Nineteen Months

Dear Andrew,

Another month has just flown by. Your personality is just blooming, and you are so much fun to watch.


Speaking of watching, you see everything and are becoming quite an expert imitator. The object of most of your scrutiny is usually your brother, and you have managed to amuse us all with your mimicry of his style of play. You participate and hold your own during the bedtime introductions, and in no uncertain terms you express your own bedtime identity.


Your vocabulary is expanding by leaps and bounds, your pronunciation is improving and your inflection is often unmistakable these days. You have so many new words I don’t know where to start. You will repeat almost anything, and you are so excited to try new sounds, I can’t help going over and over them with you some days. Even your brother gets in on the action, telling you to say “spider,” “monkey,” “cookie,” or anything else with that certain phrasing that cracks you both up. You have started to greet people by saying, “Hi, cuckoo,” and I have no idea what you were originally trying to say, since it doesn’t really resemble the sounds of any of our names or titles. It’s so cute, though, that we have begun to greet you the same way just to hear it.


You know that the remote controls the television, and you ask for “Tie Go,” on television, because “Teen Titans Go” is one of M’s favorite shows. When we watch PBS, you always say, “Thank You” when they do. You count along with the shows and sing a little bit sometimes. When I put on the Big Block Singsong, you follow along. You sing aong with the Mystery Science Theater 3000 theme song, which is occasionally requested at bedtime. We’ve enjoyed a few awesome dance parties in the kitchen.


You like to dance and applaud. And honestly, what did I ever do without my own personal cheering section after finishing my bathroom business? Even in public, I just have to laugh, because my pride of you learning your way around the potty is both reflected and magnified in your eyes as you clap and shout, “Yay!” as I flush.


You are a good listener, and you understand a lot. I can trust you to follow me when we go places, like taking M to and picking him up from school.


Your ball throwing skills are improving, and your games are becoming more elaborate. You seem to understand the inflection of a joke, and you know when to laugh.


You spilled your water, and you try to grab it with your hand and put it back in your cup. That doesn’t work so well.


However, you have been getting so much better about Mommy leaving you. You give kisses and wave bye-bye to me just like other members of the family. I can see that you trust me to come back just like I always do.


As I was working on this post, I had it all written so beautifully for you, but when I returned to it to insert the adorable photos, half of it went missing. I am finally publishing it months later, with apologies that my frustration with technology caused me to put off writing more in a timely manner.




Seventeen and Eighteen Months

Dear Andrew,


You are eighteen months old now. I’m so sorry that I haven’t taken the time to properly acknowledge seventeen. It’s totally my fault. The days are getting shorter in more ways than just the one, but trust me, we’ve been having an awesome time together!


When Michael started school, I looked forward to spending my days with you, just us. But I’m afraid that I didn’t do a very good job of giving you the time and attention you really needed at first. There were always lists of things to get done, and while I would often include you in my daily rounds of chores, sometimes you got shorted. I’m working on doing better, now that we’re more familiar with this new normal, though. And you do take it upon yourself to help me pay attention, too. Like when I do the dishes and you need some fun, you press yourself into my legs and shove your way through them and around and around.


We’ve begun taking an almost daily walk together. The weather has been cooperating beautifully lately, and it is one of your favorite things to do with me when we’re outside. In fact, if you realize that we’re not heading right to the car, you will reach for my hand when we hit the sidewalk and tug me in the direction you wish to go. Those first few weeks of school were kind of crazy, but now that we’ve settled into the new pattern of our days, I look forward to meandering around the block, picking up sticks and stones and noticing bushes and dogs and planes in the sky, almost as much as you do. You lead me. You hang onto my hand as you crouch down to examine a rock or a twig. Or hit a leaf with a stick or a rock. You’re enjoying the way the fallen leaves crunch underfoot or in your hands. And your favorite stop along our daily path is the sewer grate at the end of our alley. You could spend all day dropping stones, leaves or dirt down to see what happens when each object hits the water below.


You miss your brother when he’s at school. Nearly every time we leave the house, you ask for, “Ki-chael?” And you occasionally say the same thing when we’re just hanging around. And honestly, because of your grandma, I can’t always tell if you’re asking for Michael or a “cocktail,” which is just your way of asking for something to drink. It’s beginning to become clearer, now that you’re forming more and more words every day, and you have been doing very well repeating what you hear. Which means we’re getting closer to the point of needing to turn off certain media while you’re in a conscious state. You have always been an astute observer of your world, and you mimic us and your brother with sometimes surprising accuracy. The other day, he was bragging about his muscles, and you insisted that yours were just as amazing to behold. 


I’ve taken to making myself a smoothie for the main part of my lunch. It’s easy and quick, not to mention delicious. And lucky for me, your nap sometimes coincides with lunch, so I can enjoy my smoothie as I do whatever it is that’s on my list to do without your “helping” hands. Because you love smoothies. Which is great, because as I said, they are quick and easy and full of healthy deliciousness, but they are also very pink and messy, which you don’t seem to mind as much as I do.


You still get very upset anytime the vacuum comes out, so we’ve tried to make it so you can be out of the house when that needs to get done. Unfortunately, your aversion to it is one more reason that particular chore may not get done as much as it probably should. However, you do love to help with whatever else needs doing. You were beyond thrilled when I let you scrub the toilets. If I hand you the duster, you’ll follow my movements through the house exactly. You wipe the table. You sweep the floor. You push my grocery cart. You are just so enthusiastic about doing everything just like the big kids do. You would cook dinner yourself every night if I would just lift you up and let you get your hands on that spoon.


You have started to sing along with your Rock ‘n Roll Elmo, and you really seem to like music. You even dance and clap a little bit, and it’s quite fun to sit down and sing along with you. You also like to count and recite the alphabet. You can’t really say any of the actual numbers or letters, aside from maybe “a” or “c,” but you’ve got the right inflection, and it brings a big smile to your face when we figure out that you’re counting and we count along with you. You like to play ball, and your form is… interesting. It used to be the way you danced, and now has become the way you pitch. You lean way over to one side before letting the ball fly from your hand. sometimes you tip so much that you fall right to the floor. You always let us know right where you want us to be, too, whether it’s to receive your perfect pitch or to sit down for snuggles or a favorite show for screen time.


You sit on the potty every day at least once at bedtime and sometimes other times. And most nights, I can even get you to do your business there. It’s a great accomplishment for one your age, and lately, you have gotten as happy with your successful toilet visits as I am. You flush and clap your hands and shout, “Yay!” and run through the house naked as the day you were born. Maybe I shouldn’t write about that here, but since the potty has been a familiar thing to you pretty much your whole life, now that you’re starting to really understand the concept, cause and effect of things, it’s pretty neat to see how you’re making the routine your own.


You are still quite the daredevil and can’t resist the stairs. Any stairs. And you’ve taken to following your brother’s lead when he climbs the furniture. You can now officially reach (and pull your body onto) the kitchen counter. I had to remove one of the glass shelves from the entertainment center because you had hoisted your body onto the shelf below and knocked it off the supports with your head, thinking you could then use that shelf as a ladder to reach the very top, where the best toys, like picture frames and DVDs, are kept. You have been practicing your climbing on the playground at Michael’s school when we drop him off or pick him up. You can hold your own, now, even when the place is teaming with wild and crazy elementary students. You follow them up and over and around and through, and you will rage if any of the kids dare to offer a helping hand or stand in your way. You have no fear and seem to have no idea that you are still so much smaller than they are. You can do anything. You truly believe that, and it’s one of the many things I absolutely adore about you.


You finally say “mama” on a regular basis, although I’m not entirely sure you’ve connected it with me beyond the contents of my bra. When we sit down or I pick you up, you pat or point to my chest and say, “mama,” and I will nurse you because as much as I laugh about it or roll my eyes that all I am is a pair of breasts to you, I know it’s not true. And after all, it is a pretty sweet way to ask. And at least you say it more often for me now, which I never thought would happen. And even when you refused to say that very special word to me, I never doubted you knew exactly who I was and precisely where you belonged. Right there, curled up in close proximity to this mama’s heart.



Sixteen Months

Dear Andrew,


You are sixteen months old and taking it to the extreme. You are a ball of energy, rivaling even that of your big brother. You love to run and jump and laugh and tumble and do anything and everything that your little body of yours will let you do. You run fast. You love hard. You throw your emotions around the room. When you’re upset, you wail and thrash about. You fling yourself to the ground and if it doesn’t solve your problem once, you pick yourself up and try it again.


You want to do EVERYTHING that your brother does. And God love him, he’s really trying to not be annoyed by that. But you do tend to push him around and grab his things a bit too much for his liking. Most of the time, though, I love watching you watch him. You take in his every move, studying as much as you can with how fast he goes. And you launch yourself right after him. Whether it’s face planting off the arm of the couch (which I find much more hilarious than others in our household do) or tackling your daddy or jumping on the bed, you do what you can, a miniature, more awkward and fumbling shadow of our Michael. So we try to help him to be a good example for you.


You have so many more words now. There seems to be nothing that you won’t at least attempt to repeat. Well, except Mama, that is. I have managed to trick you into saying it by teasing M when he says “um-uh” and I repeat it and we laugh and laugh. You repeat it as “ma-ma,” and shriek with joy. Whatever. I’ll take it.


You say “Thank you” to ask for things. You pretend to talk on the phone starting with hello and ending with bye, pressing a finger to your palm like you’re ending a call. We’ve been enjoying the cool Wisconsin summer evenings by taking walks around our block, and you are eager to point things out to me and chatter away about it all. I feel like we are coming to understanding each other pretty well, even though I often wish I knew exactly what you were trying to express with all your sounds and syllables.


I love to see your blossoming understanding of people and words. You enjoy singing and dancing with your Rock-n-roll Elmo, and when he sings the alphabet song, I can almost see the light go on as you run to the kitchen and press the button for the Leapfrog magnetic alphabet thing we have on the fridge. You are so proud of yourself that you understand it’s the same song that can come from two different places. You understand potty time, which is now regularly part of our pre-bedtime routine. You know how it works and what’s expected of you, even if you don’t always entirely follow through with it all. And those are just a couple of small examples. I’ll have to remember to talk you through some other things to see if it helps.


And speaking of bedtime, you have come to know exactly what to expect. You sit with me on the couch after you and M are brushed and washed and pajama-ed. M will announce himself or have someone else introduce him, and he’ll come out and rile you up. We have to work on this part, I think, because sometimes he gets you a little too excited right before you’re supposed to sleep. Then you tend to take FOREVER to finally fall asleep. And since we still need to be there with you for that, it can be a little tough on your old mom and dad.


This month, I went to an interview and got a job. It’s a pretty good deal so far, because the shifts are short, and I’ve been able to work them pretty well into our current schedule without having to farm you and M out to whoever will have you. You have a great time with friends and family when I have to be apart from you, but when I’ve got you back in my arms again, I can tell that deep down, it freaks you out a little bit. I know how much you still need me, little one. Trust me, I know. And I want you to know that no matter how far away I go or how long I’m gone, you are part of my heart, too, and I will always return. Eagerly, gladly, enthusiastically to those little arms, reaching up, wide open for those hugs, that special embrace that keeps me smiling.



Fifteen Months

Dear Andrew,

You are fifteen months old, and you are so awesome.


I’ve pretty much given up on you ever saying “Mama” with any frequency or reliability. And honestly, it doesn’t bother me anymore because it’s more like a joke now that we share. You try to say all sorts of new words like, “faster,” and “strawberry,” and you get increasingly excited when your brother tries to teach you new things to say because, hey, he’s talking to you and not yelling at you or snatching his stuff out of your hands. You are learning animal sounds and can bark when I ask you what the dog says. You can repeat a lot of the other animal sounds, too, once I clue you to what they are, but your default is the barking, no matter which animal I ask you about first.


You also like to sing and dance. Your dance is this tip sideways that sometimes results in you falling all the way over. Even so, you have a big cheese-ball smile on your face and occasionally applaud your own efforts. (This does not only happen while dancing, but any time you try something you didn’t know you could do.) And I love to listen to you talk or sing to yourself. It’s especially entertaining when you don’t realize that anyone is actually paying attention. You will wander around some days singing, “Yo-ah, yo-ah,” because of the song that Michael often requests at bedtime. It’s one of the few songs you recognize and try to imitate, but even if I just hum or “do-do-do” to myself, you’ll often repeat those various sounds, too.


You will climb or try to climb anything. You can’t resist stairs, and you’re really getting good at going up and down. You can climb onto the couch or the bed without any help at all anymore, and there are fewer and fewer “safe” spots where we can put things that we don’t want to fall into your curious little hands. You want to do anything that anyone bigger than you is doing, and even if you can’t quite make your body replicate the motions exactly, you throw yourself entirely into the activity and often fail with a flourish.


You love to help. You sweep and pull weeds (or other plants). You load the dishwasher at Grandma’s house, you pick up toys and you “sort” laundry. You are happy enough to be part of whatever mundane task we have to get done in a day, except vacuuming. That big old vacuum cleaner scares the pants off of you every time. If it even appears from within the closet, you run off screaming. You cry and need to be held even while I’m trying to suck the crumbs up off the carpet. And you’re not happy until that monster machine is locked back up behind closed doors again. Same goes for the food processor, the bread machine, the magic bullet. You’re even wary of the slow cooker, the rice maker and, most recently, the food dehydrator.


And speaking of running and screaming, your tantrums are getting more and more dramatic. You don’t deal well with disappointment at all, and denying you of the one thing you need to have happen right now at this moment will lead you to throwing yourself on the ground and writhing around in agony. You put your mouth to the floor (or the grass or the pavement), and you wail. And when that doesn’t work, you return to whoever offended you by denying your most reasonable request and repeat your gesture of desire. Some of the things that have set you off have included: offering you a bite of banana instead of a sip of coffee, not opening the bottle of glitter/glue/water we made to distract you and/or help your brother calm down when he has his own moments of rage so you can drink from it, putting away the scissors before you’ve had your turn and daring to cut your food into smaller pieces than the rest of us have on our plates.


For the most part, though, you are the happiest and most friendly baby, wait, toddler, that I could imagine being around at this moment. You always wave and say, “Hi,” to our neighbors, and you blow kisses and wave and say your version of “Bye,” when you or anyone else leaves or goes to bed. Your bliss at being alive and discovering all the world has to offer you is contagious and encouraging, especially during my bad days and hard moments. Because guess what? Even if you never, ever say the word, I can see in your eyes that you know your mama well. When you squeeze me tight and rest your head on my shoulder before running off and trying some other daring feat, when you run at me with your mouth closed and saying “mmmmm” in preparation for some big kisses, when you smile and laugh just because you caught my eye, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you love me. Completely. You love your family, friends and neighbors without reservation, and there are not enough words in the world to tell you exactly how much this unbridled affection means to us all.


The One Who Shall Not Be Named

Fourteen Months

Dear Andrew,


You are fourteen months old. You are talking so much these days. Sometimes we can even hear actual words. You point to things and say, “see,” with this upswing on the end that’s just adorable. And you make me laugh so hard when you say, “see,” as you’re grinning at me with your hand on your boy stuff. Yes. I see. Now put your pants on, kid.


You are always happy to see people. You wave and say, “hi.” You call everyone who lives with you, “Daddy.” Including me. The one whose name you used to know. The one whose name you used to use until you realized how hilarious it was to pop off the boob and grin up at me with your big smiling eyes and say, “Da-eee!”


You are getting better and better at climbing, and you will practice on stairs and chairs and tables and anything else you can at any opportunity. We have to watch you closely because you are so adventurous. You will keep going and going and going. And heaven help anyone who gets in your way. You will yell and squirm in such a way it really is scary trying to hold onto you without letting you slip away. You love to try new things, and I can see that you are determined to master whatever it is you put your mind to. You will move mountains one day, son. And I’m so excited to see what feat you will master next, even if it does make my heart stop a little bit watching your early attempts.


You love to play ball. Especially, dare I admit to the Internet, fetch. You and M will make endless runs down the hallway after some ball or another (you really enjoy the ones that light up when they bounce), laughing and squealing as you chase the balls and each other. You both bring he balls back, eager to go again. You also enjoy tossing the ball yourself, which you do with your left hand, I’ve noticed, and you like it when someone rolls or bounces the ball to you. As soon as you see the bigger ball come out, you sit down on the floor with your feet apart, ready to catch, and so happy to play and practice.


Another game that cracks me up every time, which you learned from your brother, of course, is to pretend you’re a puppy and crawl and pant and bark down the hallway, around the house or even outside. Your bark is just a little, “ah!” sound, and it’s just so cute. You’ve been walking so long, and nothing can slow you down that when you first got back down on all fours again, I didn’t quite know what was happening. Then you started “barking” at your brother, and I just laughed and laughed.


As part of our bedtime ritual, M likes to be “introduced” to someone as whatever character he is identifying as at the moment. So he or I or Daddy will step out to the living room with that information and announce, “Presenting…the most dangerous super dragon in the city!” or whatever it happens to be that day, and M will come down the hallway, often wearing a large fleece blanket around his neck as a cape, or wings or Jedi cloak or whatever, and he’ll play his part as he makes his way out to his adoring audience. You have come to know your part in this nightly performance, and you will wait on my lap for him to come out. Then you’ll get down eagerly and wiggle your way into the blanket as M tries to pull it away and you chase him around the room. I love bedtime for those giggles.


However, earlier this month, your dad and I were discussing how impressed we were that falling asleep on your own was coming more easily to you, and we dared to look forward to a night where you might sleep longer, be able to settle yourself without us in the room with you and things like that. And then you entered a new phase, the exact opposite of the direction we’d thought and hoped you were heading. You’ve been having trouble settling down to sleep with Daddy. You’ve been impossible to put down into your crib unless you are dead out cold asleep. And it wears me out. To be needed. Like this. So much. Every night.


But I’ll tell you a secret. Your sweet sleepy face and the way you cling to me in the dark is why I got into this motherhood thing in the first place. Even when my back aches, and I don’t feel sleepy enough to lie down beside you for the night, I remember how it seems like not more than five minutes ago you were born. I remember how fast you go during the day. How independent you already are, able to amuse yourself for a time without me. Testing your boundaries and abilities every minute of the day. You go go go. You climb. You run. And at the end of each day, you snuggle in. You have your place. And even at fourteen months old, you still fit snugly in my arms. You are welcome there. You are my baby, still, and no matter what kind of day we’ve had, I know what I mean in those moments before you fall asleep. I am your haven. I am your nest. I am your comfort. And you still need me a lot. For now. And I love it.


I love you,


Dear Michael,

A week and a half ago, you turned three years old. These last three years have been awesome. You talk so much now, expressing opinions, telling stories, reliving memories, encouraging anyone and everyone to play your favorite games.

I really need to start writing down the things you say on a daily basis. Because as I sit here trying to capture the essence of you, I know that I’m about to leave something out.

There have been a few words that you haven’t been able to pronounce as clearly as some. We’ve already lost several to your constant listening, re-pronouncing and self-correction. Like helicopter. And tractor. Which used to be “hoptopter” and “cracker,” respectively.

So here are a few of my current favorites, in no particular order:

  • Any word that ends in “st” you switch around to “ts,” such as, “almots,” (almost) “lats,” (last) and “fats,” (fast). Also, “ghost” started that way (“goats”) but has become “ghotst.”
  • You’re still not quite there with the “l” sound, so when you say, “hello,” it comes out more like, “hewoh.” The best part though, is the intonation, which can’t really be accurately represented in writing but makes me smile every time.
  • If you’re looking for me or someone else, you say, “Where are you?” but it comes out sounding more like, “what are you?”
  • Bananas are “bee-nanas.” Emphasis on the first syllable.
  • You have combined the phrases, “If you say so,” and “Whatever you say,” so they have become, “Whatever you say so.”
  • When you don’t know the name for something, you make it up. Often you refer to items by their color, like the red Ergo carrier is simply, “the red.” But sometimes you are a little more descriptive, like when you referred to the back of your knee as, “the armpit of mine leg.”

One of your favorite games is “the train game,” where you link fingers or arms or loops and hooks with me or Daddy or whoever else is around, and you lead us around the house as the “big black engine.” We can be pretty lazy around these parts, but when you come over and ask us to play the train game please, how can we do anything but rise up off our seats and follow where you go.

You have become really interested in directions and maps. We draw maps, look at maps on the computer, and for your birthday, you even got your own laminated map of DC. You like to watch the moving map on Grandma’s GPS from the back seat of her car, and you appreciate being consulted whenever we have a directional decision to make. Most of the time, your answer is “wept,” that is, left.

You love people. And I’ll be elaborating more on that in another day or two, but I have to say I find it totally fascinating and humbling to watch you with other people. Anyone. From newborn infants to dogs to teenagers to toddlers to adults of all ages. You like to share yourself with them. At the rally it was, “look at mine sign.” Out trick-or-treating it was, “look at mine costume, I’m the man in the wewoh hat.” You show your cars, your trains, your sailboat picture to anyone who comes near enough to notice, and I love how excited you are not only about those things that you possess, but the fact that having someone around to share the excitement with makes it that much more exciting for you.

You joke and you tease, and your games are becoming more cerebral even as you still enjoy the more physical tackling and tickling and pillow castle and fort-building games. You have yet to master the subtle art of teasing, since more often than not the tease and the lie are about the same thing, but I can see you trying to work it out. Sometimes it works, like when you call me Daddy, and we all have a good laugh. But other times, like when you say you need to go potty after you’re all tucked into bed and you sit up there and do nothing, we have to try to remember that that’s not “teasing,” but a filibustering technique that makes no one happy.

There’s just so much to say, I keep thinking of more and more. I love how you remember things. You mimic us and ask us to mimic you, making faces or gestures or noises. You’re becoming so much more independent, wanting to do so many things “mine self.” You’re crazy and wild and loving and kind. You often remember your please, thank you and your welcome, but I see that you wish there was more to that exchange than those three, so after the “your welcome” part, you often add one of two phrases, “You’re so polite,” or “I’m so polite.” Either commending the other person for their manners or giving yourself that extra little pat on the back.

I think that you are an amazing kid, and your dad and I are incredibly lucky to have you around. You never fail to make us smile, and we hope that we bring that much joy to your life, too. Happy birthday, my big boy. I’m so proud of you.


This Time

Dear Michael,

I love this time of your life. I wanted to write a few things down so that I can smile about them later.

  • Your love of bubbles is adorable. You chase and catch them, and it’s a great way for us to put your energy to good use. The other day, our neighbor came out with his dog, and you said, “You catch bubbles,” to him. And he did. Your enthusiasm for those soapy spheres is truly contagious. And magical.
  • When you try to avoid doing anything that we want you to do, you run over to the couch and stand on your head in the corner of it. It makes you pretty easy to catch, and as an added bonus, exposes your belly for chomping or tickles. Perhaps you’re not really trying to run away as much as you’re just excited about the game of this.
  • You are such good company. I went with you to Panera for Mother’s Day, just like we did last year. This year, you held up your end of the conversation, observing so much about the place we were, expressing your extreme adoration for bean soup, and politely asking for more of Mommy’s juice.
  • I love how a glass of milk makes everything better. Now that “snuggles” are no longer an option, it seems that the comforting qualities remain even if the container in which they come has changed.
  • You love music and you love to dance. You love it when your parents dance with you, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the intro music to Curious George or Daddy’s Pandora radio station. I wonder where you get it from… Grandma M, I’m looking at you (because that’s where I got it from).
  • Your big game lately is “tackle Mommy.” You take a pillow and just run at me sitting on the floor. If I don’t give in and fall over with the force of your small body, you push until I do. This is what it is to raise a boy. Physical. A little competitive. Most of the time, I do finally fall, because when I do, I get hugs, sometimes kisses, but always a whole lot of laughter. And your laugh is one of the best sounds I know.
  • Your words and thoughts are getting more and more complex. We’ve gone from, “Peel,” to “Mommy peel banana,” to “Mommy peel banana Michael’s,” to “Mommy, peel Michael’s banana please.” It’s fascinating to see you learning how to articulate your observations and desires. When we go out, you notice signs everywhere. You point them out and tell me that they say, “I am Sam.” When you notice an empty post, you say, “Hey, be a sign there,” because the post is missing its sign. When we’re driving around in our car with all the windows down because the air conditioning doesn’t work, I’ll ask you if you like the wind or if you want me to close your window. You smile really big and tell me that you like the wind and make attempts to trap it in your clapped hands.
  • I love how you look when you eat an apple. You don’t want it cut up anymore, and it’s one of those foods that looks like so much more than a little guy like you should be able to handle. But you can, and you do. It takes time, but you can polish off a whole apple all by yourself along with a sandwich and pickles or whatever else you have on your lunch plate that day. No wonder you’re so tall and strong and smart.
  • You are extremely sensitive to others’ moods. Much like your mommy. When your parents get frustrated, sad, upset (for many reasons related to life and the world in general) or on a rare occasion mad at you for something you did, you insist that “Mommy really happy.” Because that’s how you want us to feel. I’ve been trying to tell you that we don’t always need to be happy. That sometimes, sadness or frustration is just what we feel at any given time. That just telling me to be happy won’t always work. Just like I can’t tell you what to feel or when to feel it. Sometimes, though, when you tell me to be really happy, it does stop me in my tracks and make me think about what I’m really feeling and why. I hope that we will continue to have a free exchange of emotion in our household, and that you always feel safe to feel whatever you feel, knowing that I love you even when I’m not acting or feeling as really happy as you think I should. I’m always happy to have you in my life, in my arms, in my family.

Microphone from Sara on Vimeo.

Love you big,