Dear Bee, I find it an odd mix of difficulty/ease to sit down and write these letters to you. On one hand, it’s simple. Easy. There’s just so much to say – you are a fountain of exuberance, this helium balloon that floats around our home dancing with energy and zest and joy – and
Dear Bee, Hey lady. I haven’t written you in awhile, mostly because you just cannot stop communicating at home and by the end of the day, there aren’t any more words. We’ve covered everything, from where duck dads come from to your preference for the blue lion shirt, and although I know I’ll forget many
Hey lady! You’re two. I think I’m supposed to say that time flies, but good gracious, this day feels like an eternity ago. So it didn’t fly. It kind of chugged along slowly on a rickety wooden track, uphill and bumpy – start and stop and red and green – but Bee, you know how much I love a great train ride.
Dear Bee, You and I, we struggle with balance. (Here’s a secret: everyone does.) You hoard pool noodles and stuffed animals and plastic bowls, begging to be filled with your latest finds from around the house. You want to wear both headbands, use every sticker, eat the whole bag of pistachios. You want your sippy
Dear Bee, I remember the first time I saw a kid in my 4th grade class blow a bubble within a bubble while they were chewing gum. It was fascinating to me, like how could something so flexible and thin – weak, I thought – possibly become a home for something else? How could there
Dear Bee, Here’s what your mother is really, really bad at: (1) Operating chopsticks, (2) Negotiating in person, (3) Singing on key, and (4) Living in the moment. It’s not that I’m living in the future, because truly, I’m not. I’m as far from Type A as you can get in this department as I
There are few things worth disciplining over, in my book, and that is (a) disrespect and (b) disobedience, and perhaps (c) premature piercings, but that comes way later. But there are such fine lines with you right now, because most of the time (a) is unintentional and (b) is not, but it’s funny and I just want to laugh so I can release the tension in my shoulders, the pings that remind me that you’re not even two yet and disobedience is little more than cloaked learning.
Dear Bee, We survived Molar Week, but not without a few bumps and tantrums and sky-rocketing blood pressures along the way, but hey, that’s survival. It’s bloody and scarring, but then you have a really good story to tell your grandchildren over a tall glass of lemonade. “My aching knee,” I’ll say. “And good Lord,