mom.

I know it won’t always be like this.

I know soon you won’t be begging for my time. You won’t be calling me Mommy, you won’t be giving me limitless hugs and you won’t be holding my hand.

I know you’ll grow up faster than I can manage in my heart.

But you gave me today.

And I will put today in a special pocket and always hold it close to me.

For today, and for you, I will forever be grateful.

Love, Your Mom

Broken Bones and a Big Heart

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I wish for no one to break any bones.

In my son’s Kindergarten class, each child thought of one Christmas wish for everyone in the world. They wrote their wishes on construction paper ornaments and displayed them in the window of their classroom.

I stood in front of that window for a long time reading each wish, all the while feeling my heart swell.

I wish for everyone to have a good family.
I wish for everyone to have toys.
I wish for everyone to have presents.
I wish for everyone to have a house.
I wish for everyone to have food.
I wish for everyone to be loved.
I wish for everyone to have a happy life.

There is something about this time of year that truly reveals the tenderness of humanity. We give toys and clothes to people who can’t afford them. We cook and buy food for people who are hungry. We donate money to charities that do the kind of work the world really needs.

There’s an upswing of do-gooding and that is certainly a great thing.

Of course, there’s the frenzy and the chaos and the surge of superficiality too.

And it’s easy to get caught up in all of the static. Or in my case, all of the plastic.

But there’s also something about this season that reminds us to take care of each other, to help each other, and to make good wishes for each other.

And we try to teach our kids to do the same thing.

We try to remind them to appreciate. We try to give them perspective. We try to open their eyes. We try to make big reveals.

We try.

But I often find myself feeling guilty that I’m not doing enough.

It’s my job to plant those seeds. It’s my job to instill that perspective. It’s my job to remind them, to reveal things to them, and to teach them what is really important.

But standing there, reading those wishes on the window, I had a big reveal of my own.

Our kids already get it.

They are born with benevolent and generous hearts. They understand compassion and kindness and good will for all. They tend toward tenderness. They are soft and sympathetic and selfless.

They want everyone to be happy. To have food. To have a home. To have a good family. To have a good life.

They get it. They don’t have the years behind them that generally earn perspective and insight, but they still get it.

They get it because they’ve always had it.

We all have always had it.

So maybe we stop trying so hard to plant the seeds. And instead we search for the good heart that’s already there in all of us.

Of course sometimes that good heart gets a little bogged down with the mud and the fluff, but it’s still there.

And that day, those kids taught me that I need to appreciate it. They gave me perspective. They opened my eyes. They made a big reveal.

That day was a gentle reminder to seek out and celebrate our good, good hearts.

So even though my kid wants Santa to bring him transformers and shrinky dinks, he also wants no one in the world to break any bones.

And that’s enough to make for a Merry Christmas all year long.

KID

Jumping Fences

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My son’s preschool shares a parking lot with the elementary school where he will be attending Kindergarten next year.

On the last day of preschool, my (soon to be non) preschooler and I parked and headed in for the end of the year festivities. He carried a bundle of roses to give to his teachers.

The “big school” kids were outside on the playground playing soccer and three of them were standing at the fence near our parking spot. They had kicked their soccer ball over the fence into the lot and they asked us (very politely, I was impressed) to throw their ball back over the fence.

My little guy, so very much wanting to be “cool” in front of the big kids, gave me his roses, ran, grabbed the ball and sprinted over to the fence. He turned to me and asked in a very meek and quiet voice, “Mom, can I throw it back to them?”

He tried once but couldn’t get it over the fence. He tried a second time, but it just bounced right back to us. Next, I tried to lift him up so he would be higher but he still couldn’t get it over the fence.

Thankfully, the big kids were patient enough to indulge a little five year old’s futile attempts to impress.

In the end, he handed it to me and I threw it over the fence. He took back the roses and we turned and walked down to his school for the last time.

And as I watched him skip ahead, I couldn’t help but smile.

Generally speaking, when something significant happens to me or around me, I don’t realize its significance until well after the happening.

But this time, standing in that parking lot, I knew this was a moment. One of those magical, metaphorical moments.

This is a big year for my big kid. He’s taking a big step. And making a big change.

He wants so badly to be on that other side of the fence.

And there are parts of me that want to see him there too.

I’m excited for him. I’m ready for him to take this step and I know he’s ready and excited too.

But there are other parts of me that want to keep him on this side. Sometimes I look at him and just can’t see past the six-pound bundle in the hospital cap and blue and white blanket.

In my head, I know he’s moved on. But in my heart, he’s still a baby.

And I still love and cling onto all of those sweet little kid nuances that remind me of that baby.

Like how he loves his new swim team suit because it’s “sparkly.” And how he is fascinated by hidden cup-holders, dragon kites and hot air balloons. He still says “free” instead of “three.” Band-Aids cure every single ailment and if Band-Aids aren’t available, a lollipop will do the trick. He still wants his mom when he is sad, scared or shy. Monsters are real. But so is Santa. And every night he prays for his family, his friends, the zoo and the museum. He still loves to cuddle and he thinks I’m the prettiest girl in the world. And he doesn’t care how he looks carrying a bundle of roses.

And I know this next step is inevitable. And I know this next step is exciting. And I know that there will be bigger and more important steps after this one.

Because it’s all about taking steps. And climbing fences.

Because that’s how we grow.

And I absolutely love watching him grow. I love watching him take steps and climb fences.

But every so often, it’s nice to be reminded of that tiny babe. And that’s what I see when I see he’s still a little too little to throw the ball over the fence.

Because soon enough he’ll be on the other side. And he’ll be the one asking some other mom for his ball back.

I just hope he says please and thank you.

KID