What does it take to write?

As you can tell, it's been so long since I've posted. For some reason, it always takes something pretty big or eye-opening to get me still enough to write. The stars all lined up tonight and I decided to login and post again. Have any of you started email accounts for your children? I have about 3 journals upstairs, tattered and torn, exhausted from moving around from box to box. In them, I have letters to the kids. I was really good about writing to the twins when I was pregnant with them. I wrote about the things that scared me and the things I hoped for them. I wrote about how I felt, what I ate, and even ordinary things that being pregnant with them changed. I told them about how it felt to tie my shoes sideways and how I required pretzel nests of pillows in order to sleep. I even kept up with writing to each of them for awhile after they were born. But, as luck and life would have it, sleep became harder and harder to come by and my priorities shifted.

The other night, I was on a flight home and felt like I needed to write to Katie. All of a sudden, I was worried, concerned that she wouldn't believe me when she got older. That she wouldn't reach out to me when she needed to hear encouraging words, that she wouldn't tell me she was struggling or weak. And, that she wouldn't have anyone or anything positive to lift her up. Or, even more scary, that I wouldn't be here for her for some reason to convince her of how wonderful and strong and beautiful she is. That's when I thought about sending her an email. So, I typed up a word document and began to just spill my guts to her. I thought about how she would be able to access this letter and multiple ones in the future just by signing in to an email account. I figured I could save the password for her and give it to her when she turns, I don't know...16? You know, the age. The age you don't want to listen to anyone. The age when the one pimple on your forehead is enough to make you want to just hide in bed all day. The age when you want to know that you're important and special. And, you pretend that your parents opinion doesn't matter, but it does.  So, I decided I'd share the letter with you as well. Because, maybe your mama never wrote you a letter. Maybe your mama didn't have the internet. Or, the ability to pour her heart out to you on a piece of paper. Maybe your mama didn't think you would listen anyway. Or maybe she was too concerned with grammar and sensitive to run-on sentences.  Maybe she didn't have the time. Nonetheless, take these words and draw them straight into your heart. Use them if you need them. Spread them. Here is my first letter to Katie May. Of course, the boys will get their letters too. But, I felt inclined to start with her. Because, it is such a battle to be a strong, brave, and confident woman in this world. And, it's hard for us to see the power that lies in our own two hands.

10.21.2016

My Dearest Katie May,

   I just feel overwhelmed to write to you. I am on a flight from NY to NC. I looked out the window and saw all the lights and the buildings in the dark and thought about how big a world this is. I am listening to music on my phone. I have the song “Faded,” on repeat because you sing it so well and every single time I hear the song, I remember how wonderful it makes me feel to hear and see you sing it with all of your heart when we are in the car or in the house, dancing in the kitchen like we do, without a care in the world.

  I traveled to NY about 2-3 weeks a month for almost 3 years until I just couldn’t do it anymore. I felt that you and Isaac were young enough that maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult for you. But, it was difficult for me. I’ve been working at Lenovo now since July and I've only flown out once. So, when you, Daddy, and your brothers took me to the airport this time, it broke me in half when I saw your face wrinkle up and the tears start to pour. I opened the door and squeezed you in my arms again, afraid of letting you go. Afraid that I wouldn’t be returning for some scary reason. Afraid that me leaving you would be etched in your spirit, in your soul and scar you somehow. Afraid that you would somehow feel like I left you or that I am always leaving you.  It’s a very hard thing being a mother. It’s very hard leaving and working and hoping that you remember the way I love and cherish you.

  I think about my own childhood.  And, I feel compelled to write to you. To tell you how truly wonderful you are. How bright your eyes are, how kind you are. I know that I tell you how wonderful you are. But, there will be a day when I will not be near you to tell you those things when you forget them. Or when you feel like you just want to feel sorry for yourself. Or when life beats you up and things are so hard that you just want to escape. And, I want you to remember. I want you to feel my love. Because I firmly believe that nothing can ever separate us from that love. Because it is energy. It is electric and it moves. And it is bigger. And tomorrow is another day. And, when tomorrow sucks too. And next week and really the entire year. I want you to remember my love covering you then most of all. I want you to hold tight to your courage and your strength and, your love. And I want for you to keep getting up, keep moving forward, keep trying. And, if you’re tired of life’s cards, you’re overcome with sadness and fear, anxiety and uncertainty, I want you to think about how you can change your life. I want you to think about how you can look around, outside of yourself and pull yourself out of that place you are in.

  I hope that you understand the gift of your brothers. I always wanted a brother growing up. Someone to fight with, someone to squeeze me and tell me that  I was fun, and kind, and good. I wanted that. I wanted someone that understood all of the things in my life from the beginning. And, someone that I could lean on and call long-distance. I wanted someone to have my back when I was picked on. I wanted someone to help me bury the goldfish in the backyard and cry with me. It was very important for me to have a large family. It was very important for me to be your mama. And, I am so very glad that God gave me you. And your brothers. And, I hope that they are always there for you to lean on. I hope that you value their opinion in the friends you have and the boys you like. I hope that they help you remember how wonderful you are when you don’t believe me or your dad.

Mostly, I just want you to know that you are 4. You are just a little 4, But, the other night, you came into our bedroom with just your purple peace-sign panties on, and you threw both of your arms out, above your head, as far apart as you could reach, and you yelled, “TA-DA.” And, I was SO proud of you. So proud. How silly is that? Well, it is. But, That’s you. 100% free, happy, comfortable in your skin. And I wanted to stop time for you in that very moment. And, keep you that way because that’s the person you are. I wanted to pause the world and keep them out of this you. I wanted to shelter you. And, hold you. And tell you how proud I am of the girl you are. And, I hope you don’t lose this little girl inside. Keep her. The world needs that spirit. That “TA-DA” attitude. That life. That light.

You are such a sensitive light. If I raise my voice at you or scold you for something, you break. So easily. All of a sudden, your eyes turn in the corners, your lips twitch, and your forehead wrinkles. Then the tears start. Quietly. Then with a gasp when you can’t hold it anymore. And it breaks my heart. Every. Time. It is so hard to be your mom. To tell you to clean up your toys, to make you carry things in the house, to make you help. To scold you for stealing your brother’s toys and for not sharing. It’s difficult for me. But, I’m your mama. And, I have to do those things. Because I am teaching you.

  I love it when I paint your nails and you hold your hand out, so proud. So thrilled to have new shiny, sparkley polish. I love seeing your face after I have polished nail number 10. I love that satisfied and sassy little face of yours. I love it when you tuck your whispy hairs behind your ears. It is so stinking cute. And, grown up. I want you to always remember that you were given two hands, 1 to help yourself and 1 to help others. I truly believe that helping others is the best way to help yourself, through anything.

  I hope I am (we are) doing a good job growing you. Helping you. Leading you. Guiding you. I hope you know one day how much your dad and I sacrificed in order to give you the love and attention that you have. I hope that you are able to cope with difficulties, stress, and responsibility. I hope that you are productive. But, more importantly, I hope you are kind and care about people. I know you. I know that you are similar to me. I know that this world will break your heart. Send you to your knees. I know you will cry for babies that aren’t yours and care about people you don’t know. I know you will ache at the hardships others face. And, I know you will want to help them. The world needs you.

Katie, I want you to be brave. I want you to do hard things and love with all your heart. I want you to talk to people when you feel they are scared. I want you to reach out to others and let them know you love them and that you care about them. I don't want for you to be discouraged when someone doesn’t return the love, the light, or the kindness. When someone doesn’t care, I want you to keep going. And shine anyways. Because that’s who you are. And I know that. Because I am your mama.

I want you to know that you are such a beautiful person, inside and out. And, you are a miracle. Perfectly made. Just how you are.

I love you so much. I am so proud you are mine. I am always cheering for you to get up, keep going, keep shining.

Love always,

Mama