Monthly Archives: August 2023

Dear Lucy,

There is a not particularly funny joke about how only the oldest child in a family has a baby book. In our house this is pretty true. The other day I was talking to some people about how you didn’t get a baby book (or a billion blog posts) about every First Step, First Day of School, Birthday… but there is certainly a record of your recent life because we let you have a phone long before your sister got one. So, rest assured there are plenty of pictures.

Today seems important. The Baby goes to Middle School. Big Lu, off to sixth grade. Are you ready for some pearls of wisdom? For as long as I can remember you would shrug off any kind of hug when you were feeling blue. You’d put a quick end to my “pep talks,” as you call them. I have been asking you for years if you will always be my baby. Until recently you would snuggle up next to me and promise me that you would always, always be the baby. Now you’re quick to point out that at least I have the dogs. And then offer to tuck me into bed.

In so many ways, Lucy, you have grown up so quickly. You watch terrifying movies with your dad. You overhear salacious gossip among your sister and her friends (ands me, if I am honest.) You have a filthy mouth and we let it ride. You can hold your own. Because baby or not, you’ve always been pretty easy-going. You’ve always been the youngest one in the crew, whether it was at home or at cheerleading. And your sense of humor and your sassy little attitude has just carried you along. And I think that because you talk the talk I was under the impression that I was letting you grow up. I think this might be the year that we both have to let go a little bit.

You are growing up, Lucy Q. Whether we like it or not. Middle school is that weird in between time when you are independent and angry about it. You don’t want any help but I’d better answer when you call me to tell me you forgot your laptop. We joke that you are always smiling like a Disney kid with those perfect freckles. But I know that sometime in the near future you will get angry at me. Or your heart will break. Or your team will lose. And you will deny me a chance to hold onto you. And it won’t feel like it did when my strong, fierce little girl was adorably independent. Because in your face I won’t see my baby. I will see the young woman you are becoming. And, like it or not, this time around I know just exactly how fast the next part will go.

I will try not to hold on tighter. Just because I know now that this part is fleeting…. Because you’re the peacemaker. You are always looking out for everyone in the house and you make cheerful chatter at some of our most tense dinners. Because you don’t like it when things get hard. And you’re a worrier. But I need you to listen. It will be hard for me to let you grow up, you’re the baby. It is my job to hold on, to cherish the last days of the little kid part of motherhood. But it is your job to grow up.

So, go. Lu Magoo, Big Lu, Lucy Q, the littlest of The Littles. You made it to Middle School, kiddo. So, go. And if you turn back to check on me and I am crying, remember that I cry when our little birdies leave the nest, too. And they’re only around for a couple of weeks! I get attached. But I am a tough old girl. Ask your grandmother how often I let her hug me as a teenager. You didn’t get it from nowhere. I’ll be ok.

And you are so much more than ok. You are absolutely extraordinary. So, off you go, Lu. Go get ’em.

I love you.

Love,

Mom

Dear Emily,

Today was the first day of the long, slow year of the last of the firsts.

On your first day in elementary school you went in for a short open house. We waited for you to turn back. You were nervous. It was a new school. You didn’t know anybody. There had been a lot of big changes in our house. A wedding. A baby on the way. You were to start at one school and transfer to another in only a few weeks time. There had been tears. (Most of them were mine.)

You took a few tentative steps and then you took off. Because you were ready.

And you’re ready once again. To start that long year that is all at once too fast and far too slow. You’ve been waiting for this year for so long. You are a Senior. We have started college visits and boxing up pots and pans that will some day be in an apartment. We just got you a new laptop because “it will be the one you take to college.” Somewhere in your room is a sweatshirt that you might still be wearing when you turn thirty because the life that is happening now is the foundation for the life you will build. And there is a very good chance that life will be made up of hooded sweatshirts at this point.

Emily June, when you were tiny you were always so brave. In recent years you’ve let that brave face down a bit and you’ve let your life feel a little messier. Believe it or not, this is the very thing about which I am the most proud. You have already learned to ask for help, a skill that took me well into my thirties to even attempt. You feel the feelings, big and small. This year will be made up of big, obvious Last First Times. But there will be so many more moments that slip right past you because the unfortunate truth is that this year you’ve been waiting for… the big Senior year… it won’t be all that different than last year. You will have classes to attend, work that you may or may not feel like going to, meals that are less than impressive, eaten quickly at the kitchen counter. And all of a sudden it will be next summer.

And when next summer rolls around and the tears are flowing even more than this morning… let us both remember that you will always be my baby girl. When your nose starts to tingle and you feel a little cry-y, text your mom. There’s a good chance that I am already crying. I’m one step ahead of you, Em.

xoxo,

Mom