Kate, You’re 10!

Oh my Kate,

From my own mother-daughter relationship, I am aware how different daughters can be from mothers. I’ll never forget the look on my pharmacist’s mother’s face when, in fourth grade, I told her I wanted to be a writer.

But even so, I am still surprised at how very different you are from me. You are extroverted to the extreme. You have 107 best friends, including about 27 “besties.” When you tell me about your day, you go on long stream-of-consciousness ramblings that, more likely than not, stray into tall tale territory. You have fantastical stories about your friends, your school day, your life.

You are wildly silly, especially at the dinner table. You giggle yourself into hiccoughs most evenings. Some days, I find it exhausting but some days I find the energy to laugh along. You are affronted easily; for all your goofiness, you do want to be taken seriously. You don’t like being ignored, and you *really* don’t like being criticized. You have some thin skin, my dear.

As has always been the case, you have a lot of energy. You like gymnastics, and you are talking about taking up basketball. You are certainly tall enough! Your birthday outing will be to a roller skating rink for the second year in a row. You have managed to find several friends who have trampolines in their backyards, and we are all grateful for that.

You are easily affectionate, and you still like to cuddle up. You are managing being alone better; I think the Kindle helps with that. You are the only one who can manage Michael sometimes, a fact that Flora and I both find amazing. He listens to you; you can calm him down. I think sometimes it is because you can give him 100 percent of the attention he is craving, while Flora is impatient with him, and I am tending to him in a distracted state more than half the time.

While you are an indifferent student, you aren’t dumb. You are liked at school for your outgoing personality and your willingness to participate and help. You like to do well, but you aren’t thrown off when a grade is a B- instead of an A. You are in the chorus and you play, with much enthusiasm, the alto sax. If there was ever an instrument to fit your personality, it is the alto sax.

You want to take care of things. Getting you a gecko was a wise move; something on which you can lavish your love and attention; something to focus your responsible nature on. I think you will be a good pet owner.

You and I have fewer conflicts now than we have had in the past. I am adjusting to the fact that you are always going to live louder than I will, that your boundaries will always be bigger, that you wear your heart on your sleeve (much like your daddy). You will tend more toward impulsiveness than quiet introspection. My job is to feed your spirit and teach you to look before you leap, and to have patience during the times your spirit is hungriest and your leaping gets ahead of your looking.

I will always be here to catch you, baby girl.

Happy 10th birthday. You are bright and beautiful, and I will always encourage you to shine. I love you, my middle, my wild child. All my heart.


#OhMichael, Age 6

My dear Michael,

This is what happens when you are the youngest child.

Your birthday letter is nearly a week late. I am so sorry.

In the meantime: On your birthday, I made chicken (okay, rotisserie chicken), vegetarian corndogs, mac and cheese, and broccoli. At your request. We also had chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and multicolored sprinkles.


On Saturday, I took you and two of your friends to see Trolls. It was, to my mind, an unexpected delight. You and your buddies seemed to like it too. I’m pretty sure your favorite part of the movie was either, “No Troll left behind!” with its accompanying visual. Or the icees. It’s a toss up.

On Sunday, we had a little family/close friends party for you that you seemed to enjoy too.

So. I guess this letter is late, but you haven’t otherwise suffered for birthday attention.


You, my dear son, are tall and thin. Your BMI is a ridiculous 1.48. So, more chicken and corndogs and mac and cheese for you! Maybe some chocolate chip cookies, too.

You are very boy: you hop and jump and dance and bounce. You TALK. A LOT.

You are also the sweetest boy. You give and ask for hugs spontaneously. You still snuggle (when you’re not jumping). You want to be friends with everyone, and you truly do not have a malicious bone in your body. Which is not to say you can’t be a jerk to your sisters. It’s just that you’re not mean. When you were getting picked on on the bus, and you told us about a boy kicking you, and Daddy said, “Why didn’t you kick him back?” you were shocked. “Because I don’t kick people, daddy! I’m nice.”

You are smart, which is not surprising. What surprises me is your breezy confidence, your belief that you are simply good at anything and everything. You are similarly convinced you are correct about a lot of stuff that you know nothing about, which grates, but I’ll get you on the right path. Believe it or not, buddy, I know more about math than you.

And, you’re silly. You like to laugh, you like making other people laugh, you remember funny stuff from shows and movies. You are still working on telling a joke. Your current favorite, courtesy of Kate:

How do you make a tissue dance?
Put a little boogie in it!

You adjusted well to school after the first week. Full-day kindergarten is a major transition! You found soccer discouraging; I am hoping you will try it again, but if not, we’ve got to find something else for you to channel your energy. And you still have little meltdowns. You don’t like being told no, and you seriously don’t like being yelled at.

But you still will admit when you are tired and ready for bed, which is my favorite.


That is you, Michael: sweet, smart, silly, and skinny. I love all the boy you are. Again, I apologize for this being so late. But I know with a little extra snuggling, you will forgive me.

Love you, buddy,

Flora: The Growing Year

Dear Flora,

You are a Rock Star this year. I guess this is what developing maturity looks like.

You are handling sixth grade with grace and determination. You have become a straight-A student. Your teachers adore you. Your soccer coaches talked about how far you had come in the two years they have been coaching you. (I agree, and I thought so too, but I also am so ridiculously biased in your favor.)

You may be a little hard on yourself. You had struggles last year regarding organization and grades, and are clearly determined to do better. You are smart and talented enough to do better.

And you are doing better. One of your teachers actually suggested I let you know it was okay to chill out a little bit.

You are also showing a depth of emotional maturity that is reassuring. Something happened earlier this school year that threatened to throw you for a loop. And you came to Dad and me with it. I won’t tell the story — it’s not mine to tell — but I was so proud. I was proud for two reasons: 1. That you handled it exactly the correct way, setting your boundaries, and keeping them. Many adults don’t know how to do that. 2. That you trusted your father and me enough to come to us, tell us what happened, and believe us when we said you did the right thing.

You are still delightfully goofy. As a matter of fact, you are flat out funny. You have a wonderful sense of humor, sharp and observant. You love making people laugh, and you’re quite good at it.

When you aren’t on your tablet, you are drawing. You draw all. the. time. You must not be doing it too much in class, because your grades are excellent and your teachers haven’t mentioned it. You are better now when I ask you not to be on your tablet — you put it aside; you do what I ask. As a matter of fact, you don’t even get on your tablet most days until homework is done and the dishes are put away. Your ability to self-regulate has made me feel relieved.

Budding feminist cartoonist.

You draw comics. You draw animals. You draw people. You go through sketch books like crazy. Every other week, you need a new one. You draw stuff for your friends, but only if you want to. I call your cartoons #FloraToons. Thanks for letting me share them online, especially the one about Jesus walking his dog on water. You draw on the letters you send to your friend.

You adore your brother, and he drives you batty. You and your sister are best friends, except when you are decidedly NOT. You are still daddy’s girl. He even let you help him rack wine this fall, a special vintage he is calling Il Messaggero for his father.

I love you, Flora. I will always love you, and I will always advocate for you and the unique girl you are and amazing woman I know you will be.

Happy birthday, Florabean. I love you with my whole heart.


Happy Birthday (Week) to Me

My mother always says the day I was born was the happiest day of her life.

My father always points out that she was pretty drugged up at the time.

Generally speaking, I make my birthday a one- or two-day affair. On the day of, I try to do something nice for myself, by myself; and, of course, have cake.

This year, my birthday got an earlier than usual kick-off, and I am not complaining. My parents had called a couple of weeks ago and asked me to schedule a nice dinner out for Dan, me, and my brother and SIL. Unfortunately, that was hard to do (what with babysitters, Dr. Bro and SIL had a prior commitment, and so on). So the plan became family game night at our place with Nonna, Pap-pap, Dan and our children, and the two younger nephews, and then dinner out.

But then, we got a bunch of snow, so events were canceled, and game night and dinner became a big event with six adults and seven children.

I loved it.

Everyone arrived around 3 p.m. on Saturday, and we played Kerfluffle, and then Wit and Wager (which, please note, *ahem* Dan, I would love to get for my actual birthday, along with another pair of yoga pants and a yoga block), and then we all went to P.F. Chang’s. The children were fantastic, the food and drink were delicious, and the company just beat all.

After dinner, we went back to the house, and served out the homemade chocolate cake my mother brought from Erie with her, and which she had the children help her frost, plus gelato from the Market District. And then we played Boggle, at which it turns out, I am very bad. I guess I’m only good when words go one way.

Chocolate Cake
My mom is ridiculous, in the best way.

On Sunday, I drove a friend to the LTYM auditions, and then we visited awhile at our place. Dan and I vegged out on Star Wars movies (Episodes IV, V, and VI) throughout the day, and we cooked and served dinner for his parents.

It’s nice to do nice things for people.

Also please note, because of the snow storm, our lovely producers opened another day of auditions. Check out the details here, and go tell your story! See your name on this year’s poster!

ltym poster
Your Name Here.

For dinner, I had thrown meat in the slow cooker before I left to play taxi. Fortunately, it turned out well. I also made this lentil salad from smitten kitchen, which I loved, and the other adults liked well enough, but the children wouldn’t try (Flora thought I ruined lentil soup; Kate thought I ruined potatoes).

So it was a lovely weekend, and a fun way to mark my birthday with my parents before they started their annual snowbird tour.

Now I can’t wait for my actual birthday weekend!

How long to you like to celebrate your birthday?