Dear Little Chee
18 March 2013
You are four-years-old. The days preceding your birthday, your dad and I kept mentioning our memories of the days leading up to your birth.
Lucia, four years ago today, your mom was very uncomfortable.
Lucia four years ago today, your mom thought she would wake up in labor any night.
Lucia, four years ago today, we were very anxious.
Lucia, four years ago today, you were born.
I think about the last four years and cannot believe how quickly they have flown by - like I have said a zillion times before - motherhood has made me the keeper of cliches. Time flies. And yes, babies grow up far too fast. Savoring every minute is crucial because time slips away like sand in a palm.
Gone is our little baby that liked to nurse through the night. Gone is our little toddler hid in the cabinets under bathroom sinks. Gone is the wee one that uttered words such as "bemeber" instead of remember and made up words like "doushane" that actually meant something that we never quite knew.
The days of "Ready or not, here I am not," have over night turned into rhetorically correct game of Hide and Seek - "Ready or not, here I come" you shout, as your dad attempts a good hiding place.
You are a little girl with strong opinions and favorite colors.You have a particular affection for playing pretend, dressing up in tutus and princess dresses at any chance.
Convincing me to read a zillion books to you before bed has become your nightly mission. The Bernstein Bears and The Pigeon stories are your favorites.
You love to visit Briar's house and are slowly learning about Peyton and her need for gentle hands because she is just a tiny tot.
You talk about your best friend, Shoghi nonstop; yesterday he was your prince and he "would be married to you." You came home from school the other day and told me that he had "circles on his head." I replied, "Yes, those are his curls," you adamantly demanded "NO!!! He is a boy and does not have curls! They are circles." Following up with the fact that "he does not have bangs either!" Got it.
You have some interest in being in the kitchen with me, but it does not stretch far beyond whisking the eggs and eating the dough. You request family pancakes on the weekends and would eat nothing but sweets if we would let you.
Riding your bike is your go-to after school activity and you recently started pedaling like a mad woman! (I have never been so proud to see someone pedal).
You are growing up more and more by the day. We love watching you transform into a beautiful little person. Your heart is strong and wild and you have such a kind spirit - I hope, as you develop into the lady that you will become, you never lose these things. You have a creative soul like your mama and a mind as sharp as whip like your daddy's.
My greatest wish for you is that you can someday experience the love that we feel for you with your own child. There is nothing like it. Happy Fourth.
Filed under: lucia lately
With Love from December
30 December 2012
The tree has been undressed and is ready to be recycled - not nearly the teary end of the holiday that I had imagined - there were too many good memories shared throughout December to let its finality knock me down. And so many cherished events and seasons to come in twenty-thirteen.
Here is to holding tight to the ones we love.
To reaching out and loving hard.
To sharing kindness everyday to everyone.
To planting baby trees.
To remembering with fondness those that we have loved and lost.
To holding tight to the power of forgiveness.
To new beginnings.
Today we are off to the little town of Ponca City to share in Christmas with our Gray family this afternoon and with our Hobbs tomorrow. So excited to give lots of hugs and kisses and squeeze some nieces and nephews tight!
Cheers to all. xoxo
Hope is the thing with feathers - (314)
26 December 2012
By Emily Dickinson 1830–1886
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.