A Letter to My Anna
Dear Anna,
A few days ago, while driving to the lake, I told your dad that days with you lately have been hard. Hard because I'm huge these days and don't move as easily or as quickly as I used to. Hard because you are working diligently to prove how independent you can be. Hard because you have a strong opinion about what you'd like to eat, how you want to play, where you want to go. Hard because you have no qualms with voicing your objection--either in words or unholy tantrums--when my opinion about what you should eat, how you should play, or where you should go differs from yours. Hard because you have a vivid imagination that leads to play or "creations" that can cause inconveniences or messes. Hard because I am struggling to keep our house clean, keep your face clean, keep myself feeling as though I'm not failing at everything I attempt.
Being stuck in the middle of "hard" days often makes me apt to mark the most frustrating events as the day's most noteworthy. This was certainly the case yesterday when you and your cousin skipped naps to shove anything and everything you could find in the lake house bathroom cabinet into the toilet. When I saw you giggling, naked, ankle deep in water with wet noodles of toilet paper stuck in your curls, I wanted to curse, cry, and beat you senseless all at once. The fiasco, though cleaned up and left behind at the lake house, was still at the forefront of my brain last night when I sat at the computer before bed here at home. It quickly worked its way into my facebook status and, therefore, whether intentional or not, ended up defining our day.
But Anna, as I drifted off to sleep, other pieces of our day popped into my head, sweet pieces that I can't stand the thought of forgetting, pieces that I want to fill the stories we tell of your childhood someday--even more than the catastrophic things. You twirled around in circles declaring to the world that you were a pink butterfly, a "wello" butterfly, a purple butterfly. You came charging across the room in a darling brown sundress, arms outstretched, smiling ear to ear, demanding hugs. You came bouncing into the house from the lake, blue-lipped and shivering, so proud that you had been swimming with your daddy. You snuggled with me in the recliner, giving me whole-body hugs while we sang hymns and other songs about Jesus. You found all the cows, the hay bales, the "rainbow" of the sunset out the car window and wanted to share all of it with your dad and me on the drive home. You gave me the best smiles and kisses before you fell asleep in your bed at home for the night. You told me--as if you were never more certain of anything in your little life--that you loved me.
Just because our days have been hard doesn't mean they haven't blessed me--that you haven't blessed me. God put you in my life because you're exactly what I need--from soggy toilet paper hairdos to the sweetest of snuggly moments, and I hope you never doubt this, kiddo.
I end this now because it's time for both of us to dive into another day--hard, easy, or otherwise.
All my love,
Mom
A few days ago, while driving to the lake, I told your dad that days with you lately have been hard. Hard because I'm huge these days and don't move as easily or as quickly as I used to. Hard because you are working diligently to prove how independent you can be. Hard because you have a strong opinion about what you'd like to eat, how you want to play, where you want to go. Hard because you have no qualms with voicing your objection--either in words or unholy tantrums--when my opinion about what you should eat, how you should play, or where you should go differs from yours. Hard because you have a vivid imagination that leads to play or "creations" that can cause inconveniences or messes. Hard because I am struggling to keep our house clean, keep your face clean, keep myself feeling as though I'm not failing at everything I attempt.
Being stuck in the middle of "hard" days often makes me apt to mark the most frustrating events as the day's most noteworthy. This was certainly the case yesterday when you and your cousin skipped naps to shove anything and everything you could find in the lake house bathroom cabinet into the toilet. When I saw you giggling, naked, ankle deep in water with wet noodles of toilet paper stuck in your curls, I wanted to curse, cry, and beat you senseless all at once. The fiasco, though cleaned up and left behind at the lake house, was still at the forefront of my brain last night when I sat at the computer before bed here at home. It quickly worked its way into my facebook status and, therefore, whether intentional or not, ended up defining our day.
But Anna, as I drifted off to sleep, other pieces of our day popped into my head, sweet pieces that I can't stand the thought of forgetting, pieces that I want to fill the stories we tell of your childhood someday--even more than the catastrophic things. You twirled around in circles declaring to the world that you were a pink butterfly, a "wello" butterfly, a purple butterfly. You came charging across the room in a darling brown sundress, arms outstretched, smiling ear to ear, demanding hugs. You came bouncing into the house from the lake, blue-lipped and shivering, so proud that you had been swimming with your daddy. You snuggled with me in the recliner, giving me whole-body hugs while we sang hymns and other songs about Jesus. You found all the cows, the hay bales, the "rainbow" of the sunset out the car window and wanted to share all of it with your dad and me on the drive home. You gave me the best smiles and kisses before you fell asleep in your bed at home for the night. You told me--as if you were never more certain of anything in your little life--that you loved me.
Just because our days have been hard doesn't mean they haven't blessed me--that you haven't blessed me. God put you in my life because you're exactly what I need--from soggy toilet paper hairdos to the sweetest of snuggly moments, and I hope you never doubt this, kiddo.
I end this now because it's time for both of us to dive into another day--hard, easy, or otherwise.
All my love,
Mom
She might be your mess but I very much love her and her spirit and excitement. Even if that does mean running outside with just a diaper on after dinner. These moments, I, will cherish and remember forever.
ReplyDeleteThis made me want to smile and cry all at the same time. It's easy for me to define the day by the chaos as well, but really, there are SO MANY precious minutes in each one!
ReplyDelete