Love Letter

Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Wednesday, February 3, 2010 at 10:09 PM


Well, it *is* February.

Last weekend, I was having a pretty typical Saturday morning: busy, busy, busy. Laundry, beds, tidying up, running around trying to put my life back together in time to get out for some fun family errands before naptime.

My son, my sweet, wonderful son, poked his head around my bedroom door and crooked his finger, calling me away from my giant pile of whites.

There was a little handwritten note taped to my laundry room door:

Dear mom, I love you very much. I think you are the best. I know you have boring stuf to do. I'm sad to say this but your work is never going to end. I wish that every were Saterday or Sunday. If I was a little bit older, I would love to find something to help. I would also like to help you. Love from, Devlin.

On Saturday, I was happy. I was in a good mood. I felt like a good mom. So I was delighted to read his little take on housewifery. "I'm sad to say this, but..." How quaint! How charming! How observant! I laughed out loud and hugged him and left the letter hanging proudly on the door, where I was sure to see it many, many times over the coming days and weeks.

On Saturday, the letter was a happy reminder of things I was doing right.

Today, it felt like a scathing expose of my most hated parenting flaws.

Devlin was home (just a little bit) sick from school today. I should have seen this coming - days when he and Eve are in the same room for more than a few hours are difficult for me, almost without exception. Everything was setting me off. I was not the best version of myself. I was grumpy, and yell-y, and the worst part about it is that I know it's not them. They're always like this, because they are children.

On days like this, it is me. I know that. But that doesn't mean I know how to pull myself out of it. (I'm still working on that - in between slicing apples, buttering bread, pouring milk, and working my way backward through the house, mopping up Iris's trail of poop. Yes, really).

I walked by the letter on my door on my way to extract a baby who woke up way too early from her nap. I cringed to remember that even my son, as young as he is, is keenly aware of the load I carry and how much it weighs on me sometimes. A lot of the time. I don't want him to feel like he needs to shoulder too much of that. I don't want him to already be living for the weekends, to feel the pull of the world and all the Stuff We Have To Get Done eating away at our time together, at what really matters. He's a kid. There will always be laundry. There will always be another meal, prep, unwanted opinions, and cleanup around the corner. I needed to grow up, put on my big girl panties, and get over myself.

So instead of hiding from my life, I turned around and headbutted it.

I pumped up 6 tires, rescued one baby bike helmet from months of disrepair and neglect, successfully puzzled two bicycles and a double trailer into the van without removing any seats, and spent the afternoon pedaling around the lake at Freestone Park.

I granted my children's fondest wish today.

And my letter feels like a love letter again.

Comments (5)

Oh, sweet Rachel. I love this post. Your children love you so much. You do so much for them, they can't help but take notice.

I'm so glad you went on a bike ride! Yea! That's just the thing to do, because like you say, there will always be laundrydishesvacuumingcookingscrubbing to do. I commend you for your valiant efforts to de-funk your drabby mood. I totally hear you. It happens to all of us.

P.S. I was just reading Jake Devlin's sweet letter and getting all gooey over how precious it was and he says to me, "You know our kids aren't gonna be that bright, right? You know they're not gonna be able to write something like that 'til they're in college." Nothing like a little Jake to bring you back to reality. ;)

Beautiful post! You did the perfect thing today! I'm glad the letter makes you happy again.

Devlin is a very bright child!

Ah, Dev, you are such a sweetie. I'm glad you had fun at the park. Getting out is good for the mom funk.

Darling. I have such great memories of him. :)