Letters to my Future Children #4

Kids. We need to talk. 

Siblings are an interesting complexity. You will drive eachother insane on more than one occasion. Odds are we'll be a (semi) normal family, and there will be small altercations often. 

Boys, you'll want to punch it out, 

or settle an argument via arm wrestling. 

Girls, you'll probably want destroy your sister's prized possesions, 

or plot some other elaborate vengeful scenario. 

When I was little, I swapped the heads of Aunt Melody's vintage barbie dolls. I paid dearly, and wouldn't reccomend getting on her bad side. In so many ways, siblings not getting along perfectly is inevitable. But you've got to understand something incredibly important: they're family. 

Regardless of what happens; they're family. When you grow up into incredibly handsome boys and blindingly gorgeous girls, and face the inevitable trials this wonderful life offers us, you'll always be able to count on one thing: your family. Friends come and go, but your family is always stuck there like glue. Or gummy bears. Stuck like gummy bears. There's a special bond between siblings. There's nothing really like it. Often times, you'll want to smack each other. Even more often times though, you'll be so grateful for the binding tie that is family. Just keep it in mind. 

Because family is forever.

No matter what.

can't wait to see you,

mom

Letters to my future children: #3

I was just thinking, kids.

I hope in heaven you're paying good attention to life down here. Dad and I were talking yesterday about some things, and I just wanted to give you a little heads up. There is a little thing called High School here on earth, kids. A time of life that can be used for good or evil. The most important thing about school is learning, right? You'd think so. It seems that kids care more what others think of them, instead of what is really important: getting an education. Sometimes it gets to a point where people stop being themselves because they're trying so hard to be popular, or charming, or whatever it takes for them to be whatever it is that they want to be.

There is a wonderful wonderful thing that happens after high school though, kids. It's called graduation. After graduation, a whole world is opened up to you almost overnight, like magic. A world where you come to a realisation that all of those cliques, those people you desperately wanted to be accepted by, the superficial clothing, cars, or electronics you agonized over, all of it; it doesn't matter anymore. What a release it is. I can't tell you how many times I've heard roommates, or classmates, or friends I went to University with who would say, "I wish I would have known when I was in high school how stupid it was to try to be something that I wasn't. How silly it was for me to try so hard to be cool." I find myself thinking that a lot too, especially when I see people I grew up with, who are still stuck in the High School mentality (a true tragedy I hope you kids don't experience).

High School isn't a bad thing, don't get me wrong. It's a time when you start to discover who you are. You make friends, some who will become lifelong pals. You get a taste of pre-adulthood. It's in high school that you will likely get your drivers license. It's in High School that (usually) you decide which University to go to (a university is like a bigger, cooler, more expensive version of high school minus the drama, kids). High School is great.

Maybe it's because I am a girl, but it seems to me that girls struggle alot more with this than boys do.
My dear girls, I hope you know it's ok to be unique. 

In fact, sometimes it's preferred. 

I hope you feel completely comfortable being just you, knowing always, that the most important definition of who you are is a son or daughter of God. As long as you know that first (and second that you have loving parents), I think you're good to go. You'll always be adored. It's taken me 20+ years to notice something remarkable, kiddos. I've noticed that those who are the most comfortable being exactly who they are; those people are loved the most. They are adored because they have the strength to be themselves.

People who are liked

a) appreciate themselves,

b) love others and show their love, and

c) are willing to share, rather than expectant to receive.

I know you're not even here yet, but could you promise to think about something for me? Just think about what an incredible thing it is, just to have the opportunity to be here; to be able to live life, and experience the ride. Don't worry about which store you'll get your clothes, which phone you can't wait to get, or what color car you want. Everything is going to be just fine.

Of course, you'll figure all of this out on your own when you come down to us.

 I just wanted to give you the heads up.


love always and forever,
mom

Letters to my Future Children #2

To My Dear Little Boys,

Boys, I know right now as you (up in heaven) watch me write to you, you're probably interested in what it is that I want to talk to you about, here in 2010. I'll tell you, boys. I just can't wait to play ball with you. I know it's going to take a while. First, you have to get here. Then, you have to grow. Rather, I have to grow you. After you learn how to sleep more than 2 hours, snuggle with mommy for more than 2 seconds, and walk more than 2 steps, I'm going to take you out to a park, or to the backyard of the lovely cottage I'm sure we'll be living in (or will we still be in this one bedroom apartment?), and I'm going to play ball with you.

"Which ball", you ask? Why, all of them.

I'll bring a soccer ball, a football, 

a baseball, a tennis ball, a kick ball, 

and more likely than not, a disco ball. 

And we're going to play. Heavens know we won't play the technically correct way. But that's not what is important. We're going to have the most lovely time ('lovely' is more of a term I'll use with your sweet sisters, we'll have a ROCKIN' time). We'll have the most rockin time playing ball. There is a good possibility that your sisters will be playing with us, boys. You'll have to learn to be patient with them, and give them turns. There is a chance they'll be good at ball. Maybe even better than you. My guess is that they'll be playing hide and seek, and daydreaming about the lovely bedtime stories I'm going to make up, and won't be too incredibly interested in playing ball with the 'stinkies'. (They're referring to you, boys. I'll talk to them later about respecting their siblings.) I hope you are always good to your sisters. Don't worry. I'm sure to remind the ladies to be good to you. Oh, and do be patient when we pull out the disco ball, and put on our flowing skirts. And you must join us in only a few dances. Don't worry. I'll be sure that you are taught the macerana well.

The days when we go out and play ball will be nothing short of magical. Of course you'll have afternoons when your wonderful father will take your hand, walk you out to the field, and you will have wonderful times, just the boys. You'll probably love those afternoons quite alot. Afternoons free of flowers, of frills and of the pastel colors I plan to adorn your beautiful sisters and myself with.

I know from first hand experience what good company your great father is. He'll love creating memories, and playing with you boys.

But I promise- you'll never have a bigger fan than me.

I could thumb wrestle your father for the title of biggest fan, but there's no question who would win that short battle. He comes in a very very close second. Maybe one and a half. Alright boys, maybe it's a tie.

When you get to school, sometime playing ball becomes less fun. I don't care if you never play a 'real' ball game in your life. That is, after we have our fun play dates when you finally join our family. I know I'm jumping the gun, boys, but all I'm really trying to say is that I can't wait to play with you.

Soccer and disco ball alike. 

We're going to have a fabulously rockin' time.

Hopefully it won't be too long till you get here,
Mom

ps- your father drives me crazy when he corrects my spelling.
When he corrects your spelling, just try to be patient with him, boys.
Ok? Ok. Love you.

Letters to my Future Children: #1

My last post got me thinking about what I would and would not be willing to share on a blog in letters. There are, of course, topics I'll write to my kiddos that I don't want available for the entire world to see, but there are a lot of topics that I'd be fine with sharing with loved ones and friends. I've already started writing some shorter letters (I'm not ready to get into the deeper subjects), and I've decided this one will be the first that I'll share. When I write, I feel like I write to my girls and boys separately, because I feel like I have different things to say to them. That will probably change; I'll probably have some letters for the girls, some for the boys, and some for both. It'll be interesting to see what comes.

I wish you all the loveliest weekend.

To My Little Girls,

Hopefully you aren't upset or annoyed by the names I've been thinking of for you. They come to me alot easier than boy names, and frankly, I like baby girl clothing more than I like baby boy clothing. You probably know that though, don't you girls? The other day, I found myself in the baby girl swimming suit section, trying to decide between a yellow tutu swimsuit, or a pink tutu swimsuit. After much thought, I ended up buying the pink, becuase I have a feeling it will go well with your personalities.

 But, a few days later I went back for the yellow one.

So now I have both. For the days when you're feeling like a star, and the other days when you're feeling like a flower. You never know, my sweet darlings. And they were on sale. I hope I don't pass on the 'shopping for things you have absolutly no need for yet' gene to you. I'll try to keep you away from Anthropologie until absolutely necessary. You should actually feel special, because I'm sure your brothers will have less attention to their wardrobe selections. But I'm sure they won't mind. Boys usually don't. Your father doesn't at least.

Maybe I'll just leave baby boy swim trunk shopping to him.

Scratch that.

I'll go ahead and be in charge of the boy's clothing too.

I've been thinking a little bit, girls. I've been wondering if you will love dancing as much as I do. I've just signed up to take classes again, and I can't believe how much I missed it. Your Grandma Rose loved dancing, I love dancing... I just wonder if you will too.

It's quite alright if you don't love dancing. When I was small, I couldn't stand the thought of pink tights. Maybe you won't like tights either. Or maybe you will.  You may be more into music, like Melody. Or maybe you'll find something else completely that you absolutly adore. That would be marvelous.

I just wonder.

No pressure, but I have a feeling you'll look simply lovely in a pink tutu.

Whether it's a swimsuit or a real one.

That's all for now, girls.

Try to be patient.
Hopefully it won't be too long.

Love,
Mom

Letters

When I was a kid, I used to write letters to my future husband. They were shy, timidly honest, and incredibly hopeful. I would hide them in my journal or in my underwear drawer, and blush horribly if anyone for some reason came across them. In fact, once my oldest brother got his hands on one of my letters and asked me what it was (I kept the envelopes blank with small numbers written in the corner). I snatched it from him, ran to the bathroom, locked the door, tore the letter up and flushed it down the toilet.

Needless to say, I was a dramatic little girl.

My brother wouldn't have taunted me, had he found out what it was; I'm blessed to have siblings who aren't too cruel to the baby of the family. I'm not sure why I was so afraid of what people would think if they knew. The first time I wrote a letter to my future husband I think I was probably 8 or so.

I tried to find my letters the last time I was home, but I couldn't; I must've hid them well.
The first one was probably a poorly written series of questions:

Dear Future Husband,

Where do you live right now?
What is your favorite color?
Do you like dogs? I hope so.
Do you like to watch Gymnastics?
If you do, maybe we should watch the olympics together.

Love,
Alyssa
Your Future Wife

My first letter was, more or less, something like the above.
A series of letters would follow, the content maturing slowly along with me. I would hide them together, but would often change the hiding place; paranoid that my parents, or worse my siblings would find them. I (as far as I know) was the only one in the family that wrote letters to a person who I hadn't met, and it was a secret I wanted to keep.

The last time I wrote a letter to my future husband, I was around 15. I don't know exactly why I stopped. Maybe because when I started going on dates with boys, my whole idea of what a future husband would be changed. Maybe I thought it was a silly idea. More likely, however, is that I thought my future husband would think my letters were silly.

When Gideon and I moved to boise, I found a letter, just one, crumpled and stuffed in a small suitcase filled with socks, undies, and dance leotards. I don't know how I've missed it all these years, but I'm pretty sure it was the last one I wrote; it had handwriting that looked like I was trying to impress someone, was carefully spell checked, and smelled like perfume had lightly kissed it years and years ago.

...perfume.

What an old fashioned girl I am.

Writing love letters to boys I've yet to meet, spritzing them with perfume,

then hiding them away, never to be found again.

Except this one.

When Gideon found out what it was, he sweetly begged me to read it to him, but I wanted to read it on my own first. It had been over 8 years since I had written it, placed it in the envelope and sealed it carefully. It was actually unfair of me; the letter was technically addressed to my future husband. But Gid didn't mind that I wanted to read it in private before I shared it. It was like meeting my younger self in a way, and I was a little apprehensive to do so.

The letter was naive in places, but I was surprised with the overall maturity that I found in it. And when Gideon read it silently to himself, and I saw how much he loved it, I was a little sad that I had stopped writing them.

Hopefully someday when I'm at home looking for Christmas decorations, or some other dusty artifact in the attic, I'll come across a secret bundle of letters, and I'll be able to give them to the one they were meant for.

In the mean time.

I think I'm going to start writing letters to my future children.
They might (understandably) think they are silly.
At first.

But I feel confident, that as they grow up, they'll begin to cherish the letters I've written them.

If they're anything like their parents, they certainly will.