Lucky 7!


Dear Pony,

Yesterday we celebrated your seventh trip around the sun by going to Universal Studios with Maisy, your BFF. Your Dad took all of us and even got the express passes! It was super fun.  We thought the wands would be a hit at Harry Potter but that love affair lasted about as long as most do. Our first ride was the Griffin “Family Friendly” rollercoaster that scared the crap out of you and Maisy. BUT! You both did butterfly hugs and arm sweeps and helped yourselves calm down! So we didn’t do any more scary rides, and we still had a blast. We ate hot dogs and chips. The cotton candy was bigger than your head! All of us loved the animal show the best. Afterward, we had pizza and ice cream at your Dad’s with Sean and Eamonn and Maisy, of course. You swam and played and opened presents. You don’t like cake. Or cupcakes. Won’t eat them. But you LOVE mint chip ice cream! Which is fine by me. You barely weigh 40 pounds and have the cutest pot belly on the planet. I never want it to go away.

I am in Sacramento at the moment. I flew up here to teach some inmates in a prison how to do council. You are with your Dad and I miss you terribly. I miss your goofy toothed smile. Your singsong voice. And of course, that pot belly. I love that we still sleep together. That every morning you wrap your chicken legs around my waist and your arms around my neck and we snuggle on the couch for a minute, before starting the day, simply breathing together. Your small hands play with my hair behind my head and I can feel your warm morning breath on my shoulder. It is my resource. My number one resource. I go to it all day. Throughout the day. Reminding me that everything is okay in the world, if even for a little bit.

I don’t think I will ever get used to sharing you. If I could, I would have you all of the time, but that wouldn’t be fair to you and your Dad. So share you I must. See, I have this thing, which I hope to God you don’t have, it’s called Attachment Trauma from when I was a baby and a kid and it haunts me. I am anxious about all attachments and that includes you. And Sean. I struggle. It’s hard for people that are closest to me and makes me feel “cray cray” sometimes. But still, I persevere. I am old enough now to understand that it may never fully go away, so I find ways to live with it and I am more or less successful, depending on the moon.

You are a sensitive creature, my love. And I GET IT. I totally DO!! It’s intense going through the world being so sensitive. I see myself in you that way. When we were watching the documentary about planet earth and they sacrificed the sheep in Indonesia by throwing it over the volcano cliff (an epic parenting fail, on my part) you immediately burst out in horror for that poor sheep. You empathized so deeply. I try to give you tools to deal with your sensitivity; butterfly hugs, arm sweeps, and tremoring. You seem to like them all. And I love when you try them out and tell me which one is working best. If you learn how to be resilient to this thing called life, then I will have done my job. And unfortunately, that usually requires some adversity. SOME. Not a lot. Please. Not a lot. But a little is okay. Right???

Okay- I gotta go. I only got three hours of sleep last night because I took the latest plane out of Burbank to get to Sacramento so I wouldn’t miss any of your birthday party and it landed me here around 1am.

I am knackered. But I had a good day with the inmates and I am lucky I get to do what I get to do. Another thing I wish for you, that you have meaningful work that supports you and feeds your soul. I feel hugely successful for that.

I love you the most possible. And I always will.


Don’t Change

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Dear Little P,

Where do I start??? I am so madly in love with you. You are the most fascinating, funny, bright, sensitive, and empathetic human I know. You are my favorite person on the planet, by far. I love our pillow talks at night before I sing you to bed. You tell me everything that is going on in your world and the sound of your voice trilling along excitedly is like music to my ears.

Your top front teeth are wiggly. I am anticipating and dreading slightly, those two babies falling out. It will change your speech and your smile so much. And not in a bad way at all, just in a “growing up” way that I am not always ready for. Someone once said it so perfectly, I wish I knew when the “last” was so I could relish it. I don’t remember the last time you asked me to wipe your butt for you, but I do remember thinking, I can’t wait until she doesn’t need me to do that! And now, here we are, months into me not wiping your butt and I miss it! I would have treasured that last time if I had known! I probably rushed through it, oblivious to the sanctity of the moment. Oh, to take back the last poo wipe.

This is what it is.

Being a Mom.

A continual letting go.

By the way, you are an AMAZING reader! I am so proud of you! And you want to quit the violin. You want to try piano.

One last story and I will shut-up for now; you and I were walking home from school and you said that you made a promise to yourself that day that you would help all the kids in class with their reading who didn’t know as much as you.

You are so thoughtful. Wonderful. Warm.

I love you mountains and oceans and universes.