Joy in being eleven

 My darling Evelyn, 

We are at the tail-end of the calendar year, and at the very start of our long-anticipated Winter Break. It's Sunday morning, a mere three days before Christmas Eve, and you're singing along to Christmas carols while you make pancakes for the family. You have just completed the first semester of your middle school "era," and I'm not going to sugar-coat it: starting middle school has been a bit rocky. 

At 11 years old, you are the exclamation point at the end of our Rossini family. You are joyful, funny, upbeat, positive, smart, sweet, and kind. You love anything cozy and absolutely love to snuggle between Dad and me with our books in bed on Sunday mornings or on the couch during pizza movie night. You would eat mac & cheese for every meal and can put away a bag of Costco-size chocolate chips at an alarming rate. Your favorite sister activity is an afternoon bike ride to Starbucks and Ulta Beauty. This year, you committed to focusing on ballet year-round and have started taking classes to prepare you for pointe shoes. In addition to ballet and piano lessons, you also take a contemporary dance class, voice lessons, and will participate in a play this coming year. Clearly,  you thrive on the stage. You also love riding your hoverboard around the court, watching Friends or Gilmore Girls snuggled on the couch, playing board games, and listening to your audiobook while you soak in the spa. 

I'm going to be frank with you, my love, I am not sad to see 2025 move into my rearview mirror. This year has been hard, exhausting, and stretching. We've had big changes with our extended family. We've had tears about tough conversations. We've had big learning moments. We'd had things that don't seem to go the way we want or how we imagined. This December, we put the lights up, we've been playing the carols, and our calendar is full of magical Christmas activities, but it all feels weighted. Harder to carry. Pressed down. Heaviness doesn't come from one single thing. It arrives quietly, in layers: the state of the world, the grief of a changed tradition. It comes from holding grief and gratitude in the same breath. 

As a family, we have been reading through scripture each (most!) morning, opening our Advent card. This past week, we read from Luke 2:10, But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people." This verse stopped me in my tracks. The angel delivered the news to Mary of Christ's arrival to all the people of the world. This news wasn't happy news for Mary. We can only assume Mary was scared, confused, and very fearful. However, later in the passage, we learn that joyful praise filled her heart as this was a message of great news. 

We may not be able to control the world, but we can choose how we move within it. We can love our people well. We can speak the truth. We can cultivate joy instead of being crushed by what we can't control. Growth happens during the hard times. It's the times that we are vulnerable that allow us to build resilience and perseverance. This is what makes us stronger. Sometimes it can be hard to find good things in the world, and sometimes it can be hard to find joy. But, my hope for you, my sweet girl, is that you always look for a spark of hope and continually pursue joy. 

I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the water in the ocean. 

Love, Mom