A Letter to My Unicorn

 My Dearest Alicia, 

It is a beautiful summer morning, and it is the first day of your ballet intensive. You just returned home this past weekend from your weeklong High Adventure Camp near the Oregon and California border. To be honest, I started this letter in February, opened it back up in April, and then again in May...and now we are here: July! I think that perfectly sums up just how busy this season of life is. In the last month, we had your eighth-grade promotion, rolled into a full weekend of ballet recitals, and then we left for two weeks in the United Kingdom. Life is exhilarating, delightful, and very, very full. 

At fourteen years old, you are on the precipice of a new adventure and have fully embraced teenhood. You love to sleep late, constantly have a single earbud in, are obsessed with oversized hoodies, and are the chattiest at 11:30pm. Your room is covered in crumpled-up wrappers. You love a fully caffeinated sweet coffee drink. In this past year, you have taught yourself to knit and crochet, creating scarves, stuffies, and hacky sacks that litter our house. However, you still love the color pink, video games, ballet, history, orange juice, and avocados. Somethings never change. 

Lately, one of our favorite household conversations has been picture books and movies we watched together during the preschool years and toddler years. Books and stories have always been a central part of our household. You, my sweet girl, loved to read Donald Cries "Wolf" and The Color Monster. We read these over and over and over again. You were obsessed with Minnie Mouse and had long passages of Ramona the Pest memorized. There was a long stretch of time when you only wore your Rainbow Brite costume. While you loved Rainbow Brite, her color belt and star sprinkles, Starlight, her rainbow-maned unicorn, was your favorite. Unicorns have always captivated you, and it's easy to understand why. They symbolize bravery, strength, and beauty with a fierce magical determination to stand out from the crowd. 

I see these same "unicorn qualities" in you day in and day out. Whether it be expressing yourself through your brises and pirouettes in ballet class, wild swimming in the English countryside, or confidently stepping onto a bus for a week-long camping trip under the stars. This past spring, you demonstrated these qualities again when you auditioned to speak at your eighth-grade promotion ceremony. You wrote a thoughtful speech, practiced it repeatedly in our living room, and stood on stage to encourage your classmates to foster their curiosity in high school. It takes a unique kind of bravery to share your voice like that.  

As you step into high school this fall, I want you to hold on to those unicorn qualities. Embrace your uniqueness. Soak up the beauty in life. Harness your strengths. Stay curious. Stand tall. You are so wonderfully rare and magical, my love, and I am so proud of the person you are becoming. 

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

Love, 

Mom 

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 

Fifteen and Fabulous

 Dear Maggie, 

You are currently weeks away from finishing your freshman year of high school. It's been a very fun and very full year. You went to an outdoor adventure camp, white-water rafting down the Klamath River. You played singles for the JV Tennis team. You participated in the homecoming parade and went to HOCO with an amazing group of friends. You have earned outstanding grades. You have joined a community volunteer organization and campus clubs. You have made new friends and you have strengthened old friendships. But, to me, the most remarkable notice throughout this first year has been your newfound sense of confidence. 

As a family, we have just returned from a spring break trip to Costa Rica. It was a week complete with ocean kayaking, white sandy beaches, and plenty of gallo pinto. This past summer, we explored Italy: we marveled at majestic frescoes, walked among ancient ruins, and ate our weight in gelato. For this upcoming summer, we have a tentative plan to road trip around New England and Eastern Canada, and many a dinner conversation centers around our future travel plans. Clearly, our family loves to travel. This is one of our favorite ways to connect with each other and to learn about the world we live in. 

The definition for wanderlust is a simple one: A strong desire to travel. And you, my darling girl, have inherited your mother's wanderlust. You have grand plans to study Spanish in Chile and to hike the Andes mountains. You plan to backpack across Asia and to snorkel the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. And after your World Geography class, you are ready to cruise around Singapore. You are adventurous, open-minded, and curious. You find languages fascinating, and I am constantly amazed at how easily you pick up the local dialect and phrases in various languages. You love exploring the different street foods and looking for stories in the cultural norms of a location. You drive us to think about our travel footprint: urging us to give back to the local economy, stay in sustainable accommodations, and use local travel operators. 

Did you know there is a gene related to those with a thirst for travel? New research shows DRD4-7R, nicknamed the "wanderlust gene," impacts your dopamine levels and has been linked to an increased level of curiosity and restlessness. According to research, those with this gene seek novel and new experiences. And I have no doubts that you are part of the 20% of the population who carry this gene. You fall into the category of those with a deep-seated desire to put foot to pavement and explore the world through all five senses. 

I firmly believe that this burgeoning wanderlust is what has significantly boosted your confidence. At a basic level, each of your travel experiences provides you with an opportunity to learn new things and develop new skills. It fosters a sense of independence and self-reliance and pushes you outside your comfort zone. Plus, your travel experiences have exposed you to diverse cultures and perspectives, strengthening your empathy and communication skills. 

But for a girl who loves to travel, you are also a homebody. You love nothing more than a quiet weekend at home, one that includes plenty of time reading, puzzling, and crafting. A favorite Saturday night includes homemade pizza and a few episodes of Young Sheldon. You thrive on routine and structure. Home is a place for you to recharge, think, and create. Charles Dickens wrote, "Every traveler has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the more from his wandering." You, my love, are bound to have a life full of passport stamps, but this endless wanderlust will make you more aware of the beauty and the comfort of home. 

And remember, I am always happy to sit on our living room couch together, scouring the internet for cheap flights and planning our next adventures together. 

Love, 

Mom

409,952,000 Seconds

 Dear Alicia, 

The last time I sat down to write you a birthday letter you were eleven. The cliche is true, the days are long, and...the years are whirling by. We are a month into your teenage era, 18 months into your middle school years, 118 days into your seventh-grade year, and 3,652 days into your role as the middle child. 

At thirteen years old you still love many of the same things you have loved since you were six: ballet, Harry Potter and the color pink being at the very top of the list. But now this list has grown to include video games, audiobooks and sushi. You are still quite introverted, creative and empathetic, but as you move through your teenage years you are also moody, independent and resilient. This past fall we bought your first pair of pointe shoes for your new pointe ballet class (and then four months later bought a second pair because your feet grew!) Your favorite weekend activities include baking (you make the most delicious chocolate chip cookies!) piano practicing and reading. You groan when I make you take a long walk, but every time you come back happier (we call it sunshine therapy). And you are right in the middle of tech week for your middle school play of Wizard of Oz (you are part of the Lullaby League!) 

A few months ago I was listening to a podcast and they quoted Brene Brown, a writer and academic: "The middle is messy, but it's also where all the magic happens, all the tension that creates goodness and learning." If there is one takeaway from this letter - it's that middle school is rough. Sure, it opens up new possibilities: new school, new friends, new independence, new opportunities. But with that comes anxiety, disappointment and frustration. All of this is swifling around in a body and mind that is rapidly growing - seemingly overnight. 

When you were a baby, everyone always warned us: Just wait till they are teenagers! Girls are so easy until they hit middle school! But I have to say that this stage of parenting - the middle stage - has been so exhilarating. I love our dinner conversations about current events, and our family book clubs. I love learning alongside you, and helping you navigate tricky social situations. I love the sarcastic sense of humor, and I love seeing you develop your passions and explore your interests. 

Life is murky and middle school is messy. These years can often feel like the doors have been shut behind you and you cannot yet see the light at the end of the tunnel. But embrace the messiness of your journey. It's okay to feel uncertain; that is where you learn and grow the most. Lean into the times of joy and embrace the times you are being stretched. Offer grace and a smile to all that you encounter, even (and especially!) on your hardest days. 

You, my love, were born to be a middle child, to thrive in the messiness of a hope-drenched, beautiful life. My wish for you is to relish every bump and jolt and rainbow that life throws at you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the water in the ocean. 

Love, Mom 

She's a force of nature

My dearest Evelyn, 

I have been working hard at playing catch-up these past few months: churning out our yearly photo books from six years ago, writing birthday letters, and completing a hearty spring cleaning. We have long since celebrated your ninth birthday and have moved into the planning of the tenth birthday mother-daughter trip. The beautiful spring weather has begun, and I am trying to squeeze this letter in before we move into the chaos of May. 

At nine years old, you are a solid mixture of sweet and sass, and most days you manage to be both at the same time. You are affectionate and charming, temperamental, independent, imaginative, our social butterfly, and have a flair for the dramatic. You love roller-blading walks and bike rides - especially if it involves a ride to Ulta Beauty and Starbucks. You love pasta, chocolate croissants, and anything covered in maple syrup. You play on a soccer team in the fall, take ballet lessons and tap classes year-round and I have you tagged as my future cross-country runner. You love your piano lessons, especially when they involve Taylor Swift songs, and have taken up the trumpet this year. You know the lyrics to all the songs of Six: The Musical with alarming accuracy. You have fallen deep in the Harry Potter books and cried when Dumbledore died. You are a card shark. You love all animals, but horses most of all. You adorn your face with glittery eye shadow and love to wear fake nails and high-heeled shoes. There is no other way to explain it: you are a force of nature. 

When I was a child, I was a Miss Piggy fan. I had her comforter on my bed, and probably watched The Muppets Take Manhatten three dozen times. Miss Piggy was meant to be a minor character, but eventually developed into a central one. She has a capricious nature, and combat skills, and felt destined for stardom. She wears long gloves and is a mistress of the martial arts. I loved Miss Piggy - whether she was breaking free of her rope restraints to take down a human goon squad and rescue Kermit or prying apart her prison cell bars and stealing a motorcycle. I think this is what I have always loved about her: her penchant for beating up bad guys while wearing pink satin. Miss Piggy broke the stereotypes - she is fierce and discriminating, independent, yet tender, all wearing pearls. She is a force of nature.

My grandmother, Beverly, my father's mother, was the epitome of femininity, poise, and sophistication - just don't make her angry. She stood her ground, stated her opinions, and always did so with perfectly coiffed hair and ruby-red lips. She was an only child growing up in New York during the age of skyscrapers, jazz, and prohibition. She was college-educated during the Great Depression. She raised her three boys during the Golden Age, but she wasn't much of a seamstress or a cook. She was slender and fair-skinned, yet headstrong with a loud voice. As a child, we would come home from work and school to find her weeding the city gardens wearing kitten heels and her wrap dress. There is no better way to describe her: She was a force of nature. 

Oftentimes, being considered a force of nature, means having a strong personality. This is not always a positive attribution. But, in truth, both Miss Piggy and your great-grandmother represent a wild, voracious sort of freedom. They remind us that our bodies can be loved exactly as they are, they can be objects of beauty, can be powerful and strong, and can carry us through life as the heroines of our own stories. So, my dear girl, as you move solidly into your tween years, do not be afraid to take up space. Personal style begins and ends with loving who you are. Take it from Miss Piggy and your Great-Grandmother, nothing else is possible without being confident in yourself first. 

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

Love, Mommy 

It's Been a Swiftie Year

 Dearest Maggie, 

I am sitting in my childhood bedroom, on the first day of the year, determined to finally finish the letter to you. As I am writing many of Taylor Swift's song lyrics keep repeating over and over in my head: 

Oh, Darling, don't you ever grow up. 

You are the best thing that's ever been mine. 

That I had the best day with you with you today. 

'Cause I don't know how it gets better than this. 

You see, I started this letter to you six months ago, on our flight home from Botswana. I had planned on talking about your newfound wanderlust. Your epic summer: Southern Africa, camp in Colorado, NYC, and the US Open with your father. But, life, as life tends to in the late summer and fall, got away from me. We moved into a bit of a rocky start to the school year. There was some friend drama, some bedroom door slamming, some late-night chat sessions, and some tears. So, I opened up a new doc to start fresh and write about your cliche teenage moods. But it didn't feel like you. I deleted it and started again. So, you can see I have started and stopped and changed and restarted this letter so many times.

At thirteen you have many accomplishments, characteristics, and interests. You are an adept tennis player. You love languages and dream of studying Spanish in South America. You write beautiful poems, short stories, and essays. You play on a local rec volleyball and swim team. You love tacos, cupcakes, and strawberries. You blast Latin Pop Songs in your bedroom. You are adventurous, brave, and kind. You are responsible, calm, and insightful. You hope to work in marine biology and will spend hours crafting in your scrapbook. You love mysteries and fantasy books including A Twisted Tale and The Sinister Summer series. Your wanderlust rivals mine and you are ready to travel the world at any possible moment. You start most weekday mornings with a 15-minute calisthenics workout and begin practicing the piano at 6:30am. (We refuse to allow you to start earlier than this!) You are logical, focused, and always ready to laugh. But most notably, in the year 2023, you became a full-fledged, certified Swiftie. 

Taylor Swift has swept the nation, and we haven't been spared. You spend hours in your room memorizing all the lyrics. You dragged your sisters to her Eras Tour: The Movie. You have been meticulously listening to each song, in order of release analyzing and tracking her lyrical evolution. At first, I chalked this up to a typical teenage behavior. I remember spending hours in my bedroom with my boombox and blank tapes recording music. Refusing to do yardwork or chores unless I could listen to my Walkman and spent every penny of my babysitting money on new CDs. 

You and I have always had a strong connection to music - often being the ones who vote for a playlist versus a podcast in the car. I believe that music can represent our emotions. It can raise your mood, and get you excited or pumped. It can also make you feel calm and relaxed. There is a reason we have so many lullabies for babies. Music also - and this is important - allows us to feel nearly all emotions that we experience in our lives. But, particularly in adolescents, music offers an avenue to articulate emotion, and Taylor Swift's superpower is her uncanny ability to craft lyrics that resonate with the experiences of the common teenager. Swift's songs mirror the emotional rollercoaster of adolescence, and her ability to adapt while staying true to herself resonates with a generation that values self-expression and individuality. My hope for you, my love, is that music will continue to leave an indelible mark on your heart and mind. 

Yeah, we're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. 

It seems like Swift captures 13 perfectly. 

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

Love, Mom 

The 11th Year Letter: An African Way of Life

 Dear Alicia, 

I am writing this letter to you after a few whirlwind months - Strings Concert, Outdoor Ed, multiple end-of-the-school year culmination projects, swim team, a ballet recital, and to cap it all off, an 18-day adventure to Southern Africa. Life has been chaotic, sweet, and full of adventure.

At eleven years old you are tenderhearted, creative, kind, and moody. You love history, math, and writing. You are an introvert to the core but have worked hard this year to build a strong group of friends. You have committed to memorizing all the Hamilton and Six song lyrics. You are obsessed with Greek Mythology and can quote long passages of Harry Potter. I can usually find you on a Sunday afternoon reading up in the tree in our backyard or playing Super Mario Odyssey on the couch. You have taken to learning Chinese on Duolingo and entertain us with a "random fact of the day" during dinner. You love a good graphic novel and a solid ghost story and are slowly making your way through Ron Chernow's tome Alexander Hamilton. You love a good long hike - only if I tell you the exact mileage before we begin. You are constantly practicing your battement jete and glisse and have found so much fun and joy in your weekly tap class. You will try any new-to-you food, making you such a fun travel buddy. You are intrepid, diligent, insightful, and delightfully weird. 

A few days after your fifth-grade promotion we packed our duffle bags and travel backpacks to head to South Africa, Zambia, and Botswana. We took surfing lessons, ate delicious food, wandered through museums on early modern man, and went on safaris'. While the animals were magnificent and the sunsets breathtaking - it was the stories that we found so captivating. So much of African history and culture are rooted in oral tradition and storytelling. These stories are passed from generation to generation throughout the continent for centuries to help people navigate life's challenges and triumphs. These stories are done not only with purpose but with undeniable beauty and flair. 

There is an old South African principle, ubuntu. The basic meaning of this Bantu term means "humanity." A literal translation is roughly "a person is a person through other persons." Archbishop Desmond Tutu better describes this perspective rather "I am human because I belong. I participate. I share. In essence, I am because you are." In fact, the word ubuntu is just one part of the Zulu phrase Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu which literally means that a person is a person through other people.  This proverb is the bedrock of South Africa's society: the idea of common humanity. To feel true belonging, we must acknowledge humanity's interconnectedness, and this in turn provides a foundation for tolerance, inclusivity, and understanding. 

This past year has been a huge year of growth for you, and I am astounded by your maturity and quiet confidence. But you have also been living out this idea of ubuntu: You have worked hard to cultivate community. You have been sharpening your written storytelling skills. And you have developed new abilities to value diversity and cultural differences. 

Sometimes there are times when you want to lean into solitude. Sometimes we need the drive of competition to use as motivation. Life can hold heartbreak and loneliness, but it also can hold so much goodness and beauty. My hope for you, my sweet girl, is that you will lean into the power of ubuntu - because then you will be able to move mountains. 

I love you more than all the stars in the sky and the depths of the sea. 

Love, 

Mom 

Eight Rotations of the Sun: A Birthday Letter

 My darling girl, 

I am writing this to you on the very last day of 2022, months after your eighth birthday. We're getting ready to have fondue and chocolate lava cakes, our traditional New Year's Eve dinner, complete with an evening of games and friends, and movies. While these last few hours of the year have made me a bit reflective, I have indeed been thinking about your birthday letter for a while. Honestly, this year has been a bit of a challenge. We've had quite a few growing pains, a buckle fracture, several rounds of the stomach flu, and a scoliosis diagnosis, complete with a brand-new brace. 

At eight years old you are spunky and sassy; kind, generous, tenacious, independent, and a bit moody. You are social, imaginative, strong, and always up for a snuggle. You have taken up an interest in formal voice lessons by participating in a local girls' choir. Next Saturday starts your first week of volleyball, you recently finished your second season of soccer, and you remain committed to ballet year-round. You love anything chocolate, think Mac & Cheese is the ultimate comfort food, and raw bell peppers are your favorite after-school snack. You detest practicing your spelling words and loathe brushing your hair. You will put on glitter eye shadow at any opportunity and are obsessed with the Alexa & Katie TV show and the Babysitter's Club books. You will turn cartwheels at any opportunity and love a good long roller-blading session. 

There is a Methodist hymn, "This is My Father's World" that I have been ruminating on over these past few months. The hymn, originally a poem, by Maltbie Babcock, starts with concrete references to nature - "rocks and trees, or skies and seas" and the "lily white...rustling grass." This poem illustrates that nature is not only a visual spectacle to behold, but also gives these physical qualities a musical language. 

The phrase "music of the spheres" mentioned in the first stanza is a concept borrowed from Greek philosophy. The ancient Greek philosophers developed an idea that regards the movements of celestial bodies - the Sun, the Moon, and the Planets - as a form of music. Early astronomers explained that this "music" is not audible but could be felt by the soul, whereas early Christian thinking believed that musical harmony seen in nature was a metaphor for the divine order of God's creation. That this "music of the spheres" was not necessarily a perfect sound, but an illustration of God's love. 

In the final stanza, the poem shifts its focus from describing the visual and aural beauty of nature to the reality that all is not right with the world. It poses a question and offers hope, that with a broken world there is still beauty in our everyday. 

My darling girl, you have always had an amazing sense of inner strength within you. We saw within our first 24 hours with you that you were strong and tenacious. But this inner strength is even more apparent these days as you adapt to a new reality of brace wearing. You are determined to not let your brace slow you down: mastering your jumps in your roller blades while wearing the brace, perfecting your brace-wearing cartwheel, and managing your 18-hour per day schedule. You answer questions to your peers about your brace, confidently explaining your condition and pointing out the beautiful pattern you picked. 

This year, with eight rotations of the sun, I see a quiet maturity in you. I see a confident girl that shines with a brilliant light. I see a girl that lives in a messy, loud, broken world and finds ways to be courageous and strong, finding beauty in the least likely of places. 

I love you more than all the stars in the sky and the depths of the sea. 

Love, 

Mommy 

A Birthday Letter: Twelve

My dearest Daisy, 

I have been chewing on this letter for some time my love. This year has been tough for me. I'm at a loss for words that properly capture exact feelings - but, to be honest, it's a bit of depression, a bit of reflection, a lot of joy, and a focus on gratitude. 

The thing is, the years and the experiences are coming so fast and furious these days. I just want to stop and breathe. Drink it all in. When you were a newborn, when we were brand-new in our relationship, I would sit and memorize your features. I'd sit and trace the lines in your palm. I'd work to make you laugh and watch how your eyes would twinkle just before your smile would appear. During your afternoon nap, I would lay and watch the slow rise and fall of your breath. 

These days, I look at you, on the cusp of your teenage years, and I still see that twinkle in your eye, although it's sometimes accompanied by a solid eye roll too. Instead of an afternoon nap, we do buddy reads or sing-alongs in the car. You have a tennis ranking and tap shoes and cross-country meets. You have play practice and swim meets and piano recitals. You solve algebra problems and write essays about the fall of the Roman Empire. You sit at the piano for hours playing Harry Styles and Bruno Mars songs by ear. I still see glimpses of my baby, but your adolescence is suddenly becoming fleeting. 

In college, I studied abroad in Ireland. After my first few days in Dublin, I was itching to explore which is how I found myself staring at the massive cliffs of Moher. This is the point where Ireland's gentle green landscape is pounded by the full force of the Atlantic Ocean. Individual layers can clearly be seen and variations in the rates of erosion give rise to the different characteristics of the cliffs. I found myself drawn to this coast, visiting as many times as I could during my months abroad. Always astounded by the beautiful, rugged, wild beauty of the western coastline. 

A few weeks ago, you and I found ourselves on an overnight retreat at Point Bonito in Sausalito. In the early morning, both of us were up and itching to explore the rugged California coastline. We walked along, traversing the bluffs of the Marin headlands. It was steep, craggy, and breathtaking. We oohed and ahh-ed over every twist. We breathed in the salty, fresh air. 

L.M. Montgomery wrote in Anne's House of Dreams, "The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only - a mighty voice that drowns out souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is the company of the archangels." Many of Montgomery's words are seared into my heart as I read her stories from start to finish and back again so many times in my youth. But, as we stood there, on that spot of earth, holding hands at the edge of the land; I found myself again astounded by the beautiful, rugged, wild beauty of this western coastline - still and quiet - listening to its magnificent song. 

When we headed back to the car, you fell back, lingering - staring out at the edge. I saw that twelve is the tipping point between childhood and adolescence. At twelve years old you are strong, adventurous, and tenacious. You are clever. You are brave. You are thoughtful, creative, and self-assured. You are inquisitive, and you are persistent and effervescent. You are empathetic. You are merciful. You are enthusiastic. 

And I find myself in awe of you, my beautiful, rugged, breathtaking girl. 

Love, Momma 

10 years of Letters to a Bumblebee

 Dear Lily, 

I'm writing this as I am sitting in the car during one of your ballet classes. It's spring break, and our first hot day this season. We rode bikes to the local pool and swam with friends. We did quiet reading time this afternoon and played tag in the yard this morning. Earlier this week, we visited your grandparents and we have also baked and spent a leisurely afternoon at the library. After two years, it's been nice having a normal spring break. 

I've been ruminating on this letter for weeks now, thinking of what to say. I've thought about incorporating worlds events into your letter; such as the Russian invasion of Ukraine, or the fact that, almost two years to the day of the start of the pandemic, you went back to school sans mask. I thought about talking about the rising inflation rate and how this can cause us to reassess certain aspects of life. 

But really, all I want to say to you is that I love the everyday ordinary of our life together. And maybe after two years of anything but normal, it's just the regular routine that I crave. 

For your 10th birthday trip, you and I flew to Philadelphia for a mother-daughter weekend away. You wanted to go somewhere I haven't really explored, and somewhere to learn about American history. And Philly fit the bill. We tackled a ton with our 48 hours in the "birthplace of America" beyond the classic Philly icons. We explored the Benjamin Franklin Museum and spent hours in the Museum of the American Revolution. We learned about the Oneida Indian Nation and traced the history of General George Washington's Headquarters Tent. We ate cheesesteak sandwiches and ice cream and wandered Christ Church. We watched the Haley Mills version of The Parent Trap and feasted on Thai food. 

At 10 years old, you are both perfectly ordinary and completely extraordinary. You love history, science, and math; in fact, you are always asking for math problems to solve. You love audiobooks and podcasts, and your knowledge of Greek Mythology is astounding. You are forever practicing your petit allegro jumps and the Irish double-tap step and whenever I ask you to bring me something you move with your arms in port de bras. You love The Mysterious Benedict Society and The Nevermore Trilogy and Wonder and any graphic novel history or biography book and your love of all things Harry Potter is going strong. You still detest running, but love a good long hike or an afternoon spent at the creek. You love chocolate ice cream and a good hearty salad. You are vibrant, passionate and thoughtful. 

Life these days looks a lot like it did before the coronavirus descended upon the world: carpool schedules and talent show practices, homework and piano lessons. Mother Teresa often said, "Do ordinary things with extraordinary love." I think of this often as I drive to the ballet studio or help with homework or prepare dinner in the evenings. We live in a world where ordinary is frowned upon, but I think what I have come to realize is that it is, actually; the ordinary things that make us the happiest. 

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

Love, 

Mom 

Light and Dark

"Don't mind me, I'm as happy as a cricket here." - Jo March 

Dear Violet, 

If I only had two words to describe you it would be early bird pure joy. 

You are always ready with a kind word and a sparkle in your hazel eyes. A few weeks ago, your grandmother fell and broke her hip. Each night during her recovery, pajama-clad and wet hair, your top priority was to FaceTime her. You asked about her hip and shared about your day. It was simple; really, but it is in those small, everyday moments where I see your personality shine. You are happy and bright, spreading joy to all those around you. 

At seven years old you love horseback riding lessons and horses; in fact, you love all animals. You love to sit and watch a snail cross your path and cannot pass a dog without stopping for a pet. You love Heidi Heckelbeck and Here's Hank and Sophie Mouse and The Babysitter's Club. You love make-up and fancy dresses and wearing sparkly high-heeled shoes. You will sing and dance and perform for anyone willing to watch. You will forever love macaroni and cheese and insist on chocolate for breakfast every. single. day. You love frozen yogurt and marshmallows and strawberries. You love to rollerblade and to bike ride and swim team and to explore the greenbelt and will complain the loudest and the longest on a hike. You love to play "school" with your dolls. You are constantly making and giving and wrapping presents. You love stuffies and painting and are never one to turn down a snuggle. 

Today, at 10:58 a.m. in the Northern Hemisphere, the winter solstice arrived, a synchronized trade of dark and light. The shortest day and longest night have arrived, and the noon sun is at the lowest it will be all year. Since ancient times, people all over the world have celebrated this astronomical occurrence. In fact, old solstice traditions have influenced holidays we celebrate now, such as Christmas and Hanukkah. 

Near the Hill of Tara in County Meath, Ireland there is one of the most prominent Neolithic sites known as Newgrange. It dates to 3,000 BC with deep links to Irish folklore. Each year, on the winter solstice - a single shaft of light pierces the monument through a perfectly placed window box at the passage entrance, glowing in a golden path all the way to the burial chamber at its heart. The light is leading to its heart. 

Life has the potential to be amazing once we concentrate on deciphering all its wonderful subtleties, nuances, and details. If we pay attention, we can find joy and light and love in the simplest things or in the most unusual experiences. You, my love, remind me of the winter solstice. In a world of darkness, you are a bright shining sliver of light, leading to its heart. 

Keep shining bright and laughing often, my sweet girl. And if you wanted to sleep in one morning over winter break, I would be eternally grateful. 

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

Love, 

Mommy 

Before and After: The Birthday Letter

 Dear Daisy, 

Yesterday marked the twentieth anniversary of the September 11th attacks. I remember the moment when the world shifted. I remember exactly what I wore. I remember the fear we felt, even thousands of miles away in northern California. I remember sitting glued to the television with my roommates, watching the endless news cycle. I remember running late in the afternoon, just needing to get out and stretch my legs and the eeriness of the streets: the quiet. No cars on the road. No airplanes flying overhead. No people walking the streets. 

It is strange that we have so many  - the befores and afters in life. Before I knew what a terrorist attack looked like. Before I studied abroad. Before I met your father. Before I became a mother. Before COVID-19. Before you started middle school. 

At 11 years old you are funny and insightful; kind, and wise beyond your years. You have taken an interest in languages, starting an after-school Spanish class, frequently sprinkling your newfound Spanish vocabulary. You started playing volleyball, constantly practicing your bumps and spikes and serves against the front door with a beach ball. You have fallen in love with jazz music, perfecting Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue on the piano. You spend hours on the weekends practicing the scales on your flute and fiddling on your sewing machine. You come in sweaty and sticky and happy after time on the tennis court, and you always, always, have a book in your hand. 

This past summer we spent a month driving through the mid-west - exploring the great plains and the heartland of America. We hiked, we camped, we drove (and drove and drove!), we played and we learned. One of our stops was the Oklahoma City National Memorial - a place that honors and remembers the victims, survivors, and rescuers who were affected by the Oklahoma City bombing. The museum took us through the story of April 19, 1995, and then the minutes, days, weeks, and years that followed. 

The museum was fascinating and terrifying and heartbreaking. Afterward, we wandered the Field of Empty Chairs and sat in the middle of the Gates of Time staring at the reflecting pool. These huge twin gates frame the moment of destruction - 9:02 am. The 9:01 Gate representing innocence before the attack. The 9:03 Gate symbolizing the moment healing began. The before and the after. 

You have been learning about the 9/11 attacks in your core class: interviewing family members, reading news articles from those first hours and days, looking at pictures and films, and reading books. We've talked about what we remember from our visit to the memorial in 2019 and the snack that we ate next to the Survivor's Tree. Our conversation drifted to our experience this summer at the City Memorial, to your before and after. Before you knew the horrors of a terrorist attack and the after of an innocence that was gone. 

In 2011, in a ten-year anniversary radio address of 9/11, President Obama said, "Even the smallest acts of service, the simplest act of kindness, is a way to honor those we lost, a way to reclaim that spirit of unity that followed 9/11." And this is the after I want to celebrate: That the world holds are more good than bad. That a simple act of kindness can connect us, create beauty, and forever change us. 

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

Love, Mom