Letters On the Road

Linking up with Julie at Foursons for this week's...





Dear Pedestrians,

You have the right of way. I am bigger and faster and deadlier and will keep an eye out for you and your well-being.

I am aware that when you're in a crosswalk, it is illegal for a vehicle to drive through that same crosswalk. But when a car is stopped, backing up traffic, waiting to turn until you're safely across the street, do you mind picking up the pace to a walk instead of mosey?

Sincerely,
Itchy Right Foot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bikers,

I will share the road.

I don't mind it. I think it's great that you are getting exercise, reducing emissions and saving the world. Good for you! I have no problem with you on the side of my lane, and I will always make sure that I give you a little extra space. Heck! Certain areas in Seattle now have green boxes at the intersections that are only for cyclists!

That said, as long as you're throwing a tantrum to be given equal rights on the road, do you mind obeying the rules? If I did half the ridiculous things that I've seen you do, I'd have my license revoked! That big red roundish sign with the little corners and white letters means STOP!!!

Sincerely,
Equality means Equality.

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And though not a letter, a conversation with Lee that fits the theme:

"Mom, that girl just ran across the street."
"Yep. She made it safely, but probably should have waited until we passed."
"Yeah. Just like on Frogger."

Missed-Nap Love Letter

Today you missed your nap.

Well, not really. I did lay you down. Twice. But you climbed out of your crib, unlocked the door, opened it and came down, happy to tell me about your achievement. You really should have slept, but I figured that the 'lock you in' trick wasn't working, so I gave up. Anyway, how can I put something so smart and determined and happy and CUTE back to bed?

Instead, you played outside with your siblings and helped me make applezini muffins--by "help" I mean that when my back was turned, you stuck your chubby fingers into the applesauce, shredded zucchini and batter to get a nibble.

After dinner you started screaming. I checked your bum, and found a mess that was really irritating your ouchy rash. During the diaper change you writhed, screamed and wailed. Not even a cool cloth on your burny nether-regions convinced you to turn off the tantrum.

So I did the only thing that I could think of. I held you. And rocked. And quietly sang the songs that bring me peace in times of turmoil and tantrum: I Am a Child of God, I Know My Father Lives, Teach Me To Walk in the Light, Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam. It worked like a charm, as usual. You didn't mind the number of times that I changed keys or cracked or simply struggled to hit the right note. There's just something about Mom's soft voice singing songs of the Spirit that brings quiet.

After a while you fell asleep.



Your full lips were just the right shape for kissing, so I did. Again and again and again and again. Your long, dark lashes don't all lay the right way, did you know? Some curl before they reach the length of the others. I'd never noticed before. I kissed your tear-wet eyes, too. Your face was a total mess. I think that crusty blob in your eyebrow once originated in your nose, but it could also have been batter. Probably batter. We never did get you your bath today, so your hair still smelled faintly of the stick of butter that you quietly demolished this morning.

As I rocked you, the evening sun cut through the blinds, the stripey shadows moving across the contours of your soft, round face. And in that lighting, the oils in your skin shattered the sunlight into spectrums of rainbows shimmering across your cloud-soft, perfect, dirty little face. Your chest moved rhythmically up and down as your breathing relaxed and deepened.

I wanted to capture the moment, so when Alex came in, I sent him to have Dad bring me the camera. He brought it and the others came to see what was camera-worthy. Each of them paused to marvel at your cute sleepihood. They adore you. We all do.

Thank you for coming to our family. You were--and continue to be--the best surprise I've ever had.

Laundry Letters

Dear Children,

Laundry is not done magically. Your dresser drawers are not bottomless like the drinks at Red Robin. They do not automatically refill when they get low on clean clothes.

Do you notice that your father and I share a laundry basket? You each have your own, but we two grown-ups with grown-up sized clothing have one.

Abby, please explain to me why I wash clothes every couple of weeks that I never see actually draped over your body parts. How does that work? And the next time I sort stinky, folded shirts, I swear, girl, you're doin' your own!

Alex, I am rather frightened that I wash a week's worth of laundry and fold two pairs of little unders for you. You have plenty. Wear them. Please.

Lee, considering that I have to beg, plead and order you to wear them at all, why am I folding a dozen of yours? And 'how because' your laundry pile is twice as tall as anyone else's, excepting Mom AND Dad's basket of three-times-as-large clothes?

Cora, thank you for your "help" sorting. Moving already-sorted laundry from one basket to another, however, constitutes UN-sorting. You're a very good helper. Now stop. And unless you're developing some sort of nighttime podiatric braille-reading program, get your cute, chubby, jammied foot off the book!

And everyone, the water stays in the tub. Towels may be used more than once. Unless, of course, they were used to take care of the water.

Much love,

The Laundry Fairy

SEVEN???

Happy Birthday, Alex!

This morning you did the funniest thing. Abby had already gotten you up because she was excited to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. You two were downstairs rummaging for clean clothes and you said, "Let's check" and held out your arms for a measuring hug. I sensed a little disappointment, but it didn't last long after you noted, "It doesn't feel much different." Funny boy.

You were thrilled to help put together your class birthday treat last night, and you were excited to show it to your teacher and classmates. Not a single crumb came home, so it must have been a hit. Nice selection.

I can always count on you to make a selfless decision when you're given the chance to make your own choice. When Dad almost had to work this evening and miss your birthday waffle & sausage dinner (plus cake & presents), you were really sad until he suggested that maybe you could go do something special later with him. Thanks for being willing to let him go do what he needed to do. Your huge smile nearly brought tears to my eyes when you found out he didn't have to go.

You've always been like that, though. Even before you were born. At 37 weeks you were sitting contentedly upright in my belly, not upside-down like you were supposed to. I sat with headphones in my lap for a couple of days and even tried turning myself upside-down. (Besides being a feat to get myself there on the couch, I almost suffocated once your baby weight was pressing on my lungs. That didn't last long.) You never did turn, so your Dad & I went in to have someone turn me into human play-doh and try to move you from the outside. Lo and behold, you had turned overnight. I didn't even notice it!

You talked when you were good & ready, you potty-trained when you wanted to. When you were small and Abby swiped a toy, you'd scream and yell about it. But after I intervened & gave the toy back to you so she could ask nicely, you happily gave it to her.

Perfectly willing to cooperate...on your own terms.

You've always been on the small end of things. I think it's because when you were a baby, you wanted to eat on your own terms. You wouldn't eat baby food unless you could control the spoon. By yourself! So we sort of skipped the baby food stage, and you went straight to finger foods, even though you didn't have teeth yet! Just before you started kindergarten, I told your Aunt Carin that I was concerned about you being so small. Her response changed my whole understanding of you: "Yeah, but only on the outside."

She was right. Not including your body, all of you is big: you think big, you feel big, you love big, you play big, you have big expectations and big frustrations. You feel all of your emotions to their fullest, and I love watching that.

Alex, you bring peace and joy to my soul.

You are kind, loving, selfless, giving, happy, obedient, helpful, smart, funny and such a handsome guy!

(It's no wonder that you're Cora's favorite.)

Even if you never do grow to be very large, you'll always fill my heart.

Duo-lly Noted

Dear Po,


I love your movie. I love nearly every single nanosecond of it. Except one part.

Did you really have to go there? Now my boys (especially my 4-year-old) run around the house, yelling, "OH, MY TENDERS!!!" A shot to the gut or face would have sufficed, in my humble opinion.

Sincerely,
An Over-Tenderized Mom

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Boys,

I realize that particular part of the movie is funny. I also realize that your father nearly needed CPR from laughing so hard the first time or two that he watched it. And I really, really realize that your not-yet-manly parts are vital to you in ways that you have not yet even begun to realize.

I understand that you are boys, and that part of being a boy is--ah...bodily awareness. So are throwing rocks into water and turning anything imaginable into a gun. But I'm very tired of hearing the words 'tenders' and 'weenie' when you are playing. Enough already.

And that goes for you, too, sis.

Love,
Your Tender-Hearted, Weenie-Roasting Mother

To Lee

Dear Lee,

You turned 4 today.

And it was a big deal. When you woke up this morning, you stated that you felt bigger. Then you very politely asked me to "move out the way" so you could go downstairs to eat "bressfist." The only thing on your mind was your birthday cereal, the choco-peanut-buttery crunchy goodness that you chose yesterday.

You were stunned and awed with the balloons and crepe paper streamers in the dining room...just the reaction that I hoped for.

Dad made you a green smoothie topped with green sprinkles, then added your name in green icing. It was really, really cool, but due to the cereal plus the eggs & hash browns that Dad also made for you, you didn't drink it. Eventually Cora did, and she enjoyed every last drop.

At preschool you had St. Patrick's Day treats and your teacher made you a crown, which you wore proudly!

When the mail came, there were three cards for you. Watching you open them was so much fun. Each tear of the envelope ignited the air with excitement. One had a chimp holding a gift, so you said, "And I get to open a present!" Very funny. Grandma & Grandpa P and B each sent a crisp 5-dollar bill, which was thrilling. You have no idea what exactly it means, but you do know that it's pretty cool.

Just because it's your birthday doesn't mean that you were immune from punishment. You still had some wall time when you punched Alex as hard as you could right in the eye. Even though he said something rudely, you may not punch.

After you blew out the candles, you loved the cars from your siblings, the SpiderMan "fishing pool" from Nick & Grammie and the SpiderMan shoes from Dad and me. (Every time we passed a body of water last weekend, you asked, "Mom, is that where fish are?") When you put your jammies on, you pointed out that they're SpiderMan just like your "fishing pool" and your coat and your shoes. You're so smart!

Your day ended with a 'just for Lee' story. I can still feel your warm ear against my jaw and your arm curled snugly around my neck. On every page you had something to say, explain, ask or point out. Sometimes it was just something silly that you noticed.

Lee, you drive me bonkers. You laugh at discipline, run when you're in trouble, knock your sister down, chase your older siblings, bite chunks out of my produce, scream and cry if I leave without you blowing me kisses, have more energy than will fit into your little body and keep me running (and hollering) all day.

And you mean more to me than life itself. You make my world turn in crazy, kaddywompus ways. Thanks for the ride. It's been a great 4 years. I look forward to another 104 with you.

I love you, ya' crazy monkey!

Mom