You take my breath away....

Dearest Mia,

 

My letter to you on your seventh birthday is belated, a whole month belated.  Sometimes I want to collapse into your tiny strong arms and tell you how hard it is at times to be a modern woman - the professional and personal demands so great at times it feels overwhelming.  The fact that this birthday letter to you is a month late might just be that metaphorical collapse.  Here I am snuggled in your embrace, confessing that this life - this glorious and beautiful life - is at times just too much and things, important things like this letter, get lost in the shuffle. 

 

You are seven now and you take my breath away.  You take my breath away when you giggle and turn slightly red at mature jokes, a flush of embarrassment rising in you.  Either you are embarrassed at the content of the joke (that I probably shouldn't be sharing) or you are embarrassed by the maturity you have in that you understand it. 

 

You take my breath away when you dismount from the vault in gymnastics, with your tiny back arched and your little arms dancing above your head with your hands folded into perfect little finials to your forearms, you chin the last thing to rise - slightly defiant but confident.   

 

You take my breath away when you come downstairs at least seven times a night after bedtime quietly gathering a new supply for something you are creating in your room by yourself.  "I just need some scissors" you'll say as you skitter across the floor searching for the right pair.  "I just need glitter and a hole punch" you'll say as you dart downstairs into the basement, resurfacing with the things you need.  You take my breath away, and my patience truth be told. 

 

You take my breath away when you confront me.  The other day I expressed my disgust at the filthy state of your bathroom and I told you that I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings but I just had to tell you that you were treating that room like a pigsty.  You snuck down that night, in between looking for scissors and glitter, and you said, "Mom, I have a question to ask you.  And it's a hard one.  Why did you tell me my bathroom looked like a pigsty if you knew it would hurt my feelings?  I would have understood if you didn't know it would hurt, but you knew it would hurt and you said it anyway."  I was speechless.  Breathless.  And humbled.  I am lucky to have someone hold me so accountable.  I am forever grateful to you Mia for being such a barometer of decency. 

 

You take my breath away when you look at me with those laser blue eyes, and search my face for truth. 

 

You take my breath away when you pull your pretty wheat colored hair into a pony tail and pull on your running shoes and declare that you just need time outside. 

 

You take my breath away when you share things from school, even small encounters, and seek guidance, or counsel. 

 

Mia Frances (you like to be called that at times, and sometimes sign your name with a big scrolly M and F), you are a beautiful and tender kid.  A lovely and thoughtful spirit.  I am honored to be with you on this journey and I hope you always consider me a friend...a source for an inappropriate joke or a place of comfort and advice professionally and personally.  I see our relationship shifting already and at times I'm seeking you out for knowledge and advice.  Just the other day, the receptionist at the pediatrician's office said, "Wow...Meghan and Mia...twins."  I was quick to jump in and say, "I am so deeply flattered that you see some of me in her.  She's pretty spectacular.   She simply takes my breath away." 

 

And you do Mia....you take my breath away. 

 

I love you so much and hope for lots of growth in this next year.  Don't ever stop questioning and challenging.  It will be a life well lived if you wonder deeply about it all. 

 

Yours always,
Mom

 

 

 

 

iphone update

We had a really really great fall break.  We did nothing, which was a perfect respite from a season of doing everything.  Mia and I had a great lunch date one afternoon.  She is blossoming into such a fun conversationalist. 

 

We discovered UNO and other card games and played more games than I care to admit.  In our sweatpants. 

This is the kids just before we released them into the wilds to begin trick or treating.  V shared his childhood memory of pulling kitchen chairs by the clock in his kitchen growing up to watch the numbers slowly tick to six, indicating it was show time.  Mia and Luca loved the tale and pulled up their chairs to watch the microwave clock. 

We went to Nana's and the kids found several sets of her reading glasses.  Mia now is insisting on a pair of "fashion glasses" because she thinks they look so cute.  I'm getting a pair too!  Three cheers to smart looking women, and the little girls that actually want to emulate them! 

Mia was the class reporter last week, over Veteran's Day.  She found an article on the Veteran's Day parade here in town and wrote about it.  She told me she was sad Papa wasn't here anymore because she would have invited him to her Veteran's Day celebration at school. 

This one breaks my heart into a million tiny stars.  This is the scene I still find in Luca's room when I go in to do a final check at night.  He tucks that sweet doggy in tight next to him, and carries him down in the morning for a show and some breakfast.  That dog....truly Luca's most special friend.  In moments of exhaustion and annoyance, I've tried to modify Luca's behavior with empty threats of no treats, no TV, no games, no toys....but none of those threats work.  One day, in a moment that causes me shame to admit, I said I would take Doggy.  I will never forget Luca's expression, and I will never forget the deep regret I felt after saying it.  Luca cried, "You can do anything....but you cannot take Doggy."  I hugged him tight right then and there and apologized profusely.  To threaten to remove the love of one's life....unthinkable. 

Homework

Bijou is a good girl.  She takes all the "love" that Luca doles out and then seeks the quieter gentler child to cuddle up with while she does homework.  Mia could do work for hours.  She loves to sit and read, work on math, or practice spelling words.  She'll get comfy on the couch, often with Bijou, and study.   

Halloween

Luca as a policeman.

Mia as a flamenco dancer. 

It's a tradition every Halloween to go to the preschool for the annual Halloween party.  This is the last time we'll be going because Luca will be in Kindergarten next year.  It was bittersweet. 

Mia loves going back to the preschool and feels very grown up next to the "little kids". 

The class as they head out on the parade around the school campus.