BamamaPancakes

  October 8, 2021 Dear Adalyn,  Tye-dye socks stretched up on your ever-growing legs, Every piece has a purpose chosen for a reason -theme or flare-  in your daily ensembles.  You looked older, bounding onto stage  -proudly a part of the bird chorus – make up, new dress shoes from Kohls and the bright lights on your beaming face.  Every morning, you dance, big leaps, joy, your only instructor.  Deep questions, deep thoughts… Director of those you know….  Observer of those you don’t…. Inventor of intricate games, and announcer: “Good evening everyone! There shall be a show!”  Swim team only appealing  with an accessory of a new suit.  You count down to adventures and trips  to grandparents, cousins, the farmhouse,  But often, home is a haven for recharging.   Math -lover, reading-skeptic  until you were promised pierced ears after five chapter books  that you devoured.  Going back to school required...

 Sept 28, 2021 Dear Bryce,  A boy of routine – your order of games lined up like your trucks,  Trucks that get dumped daily – you always ask me  to make them talk, little stories, while they navigate the rug.  A covid toddler, over half your life in a pandemic,  You cling to the point of crazy,  although in moments when I remember, I stop to take in the blonde head resting on my shoulder.  A pink velvet gymnastic suit and yellow rain boots,  Spiderman pajamas and hand me down shirts, A sous-chef, a ketchup connoisseur, as you tell Daddy  “I do dis all the time.” You still love cement mixers, the color yellow,  Playing in the garage with tools, taking apart your tricycle  with your favorite flathead.  You love Mor Mor and Pop Pop visits, and at the little farmhouse with Granny,  as you follow Pops around  like the happiest shadow. I didn’t realize kids would sit on the couch and read 100 books until you were my on...

  I remember writing a blog something like 6 weeks into the pandemic, shocked that it was going on so long. We truly had no idea that it would be over a year until vaccines started rolling out and the world would start feeling a little more safe again.  I am curious how we’ll remember this time. Already hindsight is filtering out some of those sharper edges, although I still find myself nervous at grocery stores, scared to touch public handles, defaulting to a mask when we’re out – even when fully vaccinated. We went to a school friend’s birthday party in May; it was outside at a park…but man, we did not think of how the kids would react. As soon as we reached the hive of other kids we hadn’t seen in over a year, buzzing around the tables, shouting “Addie, where have you been?? Are you virtual??” when we arrived, Addie and Bria just kind of froze. Adalyn said she just wanted to stand instead of sitting at the table of kids, and could barely muster up a response to her friendly...

  I bought a fanny pack this year. I could hear the thirteen-year-old me through the waves of time, gasping in horror, rolling her eyes, and giving wild huffs of embarrassment, but the mid-thirty-year-old me is like YEEEEES, I GET IT MOM!!! Not just for the fanny pack. This year, I kept a note in my phone of all the things that I used to balk in teenager dismay, that I used to do the whole “Mooooooooom. That’s so embarrassing,” thing to. And now, this blog is to say: Happy birthday Mom!!! You were right!! I GET IT!!!  Here’s my list of straight up mom-isms, to which I have crossed over and seen the light: Why yes, wearing high socks does keep your ankles warm if you have regularly cold feet, even if you’re wearing shorts. Luckily the youths have started doing this too.  Wearing your sweatshirt inside out because it just means the next time it will be right-side in. I actually considered this logic last month, which means it’s only a matter of time.  Staying awake whe...

  May 9, 2021 Dear Bria,  Dirtinger digger, worm rescuer, snacker of fruit, yogurt, and chocolate chips.  You are determined, kind, and the silliest of silly.  An almost night-owl, and slow riser in the mornings, demanding only the same small “elsa braid” to hold back that wild bed-head that is constantly your hair.  Busy, builder, champion of Uno and Go Fish.  You feel lots, and you feel it big, and you are not afraid to let your heart show – its blue skies, its stormy frustration, its rainy days. You share it all.  Queen of cotton dresses, a budding book worm, a glowing giggler in the spotlight, relishing its warmth and laughter.  You call “Come snuggle me, Dad!” at night and yell “Sorry Dave!” in board games.  A laugh that can’t catch its breath.  A toothless mouth.  A purple room. You wish we had named you Rosie, so you have named every worm and animal you hold Rosalina without question.  A sneakers-with-the fancy-dress kin...

  Nov 28, 2020   Dear Abram   It’s been four years. I never know what to call today. The day you were born, the day you died, the day we held you. It was the hardest day of my life, and yet I’m so grateful for it.   Addie and Bria still ask if you are turning four or if you are still a baby. Each time they ponder whether you are still a tiny little love, being cradled and passed around by your great-grandparents, or a 4 year old riding a big wheel and building sandcastles. I wonder too. I wonder all the things I imagined – do you have that blonde hair and straight brow; do you look like your brother; are you quiet like your dad? Do you still hear Bria, and Addie, and Bryce talking to you? I hope that one day I’ll know.   Every year of grieving is different. At the beginning, it was so raw. Addie loves Hamilton, and the song “Quiet Uptown” made me cry, cry, cry, when Angelica sings “They are living with the unimaginable” after they lose their son. Even when it’s ...