Letters For You

Dear Mom

Posted on February 28, 2012 Written by Tonya

Jennifer of Midwest “Mom”ents is kind and always very supportive. She has a darling blog about her life and two adorable daughters and keeps late Twitter hours, which is where we connect the most.

I am grateful to have (Not Just Another) Jennifer here today with a sad, yet very loving letter to her mother.

Dear Mom,

How do you express thanks for an entire childhood in one letter? So much to say, I don’t know where to start. I know I was always a bit of a daddy’s girl. I always thought it was because he and I were more alike. But now that I’m older, I realize I’m exactly like you. That’s probably why it sometimes felt like magnetic poles pushing us apart when I was young, especially a teenager. But no matter how sassy or unappreciative of you I was, you always gave more with a smile. I don’t know how you did it. I know some of it is the innate maternal reaction of a mother. I love our girls, too, and that definitely plays a part in being able to tolerate a lot. But I certainly don’t have a servant’s heart like you do.

Now that I’ve been doing this SAHM gig while I’m unemployed, I gradually find myself doing more and more of the same things you did. I can’t sleep at night. I’ve always been a night owl like you, but I mean, I find myself awake until 1 or 2am most nights. Which is crazy since the girls are up at 6:30am. And there’s no reason why I should be sleep deprived except my own inexplicable need to stay up reading a book, doing dishes, watching a show, doing laundry, playing Angry Birds, putting together a craft project I found on Pinterest, etc. Unfortunately, the tired version of me is much less patient with the girls than you were with us.

I know there were times sis and I got in trouble and were sent to our rooms or heard, “Just wait til your father gets home!” But I really don’t remember you yelling at us or punishing us. I think of you working in the garden, sewing dance costumes, wearing yellow rubber gloves to clean, baking with us, teaching us how to crochet, playing games with us, working out to Richard Simmons, cooking awesome spaghetti, teaching us how to make the bed properly. I remember you consoling me after nightmares and kissing my boo-boos better and cheering me on at softball games.

And I remember you as an incredible wife. You always made sure that after we gave Dad our big welcome home hugs and kisses that we left him alone to “watch the news” for 30 minutes, AKA, take a nap. You were making dinner, and I’m sure we drove you nuts, but you knew he needed time to decompress, and you willingly gave him that space. You never fought with him in front of us. We could tell when you were mad, but you just said his name in a terse way, then pursed your lips, and bit your tongue. We knew you would be discussing things later, though. And now that I’m older and know more of the history of your relationship, I’m in awe of your devotion to being a good wife.

So when you started having memory trouble a few years ago, I felt like I should be there for you the way you have always been there for me. But I had a newborn, a husband, and a full-time job. I didn’t visit you as often as I should have to play games or cards or Memory with you. And I was a little bit in denial, to be honest. Now that you have been diagnosed with short-term memory difficulty and dementia, I can see how you had been faking it for much longer than we knew about it.

The part that’s the most difficult for me to grasp is the paranoia that’s begun this past year. The night you left me a message at 2am saying Dad was having you committed and if you disappeared that you wanted someone to know what had happened was the last time I went to bed without my phone on the nightstand. Then you decided that the neighbors who live in the house behind you wanted to break in the sliding glass door from the patio to your bedroom to attack you. That was about six months ago. You’ve been sleeping on the couch in the living room ever since. And a couple of weeks ago, you told me that Dad stole $400 from you.

I can’t imagine how horrifying it must be for you to feel that your husband is plotting against you and feeling trapped and isolated. I love you so much, and it’s heart wrenching to see you go through this and be unable to do anything to help. You are the kindest, most generous person I know, and you do not deserve to spend the golden years of your life in this kind of hell.

Here’s to you, Mom, the one I admire and strive to emulate and if I’m being perfectly honest, am terrified of one day becoming.

Dear Sarah

Posted on February 21, 2012 Written by Tonya

Katie is the genius (not to mention Child, Adolescent, and Family Psychotherapist and Parenting Expert) behind Practical Parenting and I have learned so much from her posts about being a better mom.

Her potty training tips are awesome, her post, The Great Mom Debate is one of my favorites and she even inspired the Valentine’s Day love notes I made for Lucas.

I am happy to have Katie here today with a letter to her friend Sarah. Friendships are so important and the ones that stand the test of time are unbelievably precious. We should all be so lucky to have friendships as strong as the one Katie and Sarah share.

Thank you so much to Tonya for having me here today. I have loved her letters for quite some time, as she often echoes the thoughts that run through my mind. Her letters are beautiful and always heartfelt, no matter the topic at hand. I often leave here thinking that I should do this too…write down the things I should have said or still have the opportunity to say. When she started Letters for You it was almost as if she heard my silent plea. I’m not sure that that I would find a way to sit down and write the letters that should be written on my own time, but I am honored to have the chance to share one here.

Dear Sarah,

It was over 36 years ago that our mothers first planted the seed of friendship for us. It was over 36 years ago that they both thought, thank god, a playmate for my little girl.

What started as a blind date in the sand box flourished into a friendship that I’m not sure even they envisioned. What began as digging, board games, and Strawberry Shortcake grew into the best friendship I have ever known.

In you I found another sister. A sister who would balance me out without the added sibling rivalry (we’ve never once felt the urge to compete). A sister who would stand tall by side and never, ever waiver. A sister who would always remind me of home.

Through countless tubs of Rainbow Chip frosting and repeated viewings of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, we survived those tumultuous years referred to as “puberty”.

Through bowling trips with John and Russ, weekends skiing in Vermont, and long summer nights full of big dreams, we conquered high school. We escaped the mean girls, played sports against each other without hard feelings, and laughed our way through high school dances.

Through beers, stories, dinners, and a few more beers, we enjoyed every moment of our time in Boston. Despite attending different colleges, we always found time to just be us.

But it wasn’t always easy…

At times, we’ve lived continents apart. At times, we’ve lived states apart. Today we live 3,000 miles apart. The distance has never felt larger.

We’ve helped each other through some very difficult life events. Events we never expected to endure.

Together we’ve survived suicide, cancer, infertility, and family strife. Oh, the never-ending family strife.

Together we said goodbye to my father, who always considered himself your father too, and my Nana, who was just as much yours.

Together we remained strong as we waited for the signs of remission when cancer hit a family member. Together we celebrated good health and new beginnings.

Together we fought my long and exhausting battle with infertility. We talked, cried, and laughed our way through the ups and downs until we reached the end.

Together we welcomed four babies into this world, just as we always knew we would.

Together we learned to separate our families of origin from our growing families.

Together we learned to find our voices and speak up for the needs of our own little families.

Together we learned to walk on.

Friendship is a funny thing. At times, it can come and go. As some friendships fade away, new friendships emerge. Some people say that best friends don’t exist beyond high school, that adult friendships are different.

But I know better.

I know that some friendships are meant to last a lifetime.

Your friendship has been the one constant all of the years. Your friendship has enabled me soak up every bit of enjoyment from the good times and to just survive the not-so-good times. Your friendship has taught me to be strong, loyal, and loving.

Above all, your friendship has taught me the value of just being me. And for that, I will always love you.

Love,
Katie

Katie & Sarah circa 1978

An Author’s Apology

Posted on February 15, 2012 Written by Tonya

I’ve only tried writing fiction a handful of times and I’ve always left my main character nameless because I felt if I named them, then I would grow too attached and having their fate at the mercy of my keystrokes is terrifying. I’m not that caliber of writer yet.

Roxanne, on the other hand, is an amazing writer.

This week’s Letters For You guest is Roxanne from Unintentionally Brilliant with a letter to Matilda, the protagonist in a novel she’s working on called Finding Agnes, the story of a girl who is searching for the mother that abandoned her as a child. You may read excerpts here.

I hope Roxanne and Matilda end their journey together in peace.

Dear Matilda,

I’m so sorry about all the pain and confusion I’ve subjected you to over the past year. Your life has been filled with ups and downs and rewinds and rewrites.

In the beginning, it seemed simpler. You were searching for your mother, who had left you and your father when you were 3. Then I decided to kill off your father when you were only 11 years old. But then you were 7 when your father died. And then you were sitting at the kitchen table at 16 and having a conversation with your father about your mother. Who had still left when you were 3.

Her disappearance was shrouded in mystery. And then it wasn’t. And then you found her second husband, only to find out she’d left him too. And it was another mystery. And then it wasn’t. And then you found out she died. And then she didn’t.

I kept getting stuck on your story. I wanted to write it, but you just weren’t speaking to me the same way Emily and Travis did back in 2010.

I had a breakthrough the other night, and I think you’ll be quite pleased.

Your mother still left. I’m truly sorry about that. But Agnes had her reasons. You’ll see.

I hope you’ll be very happy to see that I’ve decided to let your father live. Your life is hard enough, without having to lose your father too. But don’t tell him just yet. I want to surprise him with it this weekend.

One last thing. When I started writing your story, you were much older in the bulk of the plot. You’ve noticed that everything I’ve written lately has you in high school. This means that Charlie isn’t going to survive the editing process. He’s got to go. It was him or Delia. And, honestly, it’s just a little easier for me to write a sprightly young high school girl of 16 or 17 than a 20-something gay man without playing into stereotypes.

Blame it on Robbie. He’s my friend, who is gay. I had based Charlie on him (only slightly). And he totally plays into the stereotypes.

While I finish up the outline of your story, I just have one little favor to ask of you. I hope you don’t mind. I mean, I let your dad survive. That seems like you owe me one.

Help me finish your story.

That would be awesome.

Lots of Love,

Roxanne “Your Writer” Piskel

I Pray…

Posted on February 7, 2012 Written by Tonya

I first came to know Stephanie of Where Are My Supermom Boots? when I saw her hilarious vlog, My First Vlog! about “mom” attire.

Her sarcasm and wit came through the camera loud and clear and I’ve been a fan ever since. Seriously, I may have peed in my pants a little. Go watch it after you read her very touching letter Stephanie has written her children with a message we all hope for when it comes to our children.

To my children,

Tonight I watched you go through the routine of bed, your eyes grinning at me as you shared the memories of your weekend. A special weekend. One away from your father and I, one spent with your grandparents. A weekend full of movies, games and laughter, love and probably more chocolate than I ever want to know about! And, as your excitement filled my heart I realized that you are growing up. Beginning to take small steps away. Beginning to learn who you want to be. And so I began to pray…

… I pray that you will always look at the world through eyes of wonderment and possibility. That a rainbow will always have the ability to make you stop and look up. That the smell of a summer storm will make you breathe deeply and savor the air. That you will ALWAYS want to catch the biggest snowflake on your tongue.

… I pray that you will be close to each other. Maybe not in distance, but in your hearts. I know that you will fight and make up. You will slam doors in each others faces and that one of you may question me one day “Are you SURE that we are related?!?!”. But when it matters, may you always find your way back to one another.

… I pray that you will always have the strength and the confidence to stand for what you believe. To know the difference between what is right and what is wrong and to have the ability to walk away from the wrong choice when it is offered to you.

…I pray that you will both know that you can talk to us, your parents, with no fear of judgement. To know that, while we may not always agree with your choices, we will always love you. That your place in our heart is guaranteed.

…I pray that you will not be afraid to take risks. To step outside your comfort zone and experience something new. To look at a new challenge with excitement and not dread.

Eventually you will grow out of weekends with your grandparents. You will have jobs and a driver’s license and parties. You will graduate and move out. You will get married and start your own families. But no matter where you are or what you do, my prayers will always stay the same.

Love always,
your mom

From The Mother Of A Precious Preemie

Posted on January 31, 2012 Written by Tonya

My Letters For You guest today is Erin of My Little Miracles. This woman is a true survivor and has a thing or two to say to prematurity in preemies and does it with only the grace and stye that a mother can.

Please welcome Erin!

Dear Prematurity in Babies (in particular MY baby),

You think that you may have won, laughing at me all the way. Bringing my baby, my youngest into the world 8 weeks early. Were you trying to prove something? Did you just want there to be another Virgo in the household? Maybe you knew we had just bought out house 2 weeks prior and were scheduled to move the day after you threw my youngest into the world?

You have done several things in bringing him into the world so early; you have made me fiercely over protective of my baby. I worry about him constantly, he didn’t meet “normal” milestones. He didn’t crawl until almost a year, I had to carry him everywhere until he was 18 months. At 2 he still wasn’t talking. We went through testing for autism followed by speech therapy and countless sleepless nights wondering if I was a good mommy.

You brought him into this world not breathing, you gave him a narrowed airway and to top it all off you threw in a little asthma. Thought that would be fun did you?

Because of you we have spent to many days in the hospital for RSV, more than enough hours in the ER, way to many nights being woke up in the middle of the night by that croupy cough and that struggle for breath that sends us running and we have had our share of breathing treatments, steroids, antibiotics and worry.

But two things you didn’t count on, Me being his mom, and Him being able to stand up to you. Aside from all that you have done to try and strip me of my happiness with him, and drain his spirit for life, you have failed, miserably.

You may get him down and out every now and again, and you may have me up worrying and crying for all that he may be missing out on. A childhood where he sometimes needs to say “I can’t run and play today with the other kids because I have asthma”.

I wanted to let you know a few things you failed to do, you failed to destroy the bond that he and I will always have. You haven’t taken away his ambition and his strive to be everything he was meant to be. And most importantly, despite all the oxygen you have deprived him of, he is the smartest 3.5 year old little boy and only getting smarter!

If that isn’t the biggest flip of the bird from him to you, I don’t know what is!

You really should think next time you bring another baby into the world before they are ready, because they will give you a run for your money!

Have a nice day!

Sincerely,
Erin, mother to a precious preemie.

Dancing In My Heart

Posted on January 24, 2012 Written by Tonya

I am delighted to have Kim of Mama’s Monologues as my guest for Letters For You today.

Kim has three boys, a baby on the way and yet still finds time to write from the heart and occasionally enlist her husband in some of the most hilarious vlogs for VlogTalk!

Kim is here today with an endearing letter to her grandfather, a man she clearly admires and misses every single day.

Dear Pop-Pop,

It’s been over 6 years since we’ve said our goodbyes. Some days it feels like you were just here with me. Other days the pain is so fierce and so strong that it feels as though it’s been a lifetime since I have seen your face.

I miss your smile and your deep hearty laugh. I miss your confidence and your sureness.

I miss our talks and your advice. I miss your eagerness to hear the next tale from my heart.

I miss our rides on the Ferris wheel, being stuck at the top, overlooking the ocean. I miss feeding peanuts to the seagulls on the boardwalk. I miss being taught how to play Frogger on the Atari in your rec room.

I miss hearing about our family history, your war stories, and how you fell in love with Mom-Mom. I miss watching you do the Mummer’s strut.

I miss hearing you rant about the Phillies losing to the Mets, calling them bums, declaring you’ve given up on them, yet tuning in to the very next game routing them on.

I miss watching your eyes sparkle as you watched my first born play. I miss watching the love radiate from you in complete awe of him.

There are so many things that I miss about you, Pop-Pop.

But most of all, I miss that you are not here.

I wish you could have been there to see me walk down the aisle on my wedding day. I wish I could have danced with you that evening.

I wish you could be here to meet my youngest boys, and in a few months, hold the newest addition to our family.

I wish you could be here. To hold, to hug, to talk to, to share with, and to love.

But I know that in a special way, you are. You’re here watching us, guiding us, and smiling down on us.

So for now, I will celebrate. Celebrate the life you led, the love you gave, the joy you brought, and the legacy that will live on.

Pop-Pop, I love you, with all of my heart and soul. Thank you for being who you are and loving me for who I am.

I hope you are dancing with Mom-Mom up there. You will dance in my heart, forever.

Love always,

Your granddaughter

Blah, Blah, Blah

Posted on January 17, 2012 Written by Tonya

Everyone knows Liz, she is the wonderful voice behind a belle, a bean & a chicago dog and co-founder of Eli | Rose Social Media, LLC, the most helpful social media Web site around!

I am very proud to have Liz as my guest today with a letter that I hope she will STRONGLY consider hand delivering the next time she encounters this out-of-touch, insecure, boastful mom.

Dear Mom at Gymnastics,

Sitting up in the viewing area, I hear moms make what I’d consider to be unnecessary comments about their kids from time to time. You can tell when some moms worry that others are seeing their child perform not at their best during gymnastics class. Not that I condone that behavior, but it’s something I can tolerate.

You and your over-the-top bragging, on the other hand, are completely intolerable. I feel sorry for the woman you vaguely recognized and then lassoed into a 15 minute show-off session about how amazing and out-of-this world spectacular your 7th grader is. I also feel sorry for your younger daughter who was trying out that gymnastics class; you made it very, very clear that she is your “difficult” child because her grades and lesser number of extracurricular activities aren’t as impressive as your 7th grader’s.

It’s such a shame when one of our children doesn’t make us feel like an incredible mom when we talk about them, isn’t it?

Now for your 7th grader? I don’t care that she’s (supposedly) never made even 1 B in her whole entire life. I don’t care that you want to send her to the most – in your eyes – prestigious private high school because “each student has their own counselor and by the time they graduate, they have a whole portfolio to show off to prospective colleges.” Oh, and thanks for mentioning that “everyone who goes to St. Agnes goes onto college because you wouldn’t go to a school like that if you weren’t.”

Competitive cheerleading? — Blah.

A role in a play? — So what?

You having her sit for the SAT even though she’s only in 7th grade “because colleges will start to track her now”? — You.make.me.sick.

You and your stuck-up 7th grader can gloat all you want because I’m putting my money on your “difficult” child being the happiest, most secure and most normal one in the bunch.

Chew on that for a bit, won’t you?

Signed,

The Average Mom who Feels Sorry for your Extreme Insecurity

A Moment Of Grace

Posted on January 10, 2012 Written by Tonya

I always know what I’m going to get when I visit These Little Waves; a welcome pause from my hectic day and demanding tot, a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart and a smile on my face.

Galit writes the way I hope to someday. Her words are tender and delicious, inviting and rich with description and full of life. Galit’s letter this week is no exception. I dare you to read it and not come away feeling a little warmer from the inside out.

I am very honored to have my friend here today sharing a single moment that helped her through her early days of motherhood.

Dear Beth,

I know that’s your name even though we’ve hardly spoken. Our teaching days were busy and our schedules were different, but I remember you.

We passed in the halls and nodded our Good Mornings. Your flowing dresses, plum colored hair, and black tinted nails a sharp contrast to my crisp lines and sharp edges.

You were vivid.

I think “new” is the best word to describe how I was then. New Minnesotan, new teacher, new mom.

Every week, my lesson plans were thoroughly penned and strictly followed. I wanted to know exactly what to expect – in everything I did.

Motherhood stretched that shade of my skin.

One time, you witnessed this.

Jason brought the girls to school for a visit

Kayli was three-ish and a rule follower, Chloe was one-ish and anything but.

She was mid-tantrum when you walked by.

Belly down, arms flailing, legs kicking, voice rising.

And I? Was lost. Blushing, sweating, tearing. Lost.

I was kneeling next to Chloe when the scent of your perfume, flowers and sunshine and all that is strong, caught me. In return, you caught my eye.

Shoulder back, chin up, smile wide. “Two?” You asked.

“Very.” I answered, brushing a strand of my hair behind one ear when what I really wanted to do was pull it forward, hide behind it.

But you didn’t let me.

You reached for my hand and said, “So been there.” And with one squeeze, you went on, your fuschia parting the way.

I’ve kept that moment of grace wrapped in my heart.

You opened my eyes, didn’t let me take myself too seriously, and reminded me of all that is kindness and all that is grace.

And for that? I thank you, and remember you.

Galit

The Golden Years

Posted on January 3, 2012 Written by Tonya

A couple of months ago, Rachel of Mommy Needs a Vacation shared a beautiful letter for my series, Letters For You called One Tear.

Rachel wrote a heart wrenching letter to her father, Stinson, whom she was afraid of losing the year before.

Stinson read his daughter’s letter for the first time the day it ran here was compelled to respond.

I am extremely honored to share his words to his daughter with all of you today.

Dear Rachel,

I’ve had a chance to read the letter you wrote several times today. Each time I read it, it brings me to tears. It is not only well written but so obviously heartfelt and sincere. It is a treasure I will covet the rest of my life.

I very much enjoyed this past week when all of you were here. It was a wonderful week in which there were so many special moments with each of you individually as well as a family as a whole. More times than I can tell you during this past week, I thought about the last time you were here with Sadie and Tyler (June 2010). That wasn’t nearly as good a visit because as you know, I was only days away from back surgery and in horrific pain the whole time you were here. It was almost impossible to enjoy the kids on that visit because of the pain although I do remember that the kids were both sweet in their own way and seemed to understand I wasn’t feeling good. There were times they each made me forget about the pain—Sadie asking if I had my yogurt and bread for dinner and Tyler crawling at the speed of light across the room after who knows what.

This past week was a stark contrast to your previous visit. Whether it was Sadie or Tyler asking to use my iPad, hugs in the morning and at bedtime, the expression on Sadie’s face when “driving” the golf cart or Tyler reaching for me the afternoon I got him up from his nap, so many moments generated special memories of fun times and represented the blessings of a life I almost lost. Sharing some of the best wine I have collected over the years with you was something I had dreamed about when you were Tyler’s age but little did I know at the time that the enjoyment of wine would become a shared passion.

Playing golf with you and Josh was something I couldn’t have fathomed in June 2010. Getting to play golf with Josh so many times during the week was wonderful not only because it was fun but because it was special to spend some one on one time with my son-in-law and rejoice in the fact that he is the father of my grandchildren and husband of my daughter. More times than I can recount, you confirmed how good a mother you are and why you have been one of my most cherished pride and joys for over half of my life. I shall never forget the expression on your face when Sadie and I walked in from “playing” golf. You could tell we had a great time before anything was said and without saying so, your expression revealed that you knew she had enjoyed the time with her grandfather.

Life is a gift that becomes more and more precious with time. When you come as close as I did to losing it, as you so aptly expressed in your letter, it becomes all the more precious as experienced last week. Your mother and I are, I suppose, in what is often called the “golden years” and you, Josh, Sadie and Tyler are a big part of why they really and truly are “golden.”

I love you all,
Dad

One very happy grandpa, Christmas 2011

Reflections

Posted on December 31, 2011 Written by Tonya

The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection. – Thomas Paine

As I took down our Christmas decorations yesterday, I thought about my year. As always, it was full of ups and downs, sweet memories and milestones, moments I wish could have lasted forever and days that I would never want to relive. All I could think is I hope 2012 has more of the same. Well maybe a few more ups than downs.

One of the many reasons I love having a blog is the chronicling of my life, which in large part revolves around my sweet boy, Lucas. Letters For Lucas is a place where I can share my thoughts and receive an abundance of support, no matter what the subject matter.

My 2011 recap would not be complete without mentioning my weekly series, Letters For You, which I launched in September. I am so proud to host this series and I’m constantly overwhelmed by its warm response.

This year, I attended my first two blog conferences and was finally able to meet many of the women that have meant so much to me in the blogging world and am pleased to now call IRL (in real life) friends.

I enjoyed going back and re-reading my 2011 posts and had a lot of fun choosing these photos and my favorites, all that I feel sum up my year.

Click each photo to find my favorite Letters For Lucas post from that month.

Please enjoy and however you choose to ring in the new year, be blessed.