Letters For You

My Sweet Ethan

Posted on December 27, 2011 Written by Tonya

Many of you may not know this, but Natalie (Mommy of a Monster) and I go way back. In a former life, long before either of us had children, let alone a blog, we used to work together at a very hip advertising agency.

I liked Natalie from the moment I met her and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was the human resources manger and we were reviewing my new employee paperwork.

Natalie is “good people”, as they say and we connected on may levels, but most notably through our love of reading. We exchanged books back in the day and have shared must-read titles ever since.

We have long since moved on from the agency and started families and the rest is sort of cyber history. While we may have lost touch over the years, I am proud to call Natalie a friend and confidant and I am overjoyed to have her close out my Letters For You series for the year.

Natalie is a good mom, too and her letter to her eldest son, Ethan is heartbreaking and chocked full of mommy guilt. I know I can relate, can you?

My Sweet Ethan,

I can’t believe how big you are already. It seems like just yesterday I found out that you were growing in my belly, our tiny miracle that we had been waiting for after so many years of trying to have a baby. You are and always will be my true love and the biggest wish that I ever had granted.

Four years old. Already.

I have a confession to make to you right now, one you won’t be able to understand for many, many years. I feel like I am a bad mom. I feel like I’m neglecting you somehow, not giving you the time and attention you need and deserve. Your sisters are only two years old, and they demand a lot more of my attention throughout the hours of the day. I know I say “not now”, “later”, and “I’m too tired” way more often than I should, and even more often than I’m sure you want to hear.

Sometimes, after your sisters have both spent the last thirty minutes taking turns throwing fits while I’m in the middle of cleaning or cooking dinner, you ask me for something…sometimes it’s something as small as a quick read of your favorite book or for me to turn on your favorite cartoon. And I snap. I snap because I’m tired and at the end of my rope. You don’t understand any of this, and I am working on reminding myself of this and reprimanding myself when I realize that I’ve done it yet again.

I need you, my sweet boy. I want you to always love me and feel comforted by me. Yet I’m afraid that I’m pushing you away. I am having a hard time trying to figure out how to give you and your sisters all that you need without losing the person that I am. I don’t want it to be this way. I am really trying to be more patient and to give you more of me. Please know how important you are to me and how much you mean to me. Please know that I am doing the best I can. Please know that being yours and Lila and Mia’s mommy is much harder than I thought it would be. Please know that I want to be a better mom and that I want to be able to give you my all. Please know that I know that I’m not succeeding right now, but that I really am trying.

Please know that I love you with every ounce of my soul.

Someday, you will be a dad and I am sure you will nod your head as you are reading this because you will understand. Until then, I promise you that I will try harder. I love you, E.

Mom

To My Mother-In-Law

Posted on December 13, 2011 Written by Tonya

Jessica of Four Plus an Angel is one of my favorite bloggers.

Her loss is as deep and wide as her strength is fierce and admirable and her words never fail to take my breath away.

I am so honored to have Jessica here today sharing a letter to her mother-in-law.

To my mother-in-law,

I wonder how common it is for women to feel the tug to write to their mother-in-law as I do. Our relationship is certainly not average and, although there are many things I wish were different between us, there are no limits to what I want to thank you for.

Your son rarely talks about his childhood. I never push but once in a while find memories to paint my own picture of the mom you were. Our similarities begin with steamy mugs of tea and getting lost in books and I wish I knew where they end.

As much as I live my life through the written word, I find myself at a loss in trying to explain my gratitude to you. I remember the first memory my husband shared of you, reaching for your wig after a fall, not wanting your children to see you in such a state.

Seeing your son in my sons allows me a glimpse of the childhood you watched unfold and I wonder if there is a time you knew. If there was a day you looked at your son and knew you would never see him graduate or you lifted your daughter and knew you would not choose her next Christmas dress. I wonder how you lived with such pain and yet left your son with only visions of your strength.

In so many ways I feel I know you, although we have never met. The respect for women you instilled in your son, the familiar red hair that streaks through my daughter’s curls and the amazing pieces of your nurturing my husband delivers carefully to our own children.

Navigating the intricacies of motherhood, I am in awe of the legacy you left behind. That the path you started for your son led him to me and to fatherhood and to unending patience and overflowing love. That the love you were able to pour into a fraction of your children’s lives has carried them to the point they are today.

I can only imagine the mother you must have been and the grandmother you are to my daughter, as she sits contently in arms that were empty for far too long.

Sending you so much love,

Your daughter-in-law

My favorite picture of my mother-in-law, visiting Santa at age 4.

Dear Pops

Posted on December 6, 2011 Written by Tonya

I love Katie and one of the highlights of my year this year was not only meeting her at BlogHer but rooming with her too. I adore her easy going personality and her beautiful words at Sluiter Nation.

I am so very pleased to have Katie here today with a touching letter to a father-in-law she never had.

Dear Steve…

No. no. that is not right. Let me try again.

Dear Slippery…

No. That is not right either.

Dear Pops…

That is better, I guess. Though I never was able to get comfortable calling you anything. That time was stolen from both of us.

It’s not fair that you were taken less than two months after I joined the family.

But you know that too. So I am not going to spend time on it.

I want to tell you things. I often start, but don’t know how to continue. I never got that one on one time to find my voice with you. I don’t know what our conversation would sound like.

I want you to know that Cortney is doing everything he can to make you proud. He takes care of me and his siblings. He reaches out to both his sister and brother to let them know he is there for them. He keeps up with his step-mom the way you wanted.

And last Christmas he was there to be the head of our family when your dad…our Gramps…died.

He knows he is the eldest generation now, and that is a heavy load to bear.

But he is not the last.

I want you to know about your oldest grandson, Eddie. But you already know about him, don’t you?

I know that you do because I see your silliness…your dimples…your spirit in him. I know Cort does too because it makes him smile a sad smile at times.

And I get a feeling Eddie knows you too.

Maybe it’s the way he points you, Papa, out in photos.

Maybe it’s how he tells me Louis, the cat, went to live with Jesus…and Papa…in Heaven.

Maybe it’s just the look in his eye.

Often times, Cort teases Eddie and tickles him until he gasps for breath, and when I tell him to stop, he says, “my dad did this and I lived.”

I know he thinks of you often and wishes he could go through this dad thing with you by his side. I know he would like to show off his boy to his dad.

Especially because we’ve got another son on the way. Charlie will be here in March.

Two Sluiter boys to carry on the name.

Will Charlie be as “Sluiter” as Eddie is?

Will I see you in the sparkle in his eyes too?

Will I see the past, present, and future of both Cort and me all at once like I do in Eddie?

What I do know, is that I wish you were here.

For Cort.

For the boys.

For me.

I miss something I never really had.

A father-in-law.

Love,

Kates

A Letter To Santa

Posted on November 29, 2011 Written by Tonya

I am so excited to have one of my favorite bloggers here today with a letter to Santa!

This week’s Letters For You guest is the incomparable, Gigi, also known as Kludgy Mom.

Gigi is one of the most knowledgeable and generous bloggers I know and I’m proud to call her a friend and practically a neighbor. Okay, not really, but she does live in the same state and I am going to see her in the flesh very soon. Right, Gigi?!

Dear Santa,

Let me start this letter by saying thank you for granting all of my wishes from last year’s Christmas. Well, most of them anyway. I’m still waiting for you to eliminate the wrinkles on my face and the fat balls on my thighs. What’s the deal? Do you consider cosmetic items too vain?

So let’s get to this year’s list.

Gigi’s 2012 Christmas List

1. I wish that my children would give a crap when there is dirt under their fingernails and toenails. Also, that they would give a crap about flushing the toilet and not leaving toothpaste blobs the size of Kim Kardashian’s ass on the bathroom counter.

2. I wish that you could take care of that noxious smell that comes out of my elderly dog.

3. I have a few reality TV wishes. I wish that you could tell Mark Burnett to move Survivor back to Thursday nights. This whole Wednesday night thing really throws me off. Also, tell the producers of The Amazing Race to stop putting ex-Survivor cast members on their show. It’s getting old. Can you tell Padma Lakshmi of Top Chef to stop talking like she has a giant piece of salami shoved between her top front teeth and the inside of her lip? And what can we do about Giggy on the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? Because that dog bugs.

4. I would appreciate very much if you could have that PR person for Avon stop sending me requests to publicize their really odd singing contest.

5. I wish that our neighbor across the street, who my husband has affectionately dubbed Hillbilly Bob, would only park 3 cars in front of our house each night instead of the current 6. If this is not doable, can you please have one of the 6 cars “accidentally” run over our other neighbor’s Basset Hound, who howls mournfully nonstop from sunup to sundown? Thanks.

6. I wish that pedicures would last forever, my roots didn’t need constant touching up, there was one pair of jeans in the universe that fit me well, and there was no need – ever – for a bikini wax.

7. I wish that you could arrange for there to be no more Elves on the Shelves. I’ve already disappointed my children and dashed their Christmas hopes by forgetting to move Mr. Snowflake last night. I simply can’t handle the pressure of moving that damn thing every night for a month. Plus, the elf is creepy. Also, why are his legs glued together? He should be poseable, like Gumby. Or Barbie, but without the boobs.

8. I wish that my husband would just get the idea that I love presents and that even if he doesn’t want a present on a holiday, I still do. And I want it to be fabulous (meaning, not wrapped in a Wal-Mart bag).

Well, Santa, I guess that’s it for this year. I hope you don’t think I’m greedy. I tried to keep my list to only the bare essentials. I know you’re really busy, so, feel free to skip getting my kids anything this year so you can devote time to my list. I’m sure they won’t mind!

Hugs and Kisses,
Gigi

Letters To KLZ

Posted on November 15, 2011 Written by Tonya

My Letters For You guest this week is the very pregnant KLZ, otherwise known as, Kristin, who writes the hilarious blog Taming Insanity and if that isn’t enough, she is also one of the co-founders of Eli Rose Social Media.

Plus, she can rock a pair of reindeer antlers like nobody’s business!

Dear 8 year old self: that perm is a terrible idea. At least do us all a favor and if you do forge ahead and get it, please destroy all visual evidence.

Dear 13 year old self: just because you saw a model wear nearly black lipstick does not mean it is fashionable nor does it mean you can pull it off. You’re making an ass of us and you’re too stubborn to admit it.

Dear 16 year old self: stand up for yourself now or your feelings will get so pent up that they’ll explode. Trying to be “nice” is going to backfire.

Dear 17 year old self: I didn’t mean stand up for yourself quite that much. That’s what I meant about things backfiring. PS the shade of lipstick you’re wearing now is fine. Keep it.

Dear 18 year old self: yes, your hair has some wave but you can’t pull off “curly” or really even “wavy”. You are the only one buying this hairstyle as legitimate.

Dear 20 year old self: get over him.

Dear 21 year old self: slow down. Bigger things are coming.

Dear 23 year old self: marry him. Even though he’s going to make you want to stab him sometimes, you will get back more than you ever expected.

Dear 26 year old self: you’re welcome.

Dear 28 year old self: you’re overwhelmed because you take too much on. You expect too much of yourself. Also, you’re welcome.

Dear 30 year old self: no big deal.

Dear 39 year old self: be careful. You have a teenager.

Dear 40 year old self: still no big deal.

Dear 50 year old self: Seriously, this age stuff is no big deal. What is a big deal is that some of your kids are out of college now.

Dear 53 year old self: If you’re concerned about the way that your ass looks, go to the gym and quit whining. Even I can’t stand listening to you.

Dear 67 year old self: Life happens outside of books too. Be sure to get out there and live, you dumb slut.

Dear 80 year old self: You better not have messed this up for us.

Since You’ve Been Gone

Posted on November 8, 2011 Written by Tonya

My Letters For You guest this week is my sister Leah, who also blogs at L.A. ‘n’ L.A.

Our mother would have celebrated her 62nd birthday this week and here is a letter to our parents.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I miss you both every day. There’s nothing in life that I want more right now then to see the two of you. A couple weeks ago was the fourth anniversary of your deaths. It frightens me how long you’ve really been gone. You’ve been gone for 1,486 days of my life so far.

There’s so much that I want to tell you. There’s so much that you have missed.

Ultimately, I believe that your deaths changed me. I’ve grown up since you died. I guess I had no choice. I honestly don’t think that I’m your “Little Leah” anymore.

About two years after you died, I moved to Los Angeles. It was time for a change and as you know, I had wanted to move here for a long time. Something else pushed me into moving and that was that Tonya had a baby! That’s right, your oldest daughter has a beautiful baby boy who I cherish more than anything in this world. He brought me back to life after you died.

Lucas is his name and he has your eyes, Daddy. I take so much pride in being his aunt and I do my best to make sure he knows how much he is loved. Tonya and I talk to him about you both all the time and he recognizes your faces in pictures. At 2 years old, there is no one that can make me smile quite like Lucas. There is no doubt in my mind that you would have made excellent grandparents and I’m sorry that you didn’t get that opportunity.

It’s still crazy to me that my big sister is a mother. You would be so proud of her. She’s amazing. Tonya manages to not only be my key support system, but also the most incredible mom. She is so patient and loving. It’s unfair that you are not here to witness her shine in this role. I think that it would have rejuvenated your relationship with her, mom. I really do.

Without you both here guiding and supporting me through life’s ups and downs, I have leaned on Tonya at times of need. I do my best to listen to her and trust her advice. Of course we aren’t perfect and we still bicker from time to time but I do think that we are becoming better sisters and better friends all the time. There is no one that I would have rather had at my side when you died. I like to think that we get each other through the bad moments.

Since moving to L.A., I have struggled to get a job in the music industry. After you died, the economy took a plunge and the music business has been weakened. Finally this past August, I landed a job at a small radio marketing company. I also nanny for a family and have even discovered a new calling in the photography world. I have made some incredible new friends and have even found many high school and college friends that live here in L.A. too. Simply put, I am happy with my life here and I’m so glad that I moved here. Through it all, each day, I strive to make you proud of me. I try so hard to be the daughter that you thought I was becoming. I often wonder if this is the life that you hoped that I would have at 27 years old.

Even after four years, I still catch myself questioning if you are both really gone. I look for signs of you everywhere. I can’t hear a Beatles song, eat a Snickers, walk by a Build-a-Bear store, drink a Diet Dr. Pepper or do so many other things without thinking of you two. I’m touched every time someone says that I remind them of you.

I’m still so angry at you, or rather the hot water heater in your house. I was robbed of so much time with you. It breaks my heart thinking that you won’t get to meet my future husband, be at my wedding or play with my children. These are just the big events. The little ones hurt just the same. I hear people talk about what awful relationships they have with their parents and how they aren’t close. I understand now that what we had was rare. I was very lucky to have such close relationships with you both. Of course, mom, you and I both know we had more. We were best friends too. I literally can’t breathe from sadness sometimes when I think of how much I miss you in my life.

I feel like an orphan. I don’t think that is going to ever go away. It’s a title that I’ve somehow gotten used to and I’m alright with that. If I had one more hour with you both, all I would tell you is that I love you more than words will ever be able to express. I am so eternally grateful for the life that you gave me. You are in my heart today, tomorrow and always.

Lovingly your daughter,
Leah

August 4, 2007, one of our last family photographs.

One Tear

Posted on November 1, 2011 Written by Tonya

If you’re looking for a great mommy juice er… I mean, Cabernet, Merlot, Shiraz, or Chardonnay, Rachel is your gal. Her wine column on Momtastic is awesome!

Rachel also has her own blog, Mommy Needs a Vacation and I am happy to have her (straight off a Hawaiian vacation) as my Letters For You guest today with a beautiful and heartfelt letter to her father.

Dear Dad,

Tuesday, August 24, 2010 was one of the longest days of my life. Not only did it involve a long plane flight, it involved the most worry I had endured in my life. You had been lying in an ICU hospital bed for ten days and were now on life support. Your body invaded with infection; MRSA infection, in your lungs, in your spine. We still did not know if it was in your heart. The flight was a long one.

I stepped off the airplane in Hawaii and was immediately overcome with the hot, sticky air. Yet, I was cold, with a shiver that I could not shake. On the way from the airport to the hospital, my younger brother John explained your condition to me in more detail. He told me about the machines, the beeps, and the tubes. I had experience visiting a loved one in the ICU before when Sadie was born, but I knew this time would be different.

As I made my way through the hospital, I tried to hold my head up, stay strong and most of all, keep my emotions at bay for Mom. I was there to see you and be by your side, but was also there to support her, be her sounding board, be a shoulder for her to cry on.

Once inside the ICU, the coolness, the sounds, and the smells were almost too much for me to withstand. I passed room after room of extremely sick people and wondered what you were going to look like. More importantly, I was worried that you would not know that I was there.

I worried that I was too late.

As I entered your ICU room, the sight of you took my breath away. Lying there, helpless with IV’s, tubes and the giant breathing tube down your throat. Even though John told me it was important to approach and talk to you normally, I still hesitated.

I worried that you would never know I was there.

I worried that you wouldn’t make it.

I worried that I wouldn’t be strong enough.

I approached your bed, took your swollen hand and squeezed it tightly. John opened your eyes and told you that I was there and just for a small moment, you focused on me. You then quickly slipped back into your slumber, but not before a single tear left your eye and ran down your cheek.

It was in that one tear that I knew I was not too late.

It was in that one tear that I felt the hope grow inside of me.

It was in that one tear that I knew you would be okay.

As I sat across the table from you just this past week while visiting you in Hawaii, I couldn’t help but think about the last time I had seen you there. This time was much different. I got to enjoy your company, hug you, drink fabulous wine with you and watch you be a grandfather to my children.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for fighting for your life. Thank you for being my dad.

I love you,
Rachel

Dear Sherri

Posted on October 25, 2011 Written by Tonya

It’s no secret that I adore Sherri and her blog, Old Tweener.

Sherri is the mother I hope to be someday and she writes the way I hope to write someday. Her words are moving and eloquent, pull at my heart strings and make me appreciate every moment I have right now with Lucas. She reminds me that childhood is fleeting and children grow up way too fast.

I am thankful that I can call Sherri a friend and I am so pleased to have her here today with a beautiful letter to herself on the day she became a mother.

May 28, 1994

Dear Sherri,

Today was an amazing day in your life: the day you became a mother for the first time. We haven’t met yet, but we have a lot to talk about.

You see, I am the mother you will be after almost 18 years of parenting.

That baby boy in your arms right now seems so fragile, so helpless, and incredibly needy. Don’t worry; you’ll figure him out pretty quickly. In time, you will get to know him so well that you can almost read his mind.

Until he’s a teenager, anyway.

Once he starts talking, he will rarely stop. In fact, many of your days with him will seem like one very long question. But please listen to him, answer his questions as best you can, and really try to soak up these moments when he’s so chatty and inquisitive.

Even when you want to stock up on earplugs and convince him that the dog is smart enough to answer his science questions.

Because when he moves on to college one day his words will be few. A funny text every few days, maybe a phone call on Sundays; his voice deep and full of joy.

And you will be glad you listened when you did.

Kiss him and hug him; tickle his little feet and hold his chubby little hands. Blow some raspberries on his round little tummy and nibble on his soft baby neck.

Once he’s too old for this you will wish you’d done it more.

When he’s older, hugs will be replaced by high-fives and pats on the back, at least in public.

Those eighteen years will pass in a heartbeat or two.

Today in the hospital, as you hold that sweet little bundle in your arms I realize it’s hard to understand this part. But your job as his mother is to make yourself obsolete. Nurture him, teach him, and love him relentlessly.

But prepare to let him go.

And then do it.

Because when you do send him off to college one day he will be fine on his own. He will be able to solve his own problems; right his wrongs, make decisions, and find his own way.

And he’ll be so ready for it.

You will be fine, too…trust me, I know this for a fact now.

So get back to learning how to be a mother, how to read his cries, and what he needs from you. Be patient because it’s going to take some time.

But it’s going to seem like it took no time at all.

Love,

Sherri

Dear Grandma Honey

Posted on October 18, 2011 Written by Tonya

I’m honored to have Monique, better known on Twitter as SurferWife here today with a tender letter to her dearly departed Grandma Honey.

After reading this, be sure to visit Monique’s blog, A Day in the Life of a Surferwife and search for “celebrity encounter”. You’ll be glad you did!

Dear Grandma Honey,

Just those first three words up above create a pit in my stomach and a clenching in my throat. How do I even begin to express my gratitude and appreciation for all that you have brought to my life?

Even though you were ALuckyDame of A Beautiful Mess and also my husband’s maternal grandmother, you were still my grandma, too, in all aspects of the name. Considering I met and started loving you when I was a mere 12 years old, gives us more time spent together than I ever had with either of my own biological grandmothers, that both passed when I was a teen.

Your cute, fluffy little white hair, high pitched, little grandma voice, your happy smile and warm eyes were all crucial pieces in you becoming everybody’s adopted Grandma Honey.

From the day I met you and Grandpa Bud, more than 22 years ago, I felt an instant connection. I always felt like you genuinely cared about me and my well being. When I went off to college, I eagerly awaited your cute handmade and hand stamped holiday cards. At any family gathering, I could count on you sitting me down and asking me about every element of my life. Your many questions about what I was eating and why I was so skinny, if there were any suitable boys to date, and if I did my homework always left me with a smile on my face and a giggle in my heart.

When I came home nine years ago with my sweet baby boy Jason, you showered him with gifts and welcomed him into your life with open arms. That alone meant more than the world to me and I hope you knew that, Grandma.

And then when your beloved grandson and I announced to the world that we were an item a couple years later, you and Grandpa Bud gave your blessing and told me what a perfect match we were, and why didn’t we figure this out years before when we were kids?

We celebrated the birth of your first great-grandchild, my daughter, on the day you buried your husband. It was an honor to be such a crucial component on a day that encompassed the circle of life for you. I could see the love and admiration in your eyes every time Haley reached a milestone. Just pure and unconditional love between a grandmother and her great-granddaughter.

Our time we spent together these past six years, when I legitimately became your granddaughter through marriage, is invaluable to me. Our long chats over McDonald’s ice cream, nutty bars and many lunch outings always left me so satiated and grateful to have a grandma that was loved by so many. The bond we shared will leave an eternal smile and place in my soul.

My heart hurts terribly knowing our conversation full of giggles and gossip have come to an end on this earth. But I hold tightly to the notion that we will do it again in another universe, Grandma. Thank you for loving me the way you did. I feel like the luckiest granddaughter-in-law ever for it.

Delphine Long - September 26, 1919 - September 18, 2011

To My Sister

Posted on October 11, 2011 Written by Tonya

If you don’t know who Jessica of My Time As Mom is, you must be living under a rock.

It truly is as simple as that.

First of all, she has a wonderful blog, is ALWAYS! on Twitter, is a Social Media Specialist for Eli Rose and co-founder of Vlog Talk, a weekly vlog meme. On top of all that, she is a killer Scrabble player ( speaking as the opponent who ass she kicks all the time) and is the kindest and most helpful person I probably have ever encountered.

I am so happy to have Jessica here today sharing a letter to her sister, Victoria.

To My Sister,

We have always been opposites.

From our hair to our shoes to our personalities.

The expressions salt and pepper and night and day have been used to describe us many times.

We have had our ups and downs in life.

We have laughed over stupid jokes and mom’s hair.

We have cried over the loss of family members and other things that I can’t remember.

We went many months without speaking to each other.

But we have always been sisters.

And we will always be sisters.

I know we don’t talk as often as we should and I don’t tell you I love enough.

But I do and my life wouldn’t be the same without you.

Although if I was you, I would recommend that you not listen to me the next time I tell you to shove a sock in your mouth.

My Sweet Ethan

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