No Buts

“No Buts”
Thanksgiving 2025

Lately Eli has been saying, “no buts” when we tell him we love him and it reminds me that declarations should come with no strings attached.  The same could be said of practicing gratitude… to be thankful, with “no buts.”

This year marks five years of completing adjuvant endocrine therapy, following radiation, being induced during a pandemic, chemotherapy while pregnant, being diagnosed with breast cancer at 18 weeks.  It’s a milestone to celebrate and at the same time recognizing survivorship is hard.  Little did I know that being a survivor would test me in other ways.

I don’t think there is anything that wakes a person up more than having a sick parent.  I naively thought that I’d have more time, not grasping that the age bracket I’m in now has me navigating both taking care of my kids and taking care of my parents.  That naivete didn’t prepare me for the shock and reality of dividing my already-limited time and the logistical nightmare of coordinating schedules between kids, parents, and work, and believing I could show up for all of it.

In May of this year, the day after my parents returned from a trip overseas, my dad was hospitalized.  This was significant because my dad has never been admitted to a hospital so we knew something serious was going on.  After many labs and tests, it was determined that Dad had a blockage and subsequent infection so a stent was placed, and it was at the time of the endoscopy that a mass was discovered (thus causing the blockage).  Adenocarcinoma.

Dad was scheduled for surgery in NYC and Mom and I accompanied him.  Less than a half hour into the surgery, Mom and I were called into a private room to speak to the surgeon.  In my heart I knew it couldn’t be good news when the surgeon was leaving the OR… and it wasn’t.  The tumor had spread and surgery was stopped.  Stage 4.

It wasn’t until that moment I realized what it must have felt like for Anthony when I was diagnosed, that feeling of utter helplessness and uncertainty.  So I did what I normally do in times of crisis – I made my list of to-dos and started checking them off.  Requesting records.  Making appointments.  Setting up the portal.  Calling Mom.  Taking notes.

Dad started chemo, and I was there.  I brought him to his port placement, talked about how foreign mine felt at first and how relieved I was to get it out… until I realized he’s on a different trajectory than me.  I gave him tips to combat the side effects.  He actually let me drive him to and from infusions.  I told him how important it was to disclose all meds and supplements to his oncologist and to keep chugging water.  

Through it all, Dad is hopeful.  He’s realistic too.  We talk about the hard things because there’s no better time than the present.  He tells me stories about coming to the U.S. and meeting Mom, and I find myself transcribing them after our conversations.  He listens and gives advice, and I am reminded of his infinite wisdom. 

If there is anyone who showcases true gratitude, it is Dad.  He remarks how beautiful a day it is in the car on the way to chemo.  He learns the names of everyone he encounters at the infusion center and addresses them by name.  He always says thank you.  He jokes with the nurses to get them to laugh, to lighten their load.  He gets excited picking his post-chemo meal, just as I had.  It’s humbling to witness that despite THE hardest thing, he continues to have the most grateful heart.  

This Thanksgiving, may your hearts be ever present.  May your connections be filled with joy and levity.  May your conversations be the kind that you want to lock in your memory banks.  May your bodies be nourished by comforting food.  And may your time reflect simple and unfiltered gratitude.

I’m grateful for you, Dad – and for all you are still teaching me every day.  No buts.

Opting In

 “Opting In”

Thanksgiving 2024

 

This week, I’ve been running on fumes.  Between Monday and Tuesday, I had barely slept a total of nine hours and was in desperate need of coffee.  I made a quick stop downstairs at our café in the office and when I tried to pay, I was told that the person who had checked out before me had covered it.  It was such a kind and surprising gesture, and changed the trajectory of my entire day.

How often does the simplest of gestures stop us in our tracks?  My answer is, all the time.  I just need to remember to be paying attention.

Last year at this time, I had been marveling about being given the gift of time.  With my go-go-go mentality and constantly moving from one activity to the next, I found a healthy way to slow down.  I donated time and energy to the causes I wanted to support, attended every one of my kids’ events at their schools, immersed myself in nature on long walks, enjoyed leisurely time and uninterrupted conversations (and coffee!) with my family, and allowed myself to rest more than I have over the last decade.  I wrote letters and sent care packages just because.  I was grateful for the simpler things.  I was present.  I was involved.  I was able to say yes more often, and I recognized opportunities as what they were.

So when spring rolled around and we had a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity to join the July cohort in Sintra, Portugal, Anthony and I knew the answer was yes.  With just over two months to prepare, our first order of business was scheduling our kids’ passport appointments and then working to “undo” our schedules in July – camps, Sophia’s birthday bash, a concert.  It was all “small stuff,” Anthony said, and I’m good at logistics.  We cleared our commitments, packed up our most-needed items (it wasn’t easy), and off we went on the most unique adventure to date – excited, anxious, and grateful.

Four weeks abroad did our family good.  We realized, early on, that we didn’t need a lot to experience a whole heck of a lot.  We savored our core family moments walking to and from school, embracing the culture, meeting new people, trying incredible food, and exploring what soon felt like our town.  Anthony and I looked forward to our mornings together to grab pastries and coffee before setting off on a hike to a castle or a hill to climb (there were many) for sweeping views of the lush landscape, with Old City below.  Our kids made us proud with their resilience and bravery.  We said yes (because when would we have another chance?).  We did things that scared us.  We did things that moved us.

Thinking back to that trip, I’m reminded of kindness, of community, of love for one another.  I’m reminded of the small stuff, because in the end it’s those ordinary moments that fill our days.  I’m reminded to do things because they scare me.  And I’m reminded to find that healthy rhythm again that drives and invigorates me.

This Thanksgiving, I’m opting in.  I choose to be thankful.  I say yes to helping my neighbors and paying it forward.  I treasure the time that I’m given… because it truly is a gift.

How often does the simplest of gestures stop us in our tracks?  My answer still is, all the time.  And I’m all in.

Timely

"Timely"

Thanksgiving 2023

 

Time is elusive.  We go about our every days in measurable ways – getting the kids off to school, our 9-5s, appointments, dinner, lessons, bedtime, prep for the following day.  Our weekends are packed full of activities.  We find ourselves rushing from one thing/place to the next, and then impossibly the season has changed again, my son has somehow grown out of everything, and my daughter is talking animatedly about the origins of Thanksgiving and how it can be a painful reminder for many Native Americans... so is it okay to celebrate?  [Insert mind blown emoji].  The kids keep growing up and outwards.  We keep moving forward and onwards.  The cycle continues.

 

We may not realize that any of it, or all of it, can be like balancing on a tight rope.

 

I’ve always taken pride in being a working mom; I loved my job, I loved being a leader.  I constantly strived to find ways to become even more efficient with snippets of time throughout a day.  I continually sacrificed sleep and my health at times because I’m a giver – as with anything I set my mind to, I gave it my all.  Work was no exception; I would often be responding to e-mails or messages late into the night or pre-dawn hours, on-call and available whenever I was needed despite having young children or going to grad school or being diagnosed with cancer and undergoing treatments.  Despite those incredibly rough pandemic years.  I was there.  And because it never quite felt like there was enough time, I didn't waste any.

And then one day… I lost my job of 11 years.  It was unexpected and scary, and it hurt, a lot.  It was humbling.  It felt a little like time stood still for a moment.  Everything I once knew, over a decade of our practiced routine, that fragile balance, had toppled over, and I was falling.  There was no safety net to be found.

 

When I found my footing though, I realized, suddenly and remarkably… I was blessed with time.

 

This was an opportunity to decide how to spend my days.  Where to focus my energy.  Truly think about what I want to do long-term.  Tackle projects at home.  Share my talents volunteering.  Ask myself some tough questions about how to be a better partner and supportive wife, daughter, and sister.  And realizing what could wait.

 

This year, I’m grateful for the beauty of nature.  For long walks and companionship, leisurely visits with family.  For extra snuggles and sleeping in.  I’m thankful to be able to attend the kids’ school events and serve on committees, to volunteer at the food pantry, to help organize at church.  I’m enjoying untimed conversations, checking in with friends old and new, sending surprise care packages “just because,” honoring people we’ve lost this year in special ways.  I’m learning to give more while being okay with letting go.  I’m decidedly present, and here, and still have not wasted a minute.  I’m savoring time.

 

I’m savoring momma and daughter dates to an amusement park, art class, or show.  I look forward to daycare pick up when my sweet boy runs across the field into my arms shrieking “Mommy!” with delight; when he holds my face in his hands and tells me I’m “so pretty” and “the best momma in the world.”  I enjoy listening to my bright girl read the elaborate stories she’s written and responding to her rapid-fire questions when she’s curious about a new topic.  I have fun teaching little man to do chores and to dress himself and cheering him on when he gets it just right (on his terms, not mine).  That nagging mom guilt for having to divide my time?  It’s dissipated – I’m all in.

 

It's temporary, I know… but for now, I’ll take it.  I’ll recognize and cherish it for the gift that it is.  I’ll soak up the moments.  I’ll listen for the sounds of my rowdy family gathering at my parents’ house and the side conversations at the ever-growing kids’ table.  I’ll marvel at how we’ll barely make a dent in our traditional-American-meets-Chinese feast.  I’ll catch up with my cousins as we watch our own kids and their cousins play, the volume crescendo-ing usually after they’ve had a taste (or three) of dessert.  And I’ll be so grateful – for togetherness, for family, for time.  For an amazing husband who assured me it would be okay and encouraged me to take the break.  

 

I’m thankful for being given a different lens and a way to refocus.  For the not knowing, and for the finding me, again.

full circle

“Full Circle”

Thanksgiving 2022

Last year at this time, we were in sunny Florida, taking advantage of Sophia’s week-long Thanksgiving break from school with our first big road trip with the kids.  My mother-in-law (Mu) had surprised us after we had arrived, and we spent the next few days soaking up the sun with her and Nan, Aunt Colleen, and Uncle Mark, enjoying seafood outdoors by the water, walking on the beach, visiting Homosassa Springs Wildlife State Park (one of our favorites) and “Monkey Island,” kayaking, and staying up late with the kids.  One day we ordered a Greek feast from Tarpon Springs for dinner and I remember finding ways to use our leftovers with our Thanksgiving meal.  Speaking of Thanksgiving, Eli fell asleep in the stroller before the table was set and then woke up later to share in the festivities with Grandma Carol.  Sophia wrote a story that she asked everyone to read, and I think we’d all agree that Uncle Mark’s interpretation was the best.  The next day, we met up with more extended family and then were on our way to Savannah for an overnight stay on the ride home.  It was such an amazing time together and a memorable trip for the kids.

Leading up to the trip, I started a gratitude tree with the kids where every night in November, we’d write something we were thankful for on one of the leaves to gradually fill the branches.  We were filling up two trees in parallel so we could surprise Aunt Colleen and Uncle Mark with theirs in Florida, and it served as a centerpiece on the table the whole time we were there.  Sophia has still been talking about that exercise so earlier this week, I asked her to decorate the following leaves on her own for a virtual gratitude tree.

Sophia is thankful for: Mama, Dada, Eli, family, and Bianca, her cat.

What this demonstrated to me, so simply, were a few things.  She is thankful for the people around her.  We, essentially, are her circle of trust (yes, a Meet the Parents reference).  She holds those who are gone dear to her heart – we lost Bianca over two years ago, but Sophia still talks about her frequently.  What our seven-year-old depicted so beautifully and easily was what matters most to her.

Thanksgiving has a way of teaching me to reflect and reset my perspective every year.  Amidst the flurry and clamor in the kitchen with every available surface in use, tripping over our kids running through and forging a path where there is none, a cacophony of clanging pots and pans and little feet and oven timers beeping and laughter (and sometimes yelling), I feast on all the welcome noise and delicious smells and unruly scenes before me.  For in this disorganized chaos, I see life – messy, cluttered, unscripted life – and I am reminded of what we try to teach our children all year.

Yes, there are plenty of big events to remember – trips, holidays, birthdays, celebrations.  Yet I’d like to think that our kids can discern those “in-between” moments that fill up our days and the leaves on our gratitude tree.  Sophia’s excitement for school.  The proud look on Eli’s face when he can put on his shoes.  How Sophia says “Eli” (uh-lie).  When Eli watches Sophia do something like a hawk and then attempts to do the exact same thing a second later.  Sophia singing all of the words to a Red Hot Chili Peppers song.  Eli requesting “Dirt” (“Buy Dirt”) and “Wagon Wheel” after reading 23582350 books before bed, no matter how many times you tell him it’s the last one.  Watching Sophia swim or run on the track team or skate on the ice like a natural – she can do whatever she sets her mind to!  Eli with his practiced “please” and “thank you.”  Sophia walking her brother down the aisle at church and to Sunday school.  Listening to Eli sing every song he knows in the car.  Sophia formulating an idea and then creating it out of paper, markers, and a pair of scissors.  Eli exclaiming, “Oh, my gosh!” to literally everything. Sophia climbing the counter like a monkey to grab herself a plate and cup.  How Eli gives the best hugs and still loves to snuggle and hold hands at bedtime.  Realizing Sophia is old enough for play dates on her own and doing math in her head.  Eli embracing his toddlerdom to the max – there is absolutely no reasoning with a two-year-old.  Waking up to both kids in the bed and wondering when and how they got there.  These are our moments, in our circle, that shape and define all that we seek and are grateful for.

So this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for my husband of 15 years.  I am thankful for my beautiful rainbow babies.  I am thankful for family near and far, who will be at our table and those who will be missed.  I am thankful for another year to celebrate our hodgepodge of moments and glimpses and in-betweens, and appreciate them all as sacred and life-giving, as purely as a seven-year-old would.

legacies

"Legacies"

Thanksgiving 2021

To this day, sharing food is at the heart of every family gathering -- meal planning, preparation, dining together, chatting until it is time for more.  Growing up, dinner was always a meal we ate together, free of distractions, a time to recap our days before we split off in our respective directions to finish homework or wind down.  It's shared time we have with our own kids now before bath and bedtime routines, and when any of us miss it due an appointment or obligation, we feel it.

I remember many family dinners from my childhood, sometimes with special guests or with family who was visiting.  We also had a number of family members who lived with us over the years.  My cousin James (aka Ming-Ming), moved in with my family while he attended college in the U.S., and despite our school schedules and extracurriculars, dinner was still an important meal that we shared.  I think back to that time, about how he was a busy college student and eventually met his girlfriend (who became his wife), and yet he still made time for us.

The pattern continued even as we went off to college and met our partners and started our own families.  Dinners would not be so easy to coordinate anymore but we would meet and eat and celebrate milestones -- weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, holidays.  Thanksgiving was special because if my parents were hosting, chances were that my cousins would join us.  We shared many Thanksgivings together, all over each other in my mom's noisy, warm kitchen, kids running around (and sometimes, to my mom's dismay, with a puppy or cat in the mix).  There was the infamous ice cream cake shaped like a turkey.  There was the piano bench doubling as a seat when we started running out of chairs to extend the table into the living room.  There was Ichi's delicious sticky rice.  There were long discussions about where and when we'd be heading out for Black Friday sales.  There were family photos taken at the kitchen island, with the camera on a stool we'd use as a tripod.  There were early Christmas gifts in case we didn't see each other again before the new year.  There were seemingly endless hugs goodbye when it was time to leave.

Ming would always be in the middle of all of it... usually with a kid or two in his arms or making someone laugh.  He was a big kid at heart, with his trademark black graphic t-shirts, an appreciation for all things Disney, and boundless energy to entertain all of our littles.  We joked about how he was like our cool uncle Jesse, or a big brother who would pull us in for one of his bear hugs, or affectionately  our self-proclaimed "Uncle Grandpa" or "Big James" to our kids.

He will be so incredibly missed this year.

It's hard to remember the last time, because you don't ever know it is the last.  We hadn't gathered for Thanksgiving together in probably close to four years.  Last year, we had a meal swap in my sister's driveway with immediate family only, and the two years prior to that we had missed each other for one reason or another.  The last time we had seen Ming was when we had celebrated my dad's 70th and he had been talking about going overseas during the summer to visit his mom, my aunt, who was very ill and now they're both painfully absent.

I'd like to think they're together now, as we find our footing without them.

I think of Ming often.  I don't always have the words, but as with others we have lost along the way, I carry him, and them, in my heart.  It's what I tell our daughter, when she tries to reconcile what it means when someone is no longer with us: We remember them.  We love them.  We hold them in our hearts.  And we live, because there are no guarantees in this life.

This year, we didn't set out to break tradition... yet we felt spurred by that sense of no longer waiting.  We had to work around Sophia's school schedule for the first time, and she happened to have a week-long fall break.  It suddenly felt like the right time.  We had been talking about heading to Florida to spend it with extended family we don't get time with often, and had already missed what had been becoming an annual trip for the prior two years due to a newborn/cancer treatments/pandemic (in no particular order).  Then Nan decided to join us, and when we made it to our destination, we were surprised by my mother-in-law, so needless to say, have been cherishing our time together.

Time has felt more important than ever.  We're with family in a different way.  This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for road trips.  I'm thankful for surprises.  I'm thankful for visitors on the dock in the mornings.  I'm thankful for breakfasts we cook together.  I'm thankful for sunshine and amazing sunsets.  I'm thankful for outside dining by the water.  I'm thankful for walks down the street with the kids and car rides with four generations.  I'm thankful for silly jokes by Siri.  I'm thankful for mystery trips.  I'm thankful for late night baking and staying up past bedtimes.  I'm thankful for family dinners.  I'm thankful every day that I'm given time to be present and here, because I have that chance, and I'm taking it.

As we gather this year in our noisy kitchens and around extended tables and the food that brings us together, we say a prayer for those we carry with us and the legacies that are living on.

back to basics

“Back to Basics”

Thanksgiving 2020

Dear Eli,

Happy first Thanksgiving!  We will be celebrating at home apart from our families, but I hope that you will be able to feel the festive spirit in the air with the flurry in the kitchen and the levity of a day free of other commitments.  Originally, we had planned to have a small group at Nai-Nai and Yeh-Yeh’s in NJ, but state limitations on indoor social gatherings caused us to split up into even smaller groups.  Then, to add to the fun, you and your cousin both caught colds, and with travel restrictions for PA imposed, all signs pointed to us canceling our plans altogether.

Sophia must have overheard me (the girl does not miss a thing, I swear) talking to your father about how different Thanksgiving would be this year, because she has been echoing some of what I have said in conversation.  When Poppy was talking last weekend about Christmas coming soon, she exclaimed adamantly, “Don’t forget about Thanksgiving!  We get to play with our people.  We get to be together.”  Not wanting to burst her bubble, I wasn’t ready to tell her then that that actually would not be the case this year.  Even tonight at bedtime when she expressed that “for Thanksgiving, we get to eat with our whole family,” it was hard to find the words to explain that we were not gathering together “because of the germs.”  How does one explain a pandemic to a 5-year-old who was quarantined all spring and most of the summer while I underwent treatments?  Who lost her best friend in the world, her kitty “sister” Bianca, in the midst of all of that?  How do we avoid disappointing her when she has already been through so much – watching me lose my hair, comforting me on those nights before chemo when I would cry at the dinner table, being patient with me as I struggled to keep up with her nonstop energy, knowing which side of my body she could hug without hurting me?  It is so much.  A mom with cancer, a pandemic, and then came you.

You were born on March 18th.  The very next day, the governor of Pennsylvania signed the executive “stay at home” order.  We call you our quarantine baby, because since you were born, we have diligently limited contact with anyone outside of our household because you were so new.  You look into our eyes and can use context clues to recognize when we are smiling, because anyone around you has always worn a mask.  Truly, what a year to come into this world!  Who would have thought that we would not be able to hug and kiss one another, or that gathering around a shared table would logistically be so difficult?  I never imagined that I would be having conversations with your grandparents or aunts through our kitchen window, or that porch drop-offs would become a thing to do to get out of the house to take a ride.  And I never would have believed that my family members would have to wait over 5 long months to hold you for the first time.

Yet, you are simply oblivious to it all and are content as long as you are fed.  You watch your sister with pure adoration, like she is the most amazing person you know (which is true, and I hope is true for years to come).  To our surprise, you just started crawling and are enjoying the freedom to explore.  I watch you sitting up and muse about how big you are getting but at the same time how small you still look in Daddy’s arms.  I cherish that you continue to be a snuggle bug and prefer to nap on top of us, even if that means we cannot get to other things.  Those things can wait.  Yes, those things really can wait.

If there could be one lesson learned this year, it is that we do not need much of what we think we need.  It takes a diagnosis to shift one’s whole perspective.  It takes the loss of human contact to remember how precious it is.  It takes the threat of health to realize how important it becomes to keep your family safe.  It takes the birth of a child during “these unprecedented times” to resolve to be more present than ever before.  And it takes reassuring a 5-year-old that the world she once knew before the germs can still be trusted and forgiving, in time.  It takes patience.  It takes faith.  It takes a little grace.

Eli, we hear others discuss next year and how much they want things to feel “normal” again.  But I cannot forget this year, the year that has become a meme, the year that has been blamed and shamed and shrugged off like an anomaly.  Instead, it is the year that you found your way to us through what seemed like insurmountable odds, our double rainbow who literally stuck with me through my hardest days (a surgery! and chemo! while pregnant! – I will never stop marveling at that), our sweet, sweet miracle.  We have clung to you as you have become our beacon of hope, our shining light – it’s in your bright smile, your gentle touch, it is in the way that you need us.  Thank you, baby, for being a happy boy, for reminding us of the most basic things – love of family, joy for each new day, wonder for the little things, and hope for a better tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving, Anthony Elijah, the first of many more.

Love,

Mommy

our anthem

“Our Anthem”

Thanksgiving 2019

Dear Sophia,

Earlier this year, you discovered a song by Rachel Platten called “Fight Song” that has become your anthem.  You know all of the lyrics and sing them at the top of your lungs, sometimes accompanied by your interpretive dancing/running/spinning, other times paired with the made-up hand motions you created with your daddy.  The first few times you had listened to the song, you had asked me what the singer was fighting about – but I explained it was more of what she was fighting for – her strength and perseverance in times of hardship, her way of finding herself and pushing through.  That song has been recognized over the years as one of hope amid challenge, used as theme songs for TV competitions, campaigns for cancer, championships, and even elections.  This year, more than ever (and not because you sing the song to me over and over), I have a reason to repeat the words like a mantra to myself.

Sophia, in short, this year has been tough.  As you have been insistent on inserting your independence, you’ve discovered things are not as simple as they used to be.  It has been more challenging to be you within our timeframes and expectations.  You have seen that your parents are not perfect – we argue with ourselves and each other, we are not always patient, and we hurt too.  You hugged me when I cried after I miscarried (without knowing the reason), and you wiped away my tears on Lily and Lucas’s birthdays.  Being four has meant more – more to comprehend, more depth and width of emotions, more energy and compassion – and you are constantly learning to adapt.

This summer I completed my master’s degree, but not without sacrifice.  I had doubled up on courses in the last few semesters and had to travel to school as well.  I lost out on large chunks of time with you and often (barely) functioned on just a handful of hours’ sleep.  Every time I had an errant thought about not being able to do it or that I was actually crazy enough to think I could, I would take a breath and reframe and restart – and seeing the proud look on your face the first time I put on my cap and gown told me it had all been worthwhile.

At the same time, unbeknownst to you, I was going through another cycle of IVF.  Daddy would administer my shots after your bedtime, but a couple of times you snuck downstairs and caught us, asking what the needles were for.  We would tell you it was medicine.  While we had a successful egg retrieval in the first round, they unfortunately yielded no embryos we could use, so we made the complicated decision to go through the process all over again.  And that process led to your baby brother.  As a result, we have felt incredibly blessed, and your aunt Sarah pointed out that he is like our double rainbow baby, following my miscarriage last fall.  He has felt very much like a miracle, kicking around in my belly to let me know he’s there, even while I am writing this.

Yet this is life, right?  And life has a way of reminding us that not everything is constant.  At 15 weeks pregnant, I found a lump, and by 18 weeks I had, unbelievably, been diagnosed with breast cancer.  We haven’t said the “c” word to you but will be explaining in a few short weeks about my illness and subsequent surgery, and what will happen next with managing the baby and treatments.

Somehow, I know that this life change that our little family is going through is the most significant to date.  The dichotomy of growing a life within a body that is fighting itself is nearly indescribable.  At times I feel I am unable to grasp the magnitude of what’s ahead, instead focusing only on the next step, for fear of drowning in the sobering reality of it all.  Other times, I feel like I was dealt this hand like a testimony of my truth.  So if there is any wisdom that I can impart on you from my experience this year, it would be:

Have conviction.  Believe in yourself and rely on your inner strength.  There were plenty of times I could have quit, while juggling being a wife and mother with graduate school and implementations at work and fertility treatments.  I cannot even tell you how often I have been told that I was “taking on too much” or “trying to do it all” – but when you go after the things that matter, you will understand it won’t be an easy road to get there, and that sometimes sacrifice is worth it.  If there is a single message I want to give you as your mother, it is that you can do anything you set your mind to.

Keep moving.  In the worst of times, it is hard to move in any direction, much less forward.  Those daily, mundane tasks we feel plagued by can seem so limiting.  Yet it is in those small things we find joy, and sometimes we just need to rediscover those little moments to keep us going.

Know your limits.  Once you have set your priorities, then you will know it’s okay to say no.  After I was diagnosed, it took me falling ill with a cold to tell me that my body needed rest.  I am usually planning our next outing or adventure, but realized I need to focus on getting well now so that I can do those things with you and your brother in the future.  Again, a sacrifice of sorts, but one with a clear objective.

Trust in others.  I have learned that you can rely on others.  I’m grateful for the team of doctors and specialists working together to develop my plan of care.  In addition, we have always been blessed with a solid family unit and support system, everyone from our church community to our friends and colleagues.  It is not a burden to call on others for help, something I know that is hard to understand at your age when you are trying to establish that you can handle things on your own.  However, one day you will need the help, so simply be thankful it is there and will be offered.

Sophia, I know that these tidbits of advice will only start to piece together as you grow older, but I also recognize how much you already understand.  So I want to remind you that I will always fight hard for you (and your soon-to-be little brother), and that you and your father have consistently given me strength that I did not realize I had.  And even though I cannot promise that we will not face difficult days ahead, I can promise that my love for you is steadfast.  Happy Thanksgiving, my dear, sweet girl, and don’t forget to count your blessings – they are always there, even if we are blinded from seeing them.

Love,

Mommy

a premise on promise

“A Premise on Promise”

Thanksgiving 2018

Dear Sophia,

While driving around the other day, you asked me why all the leaves were falling off the trees with a hint of sadness in your voice, and I paused briefly to figure out a way to describe autumn to you.  It was one of those trademark fall days – the crispness that was nearly tangible in the air, the breeze sweeping through the branches like rolling waves and courting the leaves in a dance, the vibrance of the colors warm and bright from the sun.  It was enough to make me exhale for a moment and relish in the amazing beauty of my favorite season.

So I told you that the leaves fall in autumn, and then the snow would come in winter, and springtime would bring regrowth and leaves again.  I explained how the seasons recycle and repeat, but amidst the change and transition we can count on the leaves coming back… and eventually falling again, like a promise.

It made me reflect upon this past year of growth (mostly for you) and change (with the additions of your cousin Bjorn and baby Alora, who you call a cousin), and hibernation (though not for me as I’m wrapping up my Masters, but one day soon!).  I marveled at how a year ago we claimed that you couldn’t stop talking, and yet these days the sentences flow out of you in stories and songs, or as a noteworthy “sophism,” and yes, even by way of disagreements and challenges.  I think of how we quickly realized that you’ve become a reflection of us – a mixture of mischief and heart, thoughtfulness and adventure – yet you have retained your unique mind and spirit.  A few short months ago you’d say, “I can’t” to potty training and we turned it around affirming that you could, and you would, until you were cheering us on whenever we felt unsteady and unsure.  I vividly remember the day you tamped down your innate fear of dogs and managed to pet one, a little shaky but so proud afterwards.  We are in awe of the little lady you are becoming – strong (holding your own in a class full of boys) yet gentle (as an expert snuggler to family and “Danca”), perceptive (incredibly in tune to our feelings and not missing a thing) and diligent (your negotiating skills are virtually unmatched for a 3-year-old!), inclusive (always including and asking about Lily and Lucas) while free (like your interpretive dances).

Not long ago we talked about promises and you’ve come to grasp the significance of them (and I know this because you’ve refused to promise when you know you can’t keep it 😉), a sacred oath that can bind people together.  This Thanksgiving, I’m reiterating an unspoken promise – that no matter the season and despite the inevitability of change, there is a single constant – us.  Your family.  Hold on to that when the days seem dark and bleak, or when you feel misunderstood or mistreated.  We’ll be here, in some shape or form, without judgement or scrutiny.  You’ll always be heard and have a seat at the table. 

Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart.  No matter where life takes you, you will have a forever home.  I promise.

Love,
Mommy

this one time...

”This One Time…”

Thanksgiving 2017

Dear Sophia,

This world we live in is in a hurry.  On Mondays we’re hustling toward Fridays, on blistery days we’re hoping for the warmth of the sun.  We transition from one holiday to the next so fast they start to blur together.  Each year, the stores rush in displays and décor for the next season, the next main event.  We hardly had a chance to realize fall had arrived because the Christmas trees were up the day after Halloween.  Thanksgiving doesn’t have much of a chance.

Thanksgiving, though, is one of my most beloved holidays.  It’s an opportunity for family members who don’t usually see one another to sit at the shared table.  It’s the hum of conversation and sound of clinking glass; the soft words of family prayers and the pitter-pattering of little feet.  It’s not only about the plentiful food, but the chaos in the kitchen, like a practiced dance as we’re fighting over the oven and counter space.  It’s the greeting of the guests, the roundtable thanks, the laughter, and the kids’ table.  It’s the lingering after dinner, the leisurely pace, the pause we’ve been craving and savor in this busy, dizzy world.

This year, I decided to add graduate school to my already full plate – a demanding job with added travel and being a mommy to you.  What I soon found was that getting through each day felt like a cruel exercise in time management – any time I chose homework or the office was less time spent with you.  And so I’d sacrifice sleep instead, only to fall asleep during playtime.  As much and as hard as I wished for the power to stop time, I knew it wasn’t possible, so all I could do was learn to do my best with the time I have been given.

I’ve said this before: There are no guarantees in this life.  We’re not given a timetable or score sheet, and we’re not promised tomorrow.  I think about what I want to tell you today, even if you’re not ready to comprehend it.  And so, I write.

I write about moments and glimpses in time.  I write about your milestones, but also about our day to day, when you’ve made me laugh or pause or even cry, as I’m realizing what a big girl you’re becoming.  I write about a new word or phrase you’ve added to your vocabulary, another song you’ve picked up, hand motions and all.  I write about the pictures I’m sending to your e-mail address, snapshots of the places we’ve gone and new things we’ve tried and different foods we’ve eaten.  I write about times you’ve challenged me and other times you’ve equally surprised me.  I write about things I’m trying to instill in you but mostly about what YOU have taught ME, because you have been my teacher all along.

So what have I learned this year?

Be present.  In this world of distractions and the concept of multitasking, it’s easy to lose focus.  Whenever I’ve reluctantly turned my attention away, you gently remind me to be with you in the here and now.  “Mommy, look!” you’ll exclaim.  “Come here,” and I’m there.  Ever since you were a baby, you’ve wanted to be included, literally a part of the conversation.  Your daddy and I will be talking about our day and you’ll call one of us by name until we stop and look over, only for you to flash your trademark smile.  It’s a constant reminder to be mindful.

Be nice.  You have an incredibly kind heart and a caring, sweet demeanor.  Your teachers remark about how empathetic you are, so in tune with others’ emotions, hugging your friends when they’re in distress.  You look forward to feeding Bianca every day and showering her with kisses.  Even though your cousin James has surpassed you in size, you recognize that he’s younger, just as you innately know and respect that cousin Addie is older.  Every night since your cousin Ryan was born only a short month ago, you ask to see his picture – such a simple request, but you’re instantly happy.  You’ve shown us that there are so many ways to exhibit kindness and affection, and to express it as often as we can.

Be bold.  Somehow, you find a way to help us forget ourselves – the shyness, the self-consciousness, the awkwardness.  You order us to run outside.  You encourage us to dance in the middle of restaurants.  You invite people into our lives and connect us in meaningful ways.  And you’re not afraid – of differences, of discovering, of going a bit off-roading.

Be funny.  Whether you’re “teecle” tackling me or making up a new game to play, your laughter fills our home.  When times are stressful, you lighten the mood; when you have the floor, you’re ready to shine.  We often muse about our little firecracker, bursting with personality, easily offering up your big, cheesy smile.  You’ve taught us not to take life too seriously and to let loose and have fun.

Be you.  I hope you never lose your positive outlook on the world.  One day it may not seem as open or straightforward, but that inner optimism will get you though.  It’s the strut in your step, your creative nature, your independence.  It’s the way you belt out songs, how you need to organize things and put them away, the rush of excited conversation when I pick you up.  It’s your big, warm hugs, your horizontal sleeping, and, “I love you, Mommy,” which are the best words ever spoken, every time.

I want to thank you for teaching me to be, and today I capture this letter as our picture in time – despite the flurry and frenzy of the start of the holiday season.  Thank you, my smart, darling, headstrong, sassy girl, for reminding me to recharge and reassess, and for reserving an oh, so grateful heart.

Love,

Mommy