
Dear Oliver,
I think we made it through the winter, my friend. You and me, no naps, 12 hours a day, every day. It was not easy for either of us. I am sorry for my grumpies.
Thank you for your morning wakeup kisses and snuggles. Sometimes you aren’t so sweet in the morning. One day you sat on me and said, “You smell like boogers.” Then, when I said that was rude, “You smell like donkeys.”
It wasn’t funny at the time.
Right now you’re very into dancing. Hard core, body flailing, heart and soul dancing. Your favorites to dance to: The Four Seasons (Your father and I are sick sick sick of the Four Seasons), some of the songs from the Forrest Gump soundtrack, Ollabelle, and Bobby Darrin’s Splish Splash. One awful day, when I didn’t think I could take another minute of being stuck in the house (or, stuck in this life was more how I was feelin’ it), I decided to dance with you, and we danced all afternoon (or, for at least an hour). I did some hard core, body flailing, heart and soul dancing myself, because nobody was watching but you. And you never make fun of me. I think you might even be impressed by my moves.
Things got better after that.
One night when we were getting home late, and you were getting pretty sleepy, you said from your throne in the back seat, “Don’t brush my teeth; just throw me into bed.” So we did.
You asked where you were before you “got borned.” You asked if you were dead. I answered that I didn’t really know, but I had wondered about that before. (Where does a soul begin?) Later, you asked where babies come from. I told you, but you do not yet know how the daddy’s seed gets to the mama’s egg. I’m sure you will wonder about this soon. It’s springtime on the farm.
When you pray at mealtime, you thank God for everything on the table. For each foodstuff on your plate, each thing on daddy’s plate, each thing on mommy’s plate, the salt, mommy’s water, daddy’s water, amen. Amen.
You are so challenging to me. There are some days when I decide that being your mother is hands down the absolute worst job I’ve ever had. But it’s the best job for my spirit. Nothing else would help me grow like this.
It is not always bad. I’m just being honest, so one day if you have children of your own, you won’t feel ill-cut-out for the job if it’s not puppies and roses every day. Being a parent is hard. It’s mostly giving of self. As such, it’s a pretty good reminder of how our Heavenly Father relates to us. I think our relationship with him is probably mostly giving on his part too, if you know what I mean. But he takes joy in us and he loves us and his love never fails. I take joy in you, my sweet son. When you accidentally whack me in the nose with your hard head, when I’m helping you in the bathroom, when you’re whining about not being able to watch a movie or eat another snack (will you ever stop eating!?), and even when you tell me I smell like boogers…I take joy in you. Watching you reminds me that I am a work in progress too. I am excited to see the man you will become. For right now, we’re just almost to Four.
And as I say every night when I tuck you in…
I love you with all my heart, and always will, no matter what,
mama














