Tonight is the last night before you begin a new and exciting phase of your life--school! Mom doesn't really know how to feel. On one hand, you are beyond ready and I'm so excited for you. On the other hand, I can't believe you are old enough for kindergarten. I know you can't understand that right now, so I'm writing this and maybe one day you will be able to understand.
Until the moment I held you in my arms, I never knew what "happy" really was. I never knew love was something that could actually be held in my arms, could cry out for me, could wrap my own heart into your tiny little hand. But you sure did all of that and more. You made me a mommy. You made me a better person. You made me want to be a better person so I could show YOU how to be a good person.
Sometimes I feel badly because I can't be home all day, every day with you--especially those days you begged me to. But it's important for you to see that girls can do ANYTHING they want to do in a career.
Sometimes I am afraid of you growing up. It's a lot of fun, you have so many adventures ahead of you. You have so many friends and sleepovers and experiences. But you also will have pain and heartache--friends that say and do mean things, boys you think you love until they break your heart, tests you won't do well on, big games you won't win and so much more. I'm afraid because these are things that will be hard for you, things I can't help you with--but things that will give you your character.
Sometimes I'm afraid you won't like me forever. As you grow up, Mom will seem "not so smart" and one day, I'll seem downright stupid. I'm not, but it will seem that way--and you will tell me so. You might even tell me you don't like me one day. I'll get mad because it's disrespectful, but mostly because it will hurt me badly and I won't ever be able to let you know--or you will use it against me over and over again.
Sometimes you will want me to be your friend, and I can't. Being a mom sucks sometimes. I have to make hard decisions and you won't like all them. I won't ask you to like them, but I will ask you to be respectful. Try and remember that even when I seem to be fine? I'm hurting on the inside. It's not easy to tell you no.
Sometimes I'll want to be your friend, and you won't let me. And that's ok. But I hope you will always feel like you can talk to me about anything--even the hard stuff. I promise to always listen, and you can always trust me to be honest. Even with the hard stuff.
Sometimes things at school won't seem fair. And to be honest, sometimes they aren't. But life isn't always fair. It's tough for those of us who try hard to be good people and be honest--you might even get called naieve, like me. Don't worry, you just have a good heart and expect the best of people because you always give YOUR best to people. And no matter how mean people can be, I hope you will never allow them to take your joy away.
Smile, even when you want to cry. Crying is ok, don't get me wrong. But when you smile, no matter the situation, people respond better and you are more likely to get your way. Besides, smiling is contagious--the other person can't "not" smile back. It's fun.
Be a good friend, always. You never know what kind of "stuff" people have going on at home and sometimes they just need one friend to make the world brighter and better. And they will always love you for being kind, especially when nobody else is. Treat others the way you would like to be treated. Always.
Follow the rules. Mama don't want called at work. Besides, rules help keep you safe--and I don't want to imagine a world where you are not safe.
You are an extremely bright girl, and some kids will try to bring you down. Don't let them. Being smart and using your mind is the best gift and I know you will use it wisely.
Have fun! You have 13 years of school ahead of you. I know you will want less "play" and more learning because that is your nature. But relax and have fun--you will have plenty of time for homework in the years to come.
I love you, Redhead. And I'm so very proud of the little lady you already are. It is a joy to have watched you grow these first 5 years, and I can't wait to sit back and watch you in this new phase of your life. You have no idea how lucky you are, and you have no idea how lucky I feel to be your Mama.
Love,
Me
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Mourning in Whoville
Today was a sad day at our home, especially for Thing 1. While out on the regularly Saturday jaunt to buy groceries, I was reminded why I HATE having pets. Thing 1 spotted a kitty that didn't make it across the road, and sarcastically said "That's not one of our cats, is it?"
Of course not, its a good 2-3 blocks from our house. And yet as I drove past, thinking to myself, "poor kitty", I noticed something familiar about the kitty. My heart sank as I realized this flattened feline was our Lilly.
I'm a sucker. We have a LOT of cats. "We" had two, we agreed to keep a couple for my brother for a couple of months (that was 6 years ago), and we inherited a colony of ferrel cats with our house that I finally have tamed after years of coaxing and disobeying city laws. Factor in a rough winter, survival of the fittest and thyroid cancer, our official count is 6 (3 inside, 2 inside/outside and 1 outside).
But Lilly was "the one". The coveted one. The one that slept with Thing 1 every night. The one that let both Thing 1 and Thing 2 pack her around, put her in any precarious situation--aka the baby strollers. She was the sweet one, the cuddly one. Just...the one. So of course she was the one to meet an untimely demise, right?
I have a pretty staunch "truth" policy with Thing 1 and Thing 2. I tell them the truth because I expect them to tell me the truth. The Lorax calls me naive. I am confident karma will come thru for me in the end. Alas, today, that truth policy meant I had to tell Thing 1 the kitty we saw in the road was, in fact, Lilly.
It sucked.
She cried. I cried. Thing 2...well, she tried to be comforting, offered kind words to her sister. And then her appeals just went WAY wrong.
"I'll tell you a story about your Lilly to make you feel better. Once upon a time, there was a cat named Lilly. She got runned over by a car. So she went to heaven and got wings and used them to fly back to her Delaney because she loved her so much. But then she got runned over again and it hurt really really really bad and...." That's as far as the story was allowed to go.
And that was just the beginning of Thing 2's obsession of using the death of Lilly to tease Thing 1. All day long.
For instance, Thing 1 finally pulled it back together. Out of nowhere, Thing 2 says, "Awww...I know you miss Lilly. Because she's dead," and later "Don't you wish you could see Lilly? But you can't, not ever again."
The worst, however, came at rest time. Thing 2 jumped up and looked outside the bedroom window and called to her sister..."Come quick, Lilly is outside the window." Was I wrong????
No, it was a sick and twisted joke and the sound of the laugh that followed was just...wrong. I really don't know where she gets that kind of mean, but it really scares me sometimes.
That's not true, I secretly know where it comes from. All day, I've had the urge to ask "Why did Lilly cross the road?" and then answer, "She didn't make it across the road." But when you are the one who has carried a swollen, twisted dead kitty out of the road so your daughter won't have to see it, knowing who it is?
I think I've earned it.
RIP, Lilly Francine Batterson. You will be sincerely missed, especially by your little redheaded pal.
Lilly with her new wings, by Thing 1
Of course not, its a good 2-3 blocks from our house. And yet as I drove past, thinking to myself, "poor kitty", I noticed something familiar about the kitty. My heart sank as I realized this flattened feline was our Lilly.
I'm a sucker. We have a LOT of cats. "We" had two, we agreed to keep a couple for my brother for a couple of months (that was 6 years ago), and we inherited a colony of ferrel cats with our house that I finally have tamed after years of coaxing and disobeying city laws. Factor in a rough winter, survival of the fittest and thyroid cancer, our official count is 6 (3 inside, 2 inside/outside and 1 outside).
But Lilly was "the one". The coveted one. The one that slept with Thing 1 every night. The one that let both Thing 1 and Thing 2 pack her around, put her in any precarious situation--aka the baby strollers. She was the sweet one, the cuddly one. Just...the one. So of course she was the one to meet an untimely demise, right?
I have a pretty staunch "truth" policy with Thing 1 and Thing 2. I tell them the truth because I expect them to tell me the truth. The Lorax calls me naive. I am confident karma will come thru for me in the end. Alas, today, that truth policy meant I had to tell Thing 1 the kitty we saw in the road was, in fact, Lilly.
It sucked.
She cried. I cried. Thing 2...well, she tried to be comforting, offered kind words to her sister. And then her appeals just went WAY wrong.
"I'll tell you a story about your Lilly to make you feel better. Once upon a time, there was a cat named Lilly. She got runned over by a car. So she went to heaven and got wings and used them to fly back to her Delaney because she loved her so much. But then she got runned over again and it hurt really really really bad and...." That's as far as the story was allowed to go.
And that was just the beginning of Thing 2's obsession of using the death of Lilly to tease Thing 1. All day long.
For instance, Thing 1 finally pulled it back together. Out of nowhere, Thing 2 says, "Awww...I know you miss Lilly. Because she's dead," and later "Don't you wish you could see Lilly? But you can't, not ever again."
The worst, however, came at rest time. Thing 2 jumped up and looked outside the bedroom window and called to her sister..."Come quick, Lilly is outside the window." Was I wrong????
No, it was a sick and twisted joke and the sound of the laugh that followed was just...wrong. I really don't know where she gets that kind of mean, but it really scares me sometimes.
That's not true, I secretly know where it comes from. All day, I've had the urge to ask "Why did Lilly cross the road?" and then answer, "She didn't make it across the road." But when you are the one who has carried a swollen, twisted dead kitty out of the road so your daughter won't have to see it, knowing who it is?
I think I've earned it.
RIP, Lilly Francine Batterson. You will be sincerely missed, especially by your little redheaded pal.
Lilly with her new wings, by Thing 1
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