A Letter to Cyan at Seven Years Old

 Dear Cyan,

The last time I wrote you a birthday letter, you were turning three. We were in lockdown from COVID, and you were loving it! Everyone home to play with!

How much you have changed since then! You are taller and stronger. You know how to read, add, subtract, tell time, and ride a bike with no training wheels! Your curls are mostly a thing of the past, and you no longer eat hot dogs as a primary food group. You love milk and Eggo waffles and Little Bites. You've now been to Disney World ... TWICE!

You are at the end of first grade and pretty much the mayor of your school. Everyone knows who you are, and you put a smile on all their faces! You're also doing Cub Scouts with Blue as your leader!

You have tried playing baseball and soccer but perhaps aren't a team sports guy, like your brother. You still love swimming and are very good at it. Maybe swim team is in your future? You also love doing gymnastics with Indigo. Periwinkle taught you a lot of moves during quarantine so they were very surprised when four-year-old you did a one-handed cartwheel. 

You call my mom Grandma now, not Mima. And when I say "look both ways" you no longer wave both directions before crossing the street because you thought I said "waves" not "ways." I miss that 

As much as you've changed, you are still my sweet Cyan. Your smile lights up my day. You have a great laugh and love telling jokes. You still have boundless energy and adore your siblings (even when you guys fight. So, daily). 

You still end up in our bed several times a week (after three years of every night). You are still very attached to me. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I don't. You need to get a little braver, step a little further. I'll be right there if you need me.

You are stubborn beyond belief. Which you use when you don't feel like going to school. Or baseball. Or breakdancing. I can't wait until the recital. I'll be sad but glad it's over. The battle to get you to class has been rough. Even though you love to dance! I still don't understand. But you do you, kiddo.

I can't wait to see what seven brings you! Odd to think you are now the age your siblings were the last time I wrote to you. I hope you have a better second grade experience than they did!

I'm so proud of the person you are and are becoming. Keep shining a little sunshine into the world! 

Love forever,

Mama 

A Poem for Indigo at 8 Years Old

Waiting for him to fall asleep (a nightly struggle) and felt the urge to get these thoughts down. So in lieu of my annual letter, a poem.

How did we get from zero

to eight 

in a blink of my eyes?

From hurricane and raptor cries,

to--suddenly--

first time around the block all alone?

How did we get from chubby hands and wide eyes

to this tangle of gangly limbs curled up in a pile of sheets and stuffed animals, each beloved, named, with a history all its own?

From those first nights in the dark,

warming you by candlelight,

to watching you struggle to fall asleep,

the anxieties of the world upon your shoulders,

and in your dreams,

never far, not this year.

But I promise you this,

sweet worrier/warrior,

I too will never be far

when you need me.

And you will go from 8 to 18

in just another blink of my eyes.

from awkward boy to tall young man,

ever passionate, ever seeking, ever wondering.

Ever my baby boy.

A Letter to Cyan at Three Years Old

Dear Cyan,

This isn't the third birthday we envisioned for you. Saturday was supposed to be a joyous day for you as well as Periwinkle and Indigo as they celebrated their First Communion. Big to-do at Dave & Buster's, which would have been AWESOME. Looks like it'll be a beautiful day, anyway. And we are going to make it an awesome birthday! Covid-19 can't stop us from celebrating you and how much we love that you have been in our family for three whole years. There will be cake, and presents, and balloons, and a drive-by parade, and it will be fabulous.

You've come a long way this year. Twelve months ago, we had some concerns about your language development. Now, you're talking all time. "Bartleby on mommy's phone please?" "I want to go outside!" "More hot dog please!" "Yogurt pouch, please!" "Leo no baby!"

Any time you see a baby picture of yourself, or of your siblings, you start yelling that you are not a baby anymore. You can be quite emphatic when you want to be. You're a big boy now, for sure. But can we get back on that whole potty-training thing? Like, pronto?

And while usually you are smiling and giggling and being a little imp, you have also discovered your temper. I fear you look to your siblings as role models for that, among other things. All three of you need a chill pill, though I know that it's a bit tough right now.

But you do adore them. Periwinkle and you have baked several batches of cookies, wearing your aprons and chef hats, and eating half the dough before it hits the oven. She plays games with you, and has trained you as the puppy she longs for. Indigo still isn't quite sure what to do with you, but there are times all three of you spend hours playing outside together. He loves you, trust me.

You've been adoring having them home all the time. I think you believe pandemic quarantine is the best thing ever. Sometimes you do "work" alongside them, though unfortunately you've been spending a lot of time watching tv or playing alone as I try to get them to do their assignments. There's a lot of yelling, from them and me, and I'm sorry about that. But you seem to roll with it, as with most things in life. I showed you the circle time from your daycare class one day, and you started screaming, "No! I stay home!" so going back to school, whenever that is, is going to be rough.

You can count to twenty, sing many songs including the ABCs, and know your shapes and colors. You know how to make your toys work and when to ask for new batteries. You love your race cars, trains, and bouncy balls.

Mickey is still your favorite, and I'm sorry we likely won't get to meet him this year. I don't think I trust you to wear a mask in 80-degree heat. Luckily, you don't know what you're missing, so I'm more upset than you are. Maybe next year?

You also love Bartleby, the cat from "True and the Rainbow Kingdom." You get so excited about the Wishing Tree and singing the songs. Daddy has also gotten you into the original "Duck Tales," so that's pretty sweet.

You weigh 38.5 pounds, and I should probably measure your height. You have a doctor's appointment next week, but I need to check if that's still a go.

Everything is on hold, it seems, but not you. You continue to learn and grow and bring sunshine (and some thunderstorms) to our daily lives. You're still my little sidekick, even if we can't go anywhere. I love you, Little Hulk. Just please start sleeping past 5am again. I know the gate is off your door, but that isn't an open invitation to come downstairs in the middle of the night.

Love always,
Mama

A New World

It's been nearly a year since I last posted. I completely missed Periwinkle and Indigo's seventh birthday, and Cyan is nearly three. We've been busy with preparing for First Communion, dance practice, soccer, basketball, gymnastics, Cub Scouts, Girl Scouts, swim lessons, open gym for Cyan, and a million other things.

Except now it's all stopped. Someone hit pause on our lives, and we are all in suspended animation waiting for them to hit Play again. Cyan's first trip to Disney...postponed. Peri's recital...who knows? Do I print communion invites? Do I brave the outside world with my suppressed immune system to deal with two troublesome teeth or just suck up the pain? And of course there's the constant worry and anxiety about much loved older family members.

I'm not sleeping great. I wake up most nights and fight myself back to sleep, trying to think about anything other than this bizarre new reality. The uncertainty. The lack of anticipation and optimism I feel. I stay up too late watching mindnumbing tv to delay the moments between waking and sleeping. I've always hated those moments, even as a kid. That's when the boogeymen come out and shadows seem like nightmares. And as an adult with three kids who are confused and worried themselves (well, maybe not Cyan), those shadows seem even darker. So, yeah, night isn't my favorite these days. It reminds me of how I felt when Cyan was in the NICU and I felt utterly helpless and scared. I want to do something and make this whole horrid situation go away.

So I've been focusing on keeping up their school stuff. It's hard for them to focus when tv and games are right there. Peri blazes through, but Indigo needs more prodding. There's been some yelling. We've let things slide from one day's schedule to the next. We're figuring it out as we go. I'm looking forward to getting more solid direction from the school. The worksheets sent home aren't that exciting, but I know the teachers did what they could with little notice. The school system has been fantastic.

Today we went for a hike and examined the natural world around us. We listened for different bird calls. Don't ask me what types of birds, but there were several. We watched an angry and protective swan charge at two aggressive geese, chasing them across the street and eventually across the pond. He was strong and fierce and majestic, and likely protecting a nest somewhere. 

I sympathized. I would fight some geese for my kids too. But how can I fight this invisible virus?

A Letter to Cyan at Two Years Old

Dear Cyan,

It’s almost impossible to believe that another year has flown by, that you will be TWO, that you are a toddler and not a tiny baby any longer. And then I remember how busy you have kept us, how exhausted you have made us, how much you have made us laugh, and how much you have changed, and it all makes sense.

Cutie one year old

You are still definitely Baby Hulk, although perhaps you need an upgrade to Toddler Hulk or Mini Hulk. You enter a room and assume everything in it is yours for the taking. We go to the library for “Fun with Toddlers” or “Toddler Hunger Games,” as I call it, because that’s how you seem to view it—every man for himself, and don’t get in your way. We also go to the library for story time, but you don’t have time for that. You want to run, and jump, and destroy. So we usually don’t make it past page four.

As your new daycare teacher put it, “He puts his hand on my mouth, says ‘shhhh’, then goes back to destroying the room.” But she loves you, as does everyone there, as do your old teachers at your old school. It was a tough decision to switch you, but I think it was the right one. I get sent all sorts of happy pictures, and they are so excited to have you. They remember you from when you first escaped the NICU, a tiny five pound nugget, and they begged us to send you there so they could watch you grow. And now they can.

And how you have grown. Your face may still say “baby,” but your stature says older. People are often shocked when I say you are just turning two. “He’s so tall!” “What a big guy!” and yet you are perfectly on the curve, not much different in size than Indigo was at your age.

You rarely walk—you run in your own unique way, knees high, bouncing along. I could watch you chase your siblings all day. The three of you have such fun, until they decide they are done and go upstairs, and all you want to do is follow them. I know it’s tough, and the age difference won’t be easy, but they do love you, and I love how you love them.

You still adore swim lessons and your teacher, J. He gets such a kick out of you and trying to understand what you are so pointedly telling him. You are pulling up on the wall and kicking on your own, and I am incredibly proud of you.

You are a huge talker, though a lot of it is still in a language only you understand. But you are adding words every week, and I think we may have squeaked in at the finish with the “required” fifty words by age two. We’ll talk with your doctor next week and see what she says, but I’m hoping our earlier worries about your language development were just paranoia. Of course if you need help, you will get it. I love the way you say “Hey!” and “shoosh” (shoes), and “Yeah” like you are the saddest boy in the world. You say “There it is!” with such joy and surprise, and “Go!” with determination. I can’t wait for “I love you.”

I especially like how you say “Mickey!” because he is just your favorite thing in the world right now. You carry around little figures of the characters like they are made of gold, and the tv shows are the fastest way to chill you out at Indigo’s baseball games or Periwinkle’s soccer games. I wish we could take you to Disney during this magical time. I hope you still love him when we can.

Maybe my favorite is “Hug,” which you say as you run to people to snuggle them. Sometimes you try to use it to avoid going to bed, but often you want to take your nap so much you say “Night night” and grab your loveys and pacifier and meet me at your crib. (That pacifier, or “chooch” as you say, aka “chuchetto” in Italian, is going away soon. Sorry, kiddo.) I just put you to bed and out you go, whether for naps or night. People can’t believe you are so easy! *knocks wood* I’m hoping when we finally finish our reno and move you to your OWN room upstairs at long last, you’ll still love your sleep. Tonight I gave you a pillow for the first time. You seemed pretty excited.

You still rock a hat at age two

So I guess my point here is that you are an incredible ball of energy in our lives, and watching you learn and grow has been one of the true pleasures of the past year (and the year before, of course). I love having you as my little sidekick when you are not at school.

Never stop thinking the world is yours for the taking, but maybe learn to share just a *little* bit?

Love,

Mama