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84 Months

Dearest Sunny,

Today you are seven. And it is my first time celebrating the day that turned me into a mother without my own. You shared such a special bond with your Momar. You are her namesake and the person who made her a grandmother, the greatest role she ever played.

You asked if Doda could make you a robot Momar for your birthday, and it makes my heartache with both sorrow and gratitude that you loved her equally as much as she adored you. While nothing will ever replace her, you are a living embodiment of so many of her best qualities. That button nose. That gorgeous hair. But more importantly than the physical embodiment, the way you say I LOVE YOU to your family with abandon, just as she did. The way you surprise us with special notes and drawings and gifts, the way she always showered those she loved with affection and over-the-top giving. Your bookwormy nature (you now stay up reading chapter books by the light of a book lamp, and we have to ask you to put the book away to actually get you to go to sleep, you adore late-night reading so much). Momar had a similar predilection. Your disdain for the morning is also a shared personality trait, though that extends to your mother as well. Most notably, your tenderness with and caretaking of your siblings and pets resembles a gentleness with animals and babies that was such a core part of your Momar. How fortunate I am to have a living glimpse of her before me each day in the hearts and bodies of my children.

I am awestruck that I have been your mother for seven years. But yesterday morning, as you held your baby brother in your bed and cooed and kissed and snuggled, I gazed down upon you and beheld a child who has had to grow up so much in just one year. Who has faced the loss of her great-grandfather, and then cherished grandmother, while navigating huge changes and advancements in school, both academically and socially. Not to mention that you’ve had to watch your mother experience immense grief while our whole household shifted into a family of five. With all these upheavals and heartaches, you have become more vulnerable but also far tougher than the little girl who turned six last year. You are very much a seven year old. And I am endlessly proud of your kindness, your intellect, your creativity, and your gentleness with the world around you. As I looked into your eyes yesterday morning, there was such grace, such elegance. You are growing up beautifully my darling, and I mean that well beyond the physical.

I love you, my precious first born. Thank you for all that you’ve done for your mama, particularly these past three months.

And Happiest Seventh Birthday.
143 Mama

Pictured here with your Momar the last time we saw her, Christmas 2015. Showered with gifts, just as she would have done for you today were she still with us.

Sanderling // Two Months

My Sweet Sanderling,

Yesterday, I changed a blown out diaper on a spot of grass by the side of the road. The day before, I did so in the public restroom at our bustling coffee shop. I’ve taken to changing diapers on the floor of the car, in the middle of parking lots, on any flat surface I can muster. Because you and I, kid? We spend our days out and about. One of the many gifts of a third child is that I am far less daunted by the prospect of a full day away from the safety net of our home, its changing table, its seemingly endless diaper supply and clean baby clothes, and its washing machine. I load up the diaper bag with wipes, and plastic bags, and an excessive number of diapers and changes of clothes, and snacks for mama, and away we go.

I’ve been feeling the weight of grief, so have been vigilant about self-care to help manage the sorrow and dark cloud I’m carrying. So out of the house we go each morning, to coffee dates, and therapy appointments, on errands, to the bus stop, on long hikes with the dogs, on walks through town, to friends’ houses, to daddy’s office, to your sisters’ schools and extracurriculars. You nurse in parked cars, in coffee shops, on couches, in waiting rooms, while I stroll around with you in my arms. I drop you with daddy every day at noon so I can go to my yoga class, and the two of you go on walks and sit together in the sunshine and fresh air, and every day you make it so easy for both of us to carve out this time. You are so unbelievably adaptable and agreeable, and take each day’s list of activities and errands in stride. In fact, they are met with great smiles and coos and finger sucking (you are on track to discover your thumb any day, my friend, much like your mommy and daddy who were long time thumb suckers. It helps you self-sooth, and it is noisy as all get, but effective!).

I am endlessly grateful for how flexible and easy going you are. You make taking care of myself, and thus you, so much easier in the face of so much that is challenging. And your smiles, oh my heart. Your sweet, unbridled, positively enormous smiles bring out the most involuntary and beautiful joy in me and your daddy and sisters. You beam with such innocent enthusiasm, flashing a dimple on your left cheek, and bringing out the highest pitched coos of gratitude and love in response from whomever is on the receiving end. The power of baby smiles could bring about world peace, if we could just figure out how to bottle that magic.

Sleep is consistent, but not nearly for stretches as long as I’d like, but I know we’ll get there. You do a consistent 4 hour stretch, then nurse and have a diaper change in the middle of the night, then another three hours or so before we repeat the process and the rest of the household begins their day. While the middle of the night session is definitely causing dark circles under my eyes and a daily fatigue, you rarely ever cry or fuss, and so it’s hard to complain. You are only 2 months old, after all, and aren’t expected to sleep through the night just yet.

And I know that nursing is going so well given your immense size and the ease with which you breastfeed, no matter the circumstances or position. We have retired nearly all of our 0-6 month clothing and you are fitting quite comfortably in items sized for a child nearly three times your age. You easily take a bottle, which I know will make your transition to daycare this fall much smoother. As far as life with an infant goes, you make my job easy (or as easy as caring for a completely dependent little life can be). We are so endlessly grateful you’re here, and you’re ours. You have added an entirely new dimension of love and happiness to our home, and I can’t fathom our family without you. And I cannot imagine how I would have survived these past few months of loss and heartbreak without you by my side. You are my saving grace.

I love you, sweet baby. Happy Two Months!

143 Mama

My Birth Day

Today is my 33rd birthday.

It is the first time in my life that I will mark this occasion without the woman who made this very day possible.

Three years ago I wrote, “So today, on my Thirtieth Birthday, I want to say thank you to my own mother for being strong and brave, especially on that day thirty years ago. Thank you for bringing me into this fragile, beautiful, incalculable world so that I could one day know the power of birthdays and a mother’s love, and wish you, mom, a Happy Birth Day.”

How those words resonate more than ever today.

And how grateful I feel that I spoke out loud, wrote down, and shared my love and appreciation for my beautiful mama with her and the world. It could be easy to be filled with regret, and unsaids, and unfinisheds when life is ripped away so unexpectedly, so suddenly. But in all of the ugliness and sorrow of the past two months, there is no doubt. While there is longing for more time, there is no regret of love unspoken.

She knew how desperately I loved her. And I knew how very much I was loved in return. While we could be tough with and on one another, we were equally as fierce with our love. And while I ache to have that love at my fingertips, to physically hold it in my arms, it sits confidently and securely inside me, forever anchoring my heart when I need strength and bravery and to believe in myself. She always believed in me, and never hesitated to speak that pride and belief out loud.

I will spend every day of my own life making sure my children know how deeply they are cherished, so that they know the warmth, and comfort, and confidence that comes from a love modeled by their Momar.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for showing me how important it is to name those three words. And thank you for making today my Birth Day.

For Momar

Happy Birthday, Mama.

Sunny made you a birthday banner at school yesterday. Unprompted, she came home and hung it over our kitchen table in preparation for today’s celebration of you. Both of your granddaughters are always looking for ways to bring a smile to my face, and they go about it in such thoughtful, tenderhearted ways. They come from your legacy of giving so freely, unabashedly, and warmly to those they love. You taught us all so well.

The flowers I would have sent to you today, I ordered for our household. I’ll enjoy their pastel, drippy romantic sweetness and think of all the beauty you brought to my life. I wish I’d written down all the myriad of things you told me about flowers and gardening over the years; but I never thought I wouldn’t have you by my side or a phone call away to remind me of every last perennial and its corresponding Latin root. Not yet, at least. mother’s day cake today come in every shape, size, and flavor. And with access to every retail possibility, we have the option of purchasing anything we want. From pre-made cakes at the grocery store, to pre-ordered cakes from your favorite bakery, Mother’s Day cakes should reflect the personality and unique style of your mother. And – most importantly it should fit her taste. So if she likes vanilla but the rest of the family likes chocolate – it should be vanilla all the way.

Today we’re driving to Saratoga, a place where you lived and loved, to celebrate your birthday. The girls so enjoyed our trip there last spring, and I was so eager to visit with you in tow so you could tell them all about your collegiate motherland. I’ve been wearing your Skidmore ring almost daily. And I think about its wild journey from a field at Goucher College, back into the hands of the Skidmore Alumni Office, and then back to you. I promise to keep better track of it this time. Although, I know you delighted in the story of two former women’s colleges having such devoted, thoughtful staff that it wound up being safely returned to you, even after my foolishness.

I found half-popped popcorn at the store yesterday, and nearly purchased all twenty bags on the shelf (I restrained myself to five). Just the other day, Sunny commented that her favorite part of eating popcorn was the half-popped kernels at the bottom of the bowl. I explained to her that you and I both shared that obsession, and that when I was in high school you’d actually found a company that made entire bags of just half-popped kernels. I hadn’t seen such a thing since, and then lo, on the shelves of Trader Joe’s, there they were. Thank you for that. We’ll snack on them en route to Saratoga. And the girls have planned to bake a chocolate cake, with chocolate frosting, covered in your favorite berries (strawberry, raspberry and blackberry. No blueberry!) for dessert tonight. They plotted out their vision for the cake last night. They take their sweets as seriously as you did.

As I was driving home last week after my first full day away from the house with Sander, I reached for the phone to call you and tell you all about it. When reality hit, I was left with the crushing devastation that happens in the wake of unexpected grief. They’ll never be enough tears to express how that feels. I don’t think I’ll ever stop doing that. Reaching for you. Yearning to hear your voice and your laugh. Your support and encouragement. Your stories. Your opinions. You were so full of all of these. And I miss them. Every day.

You are daily a part of our conversations and our storytelling. The way that we live our lives. You gave us all so much, and we’ll be forever seeking to give that back out to the world as a reminder of your generous, lion-hearted spirit.

I love you. Always. Forever. Toujours.

Bonne Anniversaire, Maman.
143 Your Ashley

Sanderling // One Month

Sweet baby boy,

Your daddy has come to refer to you as “My Anchor.” It is such an apt nickname for the way you have provided perspective and stability during a time when I could so very quickly spiral out of control.

It’s ironic, given how unpredictable and unstable newborn days often feel. Over the course of the past month, we have already experienced so much and survived so many bumps and hurdles. Those early days with you feel like a lifetime ago. From long hours in the hospital working on your latch with a team of nurses helping with position and pushing pumped milk into the nipple shield so your instant gratification personality wouldn’t yell quite so furiously, to a week spent holed up in my bedroom nursing and pumping and crying over sore, infected, feverish breasts, to venturing out of the house and braving public interaction for the first time since your grandmother died.

Parents are looked at as the protectors and keepers of their babies, and yet you are more a shield for me than I could ever be for you. You’re a focal point, a distraction, an excuse, a reason, a silver lining, and I can weather most social exchanges knowing I have you pressed against me as my protective, grounding cloak.

We’ve already packed away any 0-3 month clothes, a physical metaphor for the closing of your newborn days. You are now one month old, and fit comfortably into 6 month clothes, following in the footsteps of your oversized sisters. Every day, you are more alert, stronger, less a squishy mush and more a round, chubby baby. But I’m still enjoying that newborn lip quiver, those googley, wondering eyes, and those squeaky, pitiful infant noises. Most notably, your epic grunts. You are one loud, grunty babe, even in your sleep. And it is so very, very ridiculous.

I feel so deeply connected to you, my love. You are my saving grace during a time when I could not imagine needing it more.

I love you, my Sanderling. Happy One Month Birth Day.

143 Mama

Month 48

My darling Courtland Whaley,

Ask any parent, and they’ll tell you that age three is rough. Terrible Twos ain’t got nothing on the Terrible Threes. It’s just that “Terrible Threes” doesn’t have quite the same alliterative ring to it as the year prior, and so one goes along blissfully thinking that if they survive Year Two, they’re in the clear. But oh parenthood, how you do love a curve ball.

Daddy and I were prepared. We knew three was a challenge. Sunny had showed us as much. Our eyes were wide open.

And while yes, three has dealt us tantrums and defiance and attitude and sleep-strikes, that has all been pretty par for the course with you since the day you were born. We’ve been managing these challenges for the past 48 months. And boy, Three went out with a bang, as yesterday you refused to sleep most of the night and then resisted nap with a resolve reserved for trained military operatives. It’s actually quite impressive, outrageously frustrating, but impressive nonetheless. I wish I required as little sleep as you.

But I digress…

What we hadn’t predicted from these past 12 months was the wonderful, magical, heart-bending amazingness of what three would bring into our lives. As you got a stronger grasp of the English language, and learned how to better communicate with wild hand gestures and determination when language failed you (or your parents failed to understand your endearing, albeit absolutely convoluted pronunciation of words), the challenges became less extreme. We began to truly understand one another, and the entertaining, hilarious, story-teller inside you was really let loose.

The majority of your day is spent engrossed in song and corresponding performative gestures. This is what is most distinctive and memorable from this past year. You are our performer. While you enjoy singing songs you know (Nursery Rhymes, T. Swift, Darlingside), you positively delight in narrating the events and actions of your day through made-up, on-the-fly song writing. You sing about your food, about not wanting to go to bed, about the sky, about going potty, about your family, about the most mundane and yet the most universal of moments. It’s all part of your story-telling. You love to tell stories and do so with great enthusiasm and expression. We are all positively engrossed when you reenact a favorite moment at preschool or a traumatic tale from an encounter with a splinter. You dance as well to communicate your feelings. And so we started ballet this summer and you took to it like a duck to water. You are clearly meant for the stage. And we’ll always be your biggest fans.

Your life is a musical, my love, and I feel so fortunate to be both audience member and actor in its staging. (This moment between us earlier this week is just one of many examples of your brilliance).

You have taught me to approach life with bravery and clarity, sensitivity and joy. May you always do the same.

The happiest of 4th Birthdays to you.

143 Mama

(Photos from her final day as a 3-year old that capture the essence of this past year)

72 Months

My darling Sun Bun,

Happy SIXTH Birthday, sweet girl.

For the first time, you are able to read this letter to yourself. You may need some prompting here or there. Like when I say that you are EXCEPTIONAL. Or SPLENDIFEROUS. Or SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS. (Actually, you’ll probably nail that last one, as Julie Andrews has made a strong appearance in the Cart household this year. Sound of Music and Mary Poppins helped us survive the onslaught of negative 20 degree days this winter).

Your world has positively exploded since you’ve conquered the written word. Street signs. T-shirts. Posters in storefront windows. Words on the computer. I can see the look of pride and confidence on your face as you explore this new skill that gives you greater understanding of the world around you. Literacy is so empowering. And while I’ve always known that, it’s been profound to witness that impact firsthand.

Of late, bedtime routine includes you reading aloud to your sister a series of 3 or 4 books before Daddy or I read to you both. It is one of the most heart-meltingly endearing scenes to witness your little sister cozied up by your side as you read to her without pause or hesitancy. (It’s outstanding how smoothly and easily you read through the pages – what a gift to have it come so painlessly (spoken from a woman who couldn’t read until the second grade!)). Just yesterday, Courtland and I returned home from some errands to find you perched on the front porch with both dogs at your side, book in lap, curated stack at your feet.

Mama, I’m reading the dogs some stories because it makes them happy.

You have absolutely no idea just how happy you make me, my darling girl.

This weekend, you swung in the hammock, reading quietly to yourself as though you were a contented adult, enjoying the restful pace of a Sunday afternoon, blissfully engrossed in your Beatrix Potter series.

As you may suspect from these reflections, Kindergarten has been a huge success. A year of so much learning and exploration. New friends. New school. New adventures. And your adaptable, easy going personality has made the transition seamless and happy, something for which Daddy and I can take very little credit. You are remarkably flexible and content, and it has made this year a joy for all.

Most notably you, who has informed me that you love school so much that sometimes you wish you could go to school on the weekend, except that you wish you didn’t have to wake up early, because that’s the worst part of school.

Spoken like your mother’s daughter. You and I are comrades in morning contempt, and that has been solidified more than ever thanks to your school bus’s early arrival.

Daddy knows to wake you early and pile you in bed with me, and we lie around moaning and groaning and stirring to life while Daddy makes coffee and walks the dogs and your sister happily staggers around the house singing an array of her made-up, silly songs, cheery morning person that she is. I am sorry to have bestowed this hatred upon you, though I do love sharing the morning grumps with a fellow night owl. I can only imagine what the high school years have in store…

This year your love affair with the water grew to mermaid levels, and you learned to ski with much enthusiasm. You presented at an Odyssey of the Mind competition and danced in The Nutcracker to the nostalgic and adoring tears of your grandparents and auntie. This coming weekend you’ll perform again in your end of your recital dressed as Minnie Mouse in yellow tap shoes (so stinking adorable). You’re learning the violin, and can do addition and subtraction in your head. You love rainbows as much as ever (nearly every page of your journal at school includes a rainbow in your daily drawing) and I’m endlessly inspired by the tenderness and care you bestow upon your sister, your dogs, your whole family.

We so adore parenting you, my love. I cannot wait to see what this year has in store. It just gets better and better.

Happiest Sixth Birthday.

143 Mama

P.S. You were born on a Monday, and so this birthday has special significance for your mama who was thinking about that Sunday evening of labor as I sat on this Sunday evening writing your birthday letter. What an incredible six years it’s been since that night of eating carbonara, watching “The Wire” and feeling the earth tremble beneath our feet in a typical LA earthquake on the eve of your birth.

THIRTY TWO

Welcome, Thirty-Two. I greet you with flower crowns (that I absolutely am wearing to work to declare the occasion. I can’t help but feel like today is a special day when decked in fresh floral).

To mark this year’s birthday, I requested a day snuggling baby farm animals with my family. A sign of my age or my stage in parenting? Likely a combination. Regardless, it was the sweetest, loveliest pause I could imagine. (We’ve done it before for my birthday, but this time, we made sure to do the private farm tour for more hands on time with the babes).

I’ve spent less and less time in this space as my own children’s lives has grown more and more outward. As they become their own people and desire more from the world, I find my time is committed to that pursuit, so there’s less time for quiet reflection here (thus lots of photographs to remember the years and events by, but less language and stories to accompany and supplement those images in a critical and reflective way). And that’s okay. And likely expected. My work responsibilities are also enhanced as my position has grown and expanded over time. James is now working a 40-hour week. And so prioritizes have shifted. Time is used and delegated differently. And while I have come to terms with so much of that, I do miss a more regular writing habit. I do miss carving out that time, for it fed a part of me that is otherwise undernourished in my daily life. And so if I ask anything of 32, it’s this: To re-prioritize time for reflection and thought and putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it were). To reignite that fire that kept me not just thinking but then outwardly commenting when I saw imbalance, or injustice, or fear, or critique, or stories worth championing. For my own sanity, for my daughters’ future, and for whatever audience it may impact.

But for now, the absolute deliciousness and simple joy of spending a day surrounded by new life and the life I created.

Many more pix forthcoming, and a little vid… when time and priority allow.

Month 36

Dearest Courtland Whaley,

The day has finally come. Today you are three. THREE! In August. August TENTH!

I fear what tomorrow brings now that this day of all days, the day that has been the center of your world and ardent fixation for nearly a full month, has arrived. Your daddy and I have simply delighted in your eagerness for today’s celebration. The way you have grown into a kid, a little girl who understands the joy and anticipation and wonder of her birthday. You’ve been practicing singing Happy Birthday, to yourself, on repeat. Anytime we open the refrigerator, you ask if we are about to make a cake for your party. You have made requests for blueberries and raspberries and strawberries to be consumed at said party (because your diet is 99% fruit, and I swear that one day you’ll pull a Violet Beauregard and turn into a berry). Earlier this week at the grocery store, as you wheeled the pint-size grocery cart through the aisles threatening to take out any shelf or human in your path (you are quite the reckless, distracted driver, my friend. We’ll have to work on that concentration, but we can go ahead and blame preschool attention spans for the time being), you pulled a full load of peaches into your cart and had eaten through two before we were done with our shop. And yes, you were dripping in peach juice and I could not tell you where those pits made their final resting place, but you could not have been happier.

You are still as volatile and passionate and emotive as ever. This characteristic has only enhanced through the years, and while it can be exhausting and overwhelming and straight up infuriating, it can also be the most inspiring, endearing, heartwarming thing about you. You are a bundle of juxtapositions. Always have been and I predict always will. You are fearless one minute, defiantly racing away from your parents, or venturing into the pool without a steady hand to hold, or climbing to the top of the swing set, and then, on a dime, you’ll scream out for your parents, especially if a bug (of any kind) is in sight. Mama, I need you! MAMAAAA! Your voice shifts from bold declarations to faltering stammers. You need our reassurance and presence and physical embrace to calm those sudden fears.

We still don’t have you figured out. We can’t always predict what will or won’t throw you, but we have learned how to better manage those moments when you are derailed. We are learning what brings you peace. Thank you for your patience as we try to understand the mystery and complexity that is our Courtland – I hope that you will always keep the world on its toes – life would be so very boring if it could be neatly packaged and contained. There’s no containing you.

You are a deeply affectionate child, and hug and kiss and love with your whole self. Like everything about you, you are all in. 110%. I feel the intensity and honesty of your hugs and hope that you will continue to attack the world with fierce passion and a genuineness that is unflappable.

You teach me everyday how to love more fully. To take the world by storm, and to never fear speaking my mind or expressing my truest self.

I admire you, my love. And I love you even more.

Happiest Third Birthday to you.

143 Mama

60 Months

Dearest Sunny,

Earlier this week, I walked into the kitchen and found you perched at the table among a forest of brightly colored and varied blooms. You had selected a meticulous variety of vases and vessels in which to hold these vibrant treasures, and had filled each one with flowers in every color of the rainbow.

With permission, you’ve taken to plucking flowers from around our property and creating elaborate arrangements or crowns with which to adorn our home and your head. Given that when asked, you continue to inform people that rainbow is your favorite color, it should come as no surprise that your fifth birthday party theme was RAINBOW and that our table is often covered in RED, ORANGE, YELLOW, GREEN, BLUE and PURPLE (and yes, I do know how important the order of the rainbow is thanks to your constant reminders).

This particular afternoon was no exception.

I noticed that tucked between this rainbow of petals and vases were two rubber duckies placed side by side.

I casually asked you what you were up to, and you tensed slightly and explained:

Mama, my rubber duckies are getting married. It’s two girl duckies. But, mama, I know that a boy and a girl can get married. And a boy and a boy can get married. I promise that I’m not leaving anybody out, it just happens that both these duckies are girls.

And oh my heart, if that explanation, that moment, doesn’t capture the essence of who you are. I’m laid bare with a love and tenderness and respect so deep and so pure for the thoughtful, creative, kind, sensitive, sweet soul that you are and I have the pleasure of knowing and loving.

This year as been filled with moments such as this, and while I grapple with the magnitude of your fifth birthday, a milestone that seems almost too momentous for this mommy heart to bear, I am reminded of all the heart stoppingly beautiful moments that have been and all the gut-wrenchingly amazing moments that will be.

You are unapologetic, unprompted, and unfaltering in your declarations of love for your family. Above all else, I hope that you never lose that ability to tell the people that matter most in your life how much you love them.

I know that I’ll never stop telling you.

I love you, my Sun Bun, my Rainbow Kid, my Sunshine Girl.

You light up our lives.

Happiest Fifth Birthday.

143 Mama