Letter Six

Dear Luke,

Today you broke my heart about a thousand times, from pure joy. Let me say at the outset that this stage you're in is fairly difficult; your moods fluctuate quite a bit and tend toward the explosive, with no warning. You change your mind a lot, sometimes repeatedly in the course of the same communication ("I want blueberry yogurt... no, lemon!--no, blueberry. No, I want lemon. NO! BLUEBERREEEEEEEEE!"). Obviously we continue to adore you madly, recklessly, but life isn't the near-constant picnic with you that it has generally been since you started walking and talking and whatnot.

That said, and keeping it all in mind, today you had so many moments of absolute delight that I really still don't know what to do with it. Bake it and have it for dessert, maybe? You cuddled, you wanted to sit in my lap, you told me I am pretty, you said your typically sage and hilarious things--and then you went and did this:

In your highchair, with about 8 small round cookies on the tray, you chattered away to me. Suddenly you picked up a cookie in each hand, and motioned toward a third.

"Mama and Lukie and Daddy," you said. I sang the song you made up last year: Mama and Lukie and Daddy! But you were already playing, there was already a scenario. You poked a bit at the Lukie cookie so that it slid.

"Lukie fell," you said to me.

The Mama and Daddy cookies came to the Lukie cookie's side.

"Are you okay?" and "It's alright," they said.

Then you took the Mama and Daddy cookies, and with great concentration, put one on either side of the Lukie cookie, applying enough pressure to lift it (him?) without breaking any of the cookies.

"They lift him!" you said, with a huge smile.

I love you, boy. I could not be any prouder or more honored to be your mother.

Always,
Mama

Letter Five

Dear Luke,

Spring has arrived with a bang this year, the buds, blossoms and new growth trumpeting their presence with an amazing command. You, little sprout, are busily doing the same. You are so hungry for knowledge, despite already knowing more than you should, technically. You have ideas and opinions and want new ones, and new experiences, new flavors, colors, sounds.

We had a great conversation last week in the car, after I'd picked you up from your Grandma's house. There was a big rig in the left turn lane, and you identified it, commenting on its size and its loud horn. It made its turn, then our light turned green and we moved on. The big rig was out of sight.

What happened to big rig? you wanted to know. I explained that it had turned onto another street, a different street than the one we were on.

BIG RIG! you shouted. Where ARE you, big rig? Where ARE you? I need your help, big rig!

I was trying my utmost not to laugh. You were very, very serious.

You need the big rig's help? I asked.

Yes.

Oh! What do you need for it to do?

Silence. Then:

Mommy, where did big rig go?

I don't know, sweetie, I said. It went down a different street. Maybe it went home.

BIG RIG! Come back, BIG RIG! Big rig, where are you? I'm in the street, on Mommy's car, big rig!

Shortly thereafter we saw another car that interested you, and the big rig was forgotten.

I love you, boy.

Your Mama

Letter Four

Dear Luke,

You have stopped saying taytee for tasty and holy moke! for holy smokes!. You no longer talk about Cookie Punk, preferring instead the more staid Cookie Monster. You've long since traded in Ah la la for I love you. And it makes me a little sad to know these small bits of you are gone for good. Don't get me wrong: you continue to amaze your dad and me (and oh, let's face it, everyone whose path you cross) with your delight and your charm. But still: those things are gone from me forever, and that tiny boy is no longer quite so tiny.

You move so quickly that sometimes I'm strangely surprised to come home and find that you're still in diapers, still less than three feet tall, not reading, not riding a bicycle. And I'm glad: there is so much baby to hold onto yet.

And the rest of it will be just as good, I know.

I love you, sweet boy.

Mama

Letter Three

Dear Luke,

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email the subject of which was "Letter From a Concerned Citizen." I have cut and pasted its contents below.

Dear [Mama],

This is to inform you that your son, Luke, changed the names of four of my desktop files, giving them new titles such as:

j……………..mmmmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuuuuukjhfggggggggggggggnnnnnn

and

j,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,m…


Thankfully, he did not, to my knowledge, actually DELETE any files—THIS time.

I would appreciate your kind and immediate attention to this increasing problem, or I shall be forced to take stronger action in the future.

Very truly yours,

[Your Mimi]

A Concerned Citizen


Son, you are wise and sneaky. Congratulations on your fine stealth skills.

Love,
Mama

Letter Two

Dear Luke,

Your bedtime prayers tonight went thusly:

Me: Dear Lord...
You: [Silence]
Me: Thank You for Daddy...
You: Thank You for Mama. Thank You for Grandma. Thank You for soup. Thank You for orange cheese. Thank You for olives. They're not too spicy. They're really good. They're for Lukie's.
Me: ...in Jesus' name...
You: They're really good olives.
Me: ...in Jesus' name...
You: ...Amen.

I love you so much, small boy. So much.

Love,
Mama

Letter One

Dear Luke,

You made it clear since before you were born that you were very much your own person. Two years and two months later, you've yet to go back on your silent promise. You are more present and self-possessed than most adults I know. All too often my heart aches for you, because I know how long it's going to be until you really can do all the things you want to do, and I know how hard it will be for you to have to wait. Your daddy and I were very much that same way as children. But you are smarter than each of us, I think.

With these letters I hope to capture a little bit, every few days or so, about what our daily life is like. You've changed it -- you've turned it completely on its ear -- in the best way possible.

Love,
Mama