Sleep away camp

Allegra,

Yesterday you got home from sleep away camp and I couldn't believe how grown you suddenly seemed. When we dropped you off there last weekend with your two best friends, I knew you'd be fine.  It was a new experience, and you only felt partly ready for it, but you dragged that suitcase straight down the road with Addy and Dylan and barely looked back. And after a week of new friends, songs, swimming, sleeping in hammocks, you are taller. Calmer. Surer of your ability to be out there in the world, trying it all, figuring out what you love and what this life holds for you.

The years go by, and some of them seem to last forever. These past two years you have learned to read, swim, and ride a bike. You fell in love with a stuffed animal named Golden and you still love Blankie Blankie, but you agreed that for Girl Scout Camp, Blankie Blankie should stay home. She's delicate by now, and we chuckle at how the lady that made her by hand never would have guessed how important the thread she was knitting for you could have become. She used to be white, but now she's gray. Aged. Cherished. She stayed home while you had your adventure.

You still love these bits of babyhood, but you are not a baby anymore. You are just...you. You love peas and hate cheese. You catch frogs and fireflies and play Barbies. You are fiercely devoted to your two best friends, and the three of you have been showing up at each other's dance recitals and first communions. It's making our families into a little community, which has been really fun for all of us.

Summer has officially begun, and I am realizing that we only get you for another few years before your adventures get bigger and longer and farther away. I will take some pictures for you to help you remember how passionate and sure you are right now. That feeling comes and goes through life, but it helps to remember that you were born with it, Allegra. You might not always feel so brave, but so many kids your age would have been quaking in their boots at strolling into the woods for a week of camp. You climbed and camped and did all the things, taught us some new songs, unpacked your suitcase, and fell exhausted into bed last night. I'm glad to have you home again, realizing especially this morning how quickly the time is flying by when you're still a kid.

I am so very, very proud of you.

Love,
Mom

Fron Dad

Allegra, 

This school year and last I have had the honor of dropping you off at school in the mornings. I am, each day, so impressed with the confidence and anticipation in your face and your stride as you walk from our car into the school doors, as though the whole place is yours and you are excited at the possibilities of whatever might happen that day. You are so delightful in the mornings. On very rare occasions you wake up and are a little bit grumpy , as we all do. For the most part, however, you wake up with a smile on your face and an upbeat energy about you that makes even MY grumpy mornings filled with joy. You are kind to your brother. You are buddies. Among my very favorite things is hearing the two of you giggling about a joke the two of you share. At the moment our whole house is in upheaval as our kitchen is being redone. You and Luke are eating meals on the cold basement floor, off of a crate that we pulled from the upstairs. I'm so pleased with how you are rolling with the punches. Not only is it okay with you that we are eating on the floor and have been exiled from much of our house, but your eyes tell me that there's something magical about it all for you, as if this is a new adventure that you are excited to be a part of. Instead of being annoyed that the playroom is filled with boxes so you can't play with your toys, you and Luke turned the boxes into a game, climbing on them, inventing a game that you invited me to be a part of, where I sit in the middle of the boxes with my eyes closed and try to grab you, pull you in and tickle you. You love to be wrestled and tickled and when I pull you in and try to be gentle with you you say "No Dad , REALLY tickle me." You love the closeness and I love it too. I also love hearing you laugh. You are such a great reminder that there is so much to be joyful about. In this, and many other ways, you show me what I want to be like.

Love,
Dad

Missing things

Allegra,

Today was an almost-miss day.  We went to church, with plans to do some fall festival stuff later in the day.  So I went shopping and Dad stayed home and played games with you and Luke, and ignored his phone like good Dads do when they're really playing with their kids. He missed the text that told him I'd wait at Target for you guys to meet me there, halfway to Simmon's Farm.

An hour later, I pulled in and dinner was ready but not eaten.  So we ate (quickly-ish) and loaded into the car, and looked up the hours on the way. That was when we discovered that all farms within a reasonable distance were closing within 15 minutes. I felt pouty.  You and Luke were pouty too.

But we took a detour to Home Depot, and bought some pretty amazing pumpkins anyway. You and Luke even picked out some kid-sized white gourds, and named them. Luke calls his 'Griffey' and yours is 'Pumpkinney'. With more time and money on our hands than we thought, we went to Scoops after that and got some ice cream cones before heading home. On the way, you reminded us that it was really lucky we were running late; otherwise, we wouldn't have Pumpkinney. Your read on the night was redemptive - a win, despite what we lost. It made me smile.

Tonight, trying to fall asleep, your mind was churning, though. How long do pumpkins last, you wanted to know. What happens when they get old?  I told you that they get soft, like old fruit. They rot and then it's time to send them to the compost bin to feed our spring flowers.  You started to cry, quietly, then louder. "How will we remember Pumpkinney, Mama?" you said, barely able to get the words out at the end. Sobs and hiccups. All this for a $1 gourd from Home Depot.

I almost tried to remind you of the facts. One dollar, girl. Home depot. There will be a handful of irreplaceable things you'll come across in your life, and Pumpkinney is not one of them.

But I have felt that thing too.  The missing of a thing before it's even gone. The ache of loving a thing that you know can't stay.  It's awful, really; sometimes so bad that you wish you never laid eyes on said thing-that-cannot-remain-with-you-unchanged.

I have a dozen things like that. You, as a newborn, was one of them. You were so tiny, so light and quiet and sleepy, and I knew that every day you would grow bigger and more independent, until eventually you wouldn't need me any more. I took a hundred pictures, literally. I knew your small days and my days of total control were limited. I was right about both of those things. But what is also true is that the watching of you grow into a big, strong, heartful girl has been worth every little bit of smallness I had to let go of.

There will be a lot of things like that.  Good things, but things that, for one reason or another, won't stay. The very having of them can be painful. But I hope that you remember that the pain is worth it. Having a beautiful thing is always worth the pain that you feel when it leaves. The beautiful things change us, and the pain of their departure pales in comparison to the memories we have along with the better things that come to fill the spaces they left behind. 

God doesn't leave us empty-handed, little one. He asks us to keep our hands open, so he can keep filling them again, and again. He will always fill your hands. Don't be afraid to keep them out there, ready to catch the next beautiful thing He sends your way. And that thing might come, and stay for a while, and go, too. It's okay. The things you really need - your inner strength, your wisdom and peace, God Himself - these things you can't lose no matter how hard you try. They are always right there inside you, always available if you need them.

You are seven, upstairs sleeping, and I am missing that you will never be just this age ever again. But I am so very proud of you, proud to know you and so certain that your unique blend of honesty and loyalty and strength and cleverness will be a gift to the world in ways neither of us can imagine today. So rest well, little one. I miss you, but I hold you with open hands.

And I will take pictures of Pumpkinney, so that you can remember her too.

Fierce

That's your word this year.  It defines your tenacity, your passion, your energy, your soul.  You are deep as a well and bright as the sun.  You are fierce and beautiful.  I'm so glad I get to know you, little one.

You have a best friend, Dylan. The two of you have a rhythm together, with crazy laughter and sleep overs and a sisterly little friendship that is blossoming so beautifully.  Her parents are fun and we eat together and play and walk to Scoops for ice cream after dinner.

You and Luke and buddies, too.  You decided our rhododendron is a tree house and the two of you climb up into it and sing songs and shriek and sing "i'm looking for a friend / i'm looking for YOU" because you both know it makes me crazy.  He loves you, and you love him.

This summer, you sleep over in his room almost every night on the top bunk.  I read Harry Potter to you both with a flashlight until I can hear the deep, soft rhythm of your breath.  I close the book, click off the light, and brush the sunbleached hair off of your forehead.

I love these days.  Your Daddy broke some bones in his neck this summer, so I wasn't sure after that crazy July 4th weekend just how things would go.   And it's not easy.  But it's good, it's full, it's beautiful.  Hard and beautiful.  So life goes.

Love,
Mom

Five

Allegra,

You are five.  FIVE.  One whole hand old.  We had just a little party for you because in a few weeks, you and Luke are sharing a big birthday party at the trampoline park.  You asked for a princess birthday cake, and your Dad worked all day on a four-tiered pink castle cake with butterflies on it and a staircase...with hand-rails, because princesses can't go up staircases in their high heels without something to hold on to, right?  It was pretty amazing.  Logan and Linkin came over for some cake, and you giggled and shared your new play-doh sets with them.  It was a pretty great night, and I took a picture of your epic cake so you can remember it later. 

I think you're great.  Soft-hearted, compassionate, intuitive, competitive, persistent, expressive...and all this at five.  I can't wait to know you at ten, at fifteen, at twenty.  Kids like you make the best kinds of adults.  Keep it up, little lady.  You are something great just waiting to happen.

With love,
Mom

Uncle's Cabin

Dear Allegra, 

We are at the cabin this week.  You call it Uncle's Cabin; really, it's your Dad's Great Uncle Paul's cabin.  You love it here, and rightly so.  It's an important place for us.  

This was where your Dad took me on our first date.  That is a long story for another time, and really, it wasn't a smart move on my part all those years ago.  I barely knew him then, and I let him drive me hours into the dark for a 'surprise' - to an empty cabin to build a fire.  I had a sense about him, and I was right. Luckily. Anyway.

He came here every year with his family for two weeks on vacation.  It was one of the few places your Dad (almost) connected with his own Dad.  There's no TV, no internet, barely a cell phone signal. It's quiet and it sits right on the riverfront.  It's old, has never been updated, and is really kind of disgusting if you've never been there before.  Your Great Uncle Bill owns it now, and he has all kinds of things written on the wall with Sharpie.  Instructions, warnings, and some pure crazy talk. It's these things that give the place character, that make it truly quirky and unforgettable.  

When we didn't have much money, we used to try to come out here as often as we could.  It was a free getaway.  And now, we come once a year, because it's free and because it's a great place for kids and because it's full of the memories of all the years that have gone before.  I almost forget how nasty the place is when it's bathed in sunset and memories.  That's a lot of the time.  But there are days when it's been cool and dreary and raining for too long, and I remember.  You might remember me on those days, too.  Sorry.  I always was more of a beach girl myself, but oh the things we do for love.  I come to the cabin.  I actually, almost all the time, love it myself.

Today was a great day, but it didn't start out that way.  You had a nightmare last night, something about a meowing rat.  Sounded pretty scary to me, too.  You crawled into my bed before 7 AM and thus the day began.  The last few days have been cool, rainy, indoor days.  I was grumpy.  Your Dad was sick last week and was in the hospital for almost a week and it was hard on all of us, and we're all in need of some extra rest this week.  Anyway, somehow your Daddy in his great love for all of us saved the day and pulled us out of the dumps with a bike ride and a visit to the Double Diamond Deer Ranch.  You built your first council fire and made apple mountain pies with him.  Your face was so happy and so dirty and so tired, but he asked you if you wanted to go twilight fishing and your eyes lit up.  Off you both went.  I imagine you learning to cast a line as the sun sets on a 70 degree day in early June, your hand in your Dad's hand.  

Maybe someday, when you're reading this, you'll still know this place well.  Or maybe life will do what life does and surprise us with something even better in the future that takes us somewhere else every year.  I hope you remember these moments, these days with your Dada and your Mommy and your little brother.  These are good days, Allegra.  Not perfect days - few days of your life will be perfect - but as close as it gets in this life.

Here are some memories for you to keep, Allegra.  Memories of really fantastic days, when you were not quite five years old, and you spent the twilight fishing with your Dad.  Good, good memories.

Four

Allegra,

You are already four.  Four years old, but smart as a whip and with a heart as deep as a well.  You love Frozen and Hello Kitty and pink things and ice cream at night.  You have endless energy and a killer vocabulary and you're super proud that you've finally figured out how to say the aaarrRRR sound.  "Say it like I say it, Mom," you say, so that you can work on your pronunciation.  You're precise and determined but not terribly patient yet.  I think that's a four-year-old thing.  Your wide eyes speak volumes about the way you process the confusing, surprising, beautiful world.

I am learning that it's not easy being four, having so many questions but not being able to read or to do things for yourself yet.  It can be scary growing up, too, and you have found that sometimes, you don't want to do the things for yourself that you know how to do.  It's nice to have company in the bathroom.  It's more fun to fall asleep with someone beside you, keeping you warm.  How do you navigate independently?

I see in you already the persistence, the intelligence, the empathy of a young woman who will leave an indelible mark on the world.  I am so proud of you already; the way you share, the way you show compassion and yet advocate for yourself.  I love you and I can't believe the privilege I get to watch you become just who God made you to be.

Love,
Mom