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