sticks, sheets and imagination

Dear Bone,

When I was your age, Gigi and I lived at your Nana's house. I loved your Nana's house. I still do. But as a child, I loved her side yard more than anything else. It was a secret place. A long passage way that felt like a darker version of The Secret Garden. It was a place shaded by bushes and trees -- cool even on the hottest summer days. It had a floor made of mud, and was the perfect place for burying treasures (and dead hamsters). It was hideaway. A fortress. A place of stones, sticks and imagination.

We aren't lucky enough to live in a small brick bungalow with an attic full of treasures or a hidden side yard full of secrets -- but I still want you to have a place where your imagination can soar. A simple place that you make magical. So yesterday I pointed out the perfect fort building spot between a cluster of trees and shrubs along the side of our coop. I equipped you and our neighbor with two polka-dot sheets, clothes pins, your Crazy Fort set, and lanterns leftover from a Cinco DeMayo party. And then I let you go to work.

You planned, you created, you built. You strung the lanterns, added chairs and a small table to play chess on. You ate Fritos from a plastic bowl. You added a tabletop terruim for decoration. You imagined.

And I smiled.

rain walk

Dear Bone,

Sometimes it is nearly impossible to get you to leave the house. Even promises of puddle splashing, coffee cake, and a breakfast screening of the Muppets aren't enough to get you off your spot (next to your chess board) on the living room floor. And on (the many) days like this, I make our adventures required, not optional. I am not sure if this is a good parenting tactic, but usually (although not always) forcing you out of the house results in fun.

Today was one of those days. You might have "hated" the farmer's market, but you had no problem devouring an entire raspberry strip from Tag's or extreme puddle splashing along the curb.

I hope it is these little (fun) things you remember, and not the fact that you had to be forcedout of the house when you would much rather have spent the morning lazily lounging on the rug.

I love you more than rain puddles and coffee cake.

you're in kindergarten

Dear Bone,

You're in Kindergarten!!!!

Not really. It's actually almost the end of 1st grade, but while painting and cleaning your room yesterday, I found your kindergarten time capsule. A small plastic paint bucket with your picture from the first day of school, a twine string measuring your height, your handprint cut out of scrapbooking paper, and a list of your favorites. It is very likely (even with plans to put the string into a perfect vintage memory box I will find at a flea market soon) that I will lose everything.

In the (likely) event that I loose everything, here are your kindergarten favorites:

Animal: Monkey

Color: Blue

TV Show: Ben Ten

Movie: Up

Subjects: Art and Math

Sport: Basketball

Vegetable: Carrots

Food: Cheeseburger

Ice Cream: Marshmallow Gelato

Favorite Thing Your Did on the First Day of School: Drawing

 

 

When I showed you your time capsule, your were thrilled. Especially about the piece of string, because you have most definitely have grown. And even more about the picture of you eating TWO ice cream cones from Hartigan's. (Did I really let you do this?). You also asked where your time capsule was for 1st grade. Oops.

I love you more than two scoops of ice cream.

shrimp boil

Nothing beats a shrimp boil on a warm Monday evening. Or a dining room screening of Tron. Or a dish full of Cherry Garcia for dessert.

to market to market

Dear Bone,

You have been known to devour  have five croissants in one sitting (you did, however, puke three hours later). Croissants are your favorite. Especially from the Farmer's Market eaten with scrambled eggs on a Saturday morning. You were also pretty dang excited about the popping corn on the cob I brought home from my market trip this morning . You were much less excited about the baby spinach and asparagus.

I love you more than strawberry rhubarb pie and fresh baked croissants from the Farmer's Market.

shrugs and all

Dear Bone,

A few mornings ago I told you a story.  A story about discrimination and injustice and unfairness and unkindness and ignorance. It is this story. The story of a Boy Scout Troop Leader (and mother to a boy your age) who was outed from her position because her family was made up of two moms. I tell you how I didn't know Boy Scouts was exclusionary (and I explain to  you what this word means), and how this upsets me because it is WRONG -- in Boy Scouts and in the world. And you just shrug.

It doesn't phase you. I ask you if you think this is a fair, and you say, "sure." I know your only 7, and that you are thinking only about how badly you want to build a slingshot and go camping with your friends, but I hope that one day you don't just shrug your shoulders, claim that your feelings have never been hurts, and state that you don't care because, "it isn't you who is being excluded."

I guess it is partly my job to teach you this. But I hope this lesson is not one that I simply "teach" you. I hope as you grow and change and see and do that you learn this on your own. I hope that you find room in your heart for compassion, empathy, fairness and justice. I hope you find room for fight and change. I hope when you see exclusion and judgement in the world it breaks your heart (even just a little). I hope you embrace all forms of families and people. I hope you love freely and easily and equally. I hope when you do make mistakes, when you do pass judgements, and when you do exclude or hurt someone else -- that you learn and grow and rethink and reconsider.

I hope one day you don't just shrug.

I love you always (shrugs and all).