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

two fancy

My dear Sophia,

Happy 2nd birthday, sweetie!

Today we are exploring Jim Thorpe to celebrate your birthday with a train ride and some ice cream.  It's raining, but you don't seem to mind at all -- you can always make the best out of every situation -- turn a crappy weather day around with your sunny disposition, find wonder and amusement in a new and different place.

While thinking about what I wanted to tell you today, it reminded me of this quote in the movie, The Help, which is actually based on the novel of the same name by Kathryn Stockett.  (Please read it one day).  In the movie, a slave/nanny named Aibileen tells the little girl she's raising over and over, "You is kind.  You is smart. You is important."  She says this because the girl's mother and mistreats and abuses her, and so Aibileen wants to remind her she is loved.

So today I want to tell you that you are quite amazing for a two-year-old.  Here are just a few reasons why...

You are kind.  You are sweet and tenderhearted.  I can't even count the number of times your teachers have expressed how you comfort others, hugging and kissing your friends when they're upset or crying.  You've always been very in tune with emotion since before you could speak, and will offer a hand or a warm gesture to anyone who needs it.  You love hugging all your family members, especially Bianca.  You can recognize when someone is smaller than you and will be gentle with them.  When you're mistreated, you won't fight or display anger; instead, you'll stay calm and collected.  Even with your mischievous streak, you can discern what's right and wrong and how people should be treated.

You are bright.  You have the absolute best smile -- it brightens up the room!  Your energy and joy is apparent in everything you do.  And beyond that, you're intuitive.  I know it's normal to be a sponge at this age, but the way you piece things together, your patience for building and constructing, figuring out how things work, and not forgetting a thing, is special.  You've always been able to sit quietly, absorbing a book, and these days we could read 20-30 books to you (at a minimum) and you'll ask for more.  I love watching your mind churning, and now that you're able to communicate with us, you're teaching us to see and notice things we may not have stopped to consider otherwise.

You are fun.  What an adventurous spirit!  I like that you will try everything at least once.  You're spontaenous and brave.  You can take everyday things and make them extraordinary.  You're imaginative and create games out of tupperware and mixing bowls, spices, and pot lids.  You enjoy peekaboo, whether it's pulling a blanket off your head or jumping out from behind a closet.  You run, and dance, play piano, and sing (lately it's Row, Row, Row, Your Boat).  You talk to your toys, stuffed animals, and babydoll, and will carry them with you wherever you're going.

You are loved.  You are so incredibly loved.  You talk about your family all the time, sometimes in your sleep!  Mommy and Daddy, Big Poppy and Mu, Nai-Nai and Yeh-Yeh, aunties Rach, Sarah, and Jana, Nan... the list goes on and on.  There are so many people in your life that love and care for you, and always, always remember that.

Here is to another year in your journey, and wishing you so many more laughs and adventures along the way.

Love,

Mommy

daddy's day

Dear Sophia,

I would tell you how awesome your father is, but I think you already know that.

Your daddy waited several years to have you, and when he knew you were coming I could see the light of hope and possibility in his eyes.

Your daddy used to talk to you while you were in my belly, and nicknamed you "SGR" for "sugar," which were your initials so we could call you by something without revealing what we'd name you.

Your daddy cried when you were born because he was so thankful and amazed you were ours.

Your daddy made up many songs to sing you to sleep as a newborn, but my favorite was "wiggleworm."

Your daddy patiently read to you while you fit perfectly in his lap, avidly watching him.

Your daddy couldn't wait to come home at night to see you, and as you got older you were just as delighted to see him at the end of each day.

Your daddy has been peed and pooped on, sucked up your snot, sat in your throw up, taken you to countless doctor appointments and to the ER, and been worried sick when you're sick.

Your daddy loves to hear you laugh.  He'll tickle and bounce you on his shoulders, swing and spin you around, and can't help laughing himself even during momemts when he's trying to be stern.

Your daddy tells you you're beautiful every day because he wants you to know and remember that when you're older and unsure.

Your daddy can't wait to talk about you and share stories about you to anyone and everyone.

Your daddy beams when he hears, "Hi Daddy!"

Your daddy sleeps with you on the floor on nights you're scared and inconsolable, even when he's beyond tired.

Your daddy keeps a list of words you're saying now on your own because he's so proud of the big girl you're becoming.

Your daddy brings you outside to teach you about the world and feed your love of nature, pointing out rocks and trees and animals along the way.

Your daddy takes you to visit Lily and Lucas so you already know how to say their names and who they are.

Your daddy has always been the best man for mommy and best example for you, taking care of his family and showing us what it means to be loved.

Sophia, you are one lucky girl, and on this Father's Day remember to give your daddy a big hug and kiss to thank him for being a wonderful daddy.

Happy Father's Day, my love.

Love,

Mommy

in the beginning...

“In the Beginning…”

Thanksgiving 2016

Dear Sophia,

I’ve been writing to you since you were born, so it’s natural to pen a note on your second Thanksgiving.  It has been gratifying and almost therapeutic to document all your precious moments and milestones, sending pictures and videos for you to one day view.  It’s my way of grasping those snippets of time and holding them there, like hitting the pause button.  Time is elusive, Sophia, and here we are at another Thanksgiving.

Last year I described how you came into our lives with a flourish and how you’ve been stirring it up ever since.  And boy, you have, with your big and bright personality, trademark “Anthony” smirk (like you’re always ready for trouble), joyous and carefree laughter, and insatiable hunger to discover.  It’s been a whirlwind of firsts – your first smile, first roll, first taste of food, first crawl, first stand, first word, first birthday, first steps, first school picture.  Every new phase has been followed by a reawakening for us, a rekindled memory, a second chance, a do-over.  In your own way, you’ve helped us find again, to see in a different light, to essentially change our perspective.  And not only that, we’ve experienced some firsts of our own along the way that comes with new adventures in parenting.

As we get ready to gather around the table in our customary fashion, I can’t help but think of these firsts.   Your firsts, these achievements, our memories, have transformed into the new normal of our lives.  They’ve added substance and color, enriched our days that were once set in habit and tradition.  As you are learning, life is ever-evolving.  Think about how quickly our paths can diverge and resurface, and on the other hand, how bountiful our blessings can be – in 2013 we unexpectedly lost your siblings, but then the following year came cousin Addie, and then you, and this year another addition with your cousin James.  Each of these events molded us, and in turn, molded you.  Remember those days when you were just sitting up, and your world was at eye level?  It wasn’t long before you realized how much your universe expanded and changed the minute you could stand.  And there is only more room to grow and continue on this journey.

This year of firsts also reminds me of beginnings.  I don’t often dwell on how traditions come about, but they had to have had a starting place, right?  So this year, I’m sharing our family’s infamous lasagna story.

When I was little, your Nai-Nai (grandma) used to make a delicious meat lasagna.  I remember watching her in the kitchen, layering the noodles, using a brush to spread the ingredients evenly in between.  Not long after, she taught me how to make it, and I’m not sure when or how it happened, but soon it had been passed on to me and became my go-to entrée for parties and get-togethers.  So of course, many, many years later when your dad’s parents invited us over for lunch one summer day when we were first dating, I decided to turn to my default dish to show off my cooking prowess.

“I make my lasagna with beef.  Is that okay?” I asked your-father-then-boyfriend anxiously, and wanting to ensure there were no food allergies.

“That should be fine,” he responded.  Little did I know how not fine it would be.

Lunch was served on the deck that day.  I set the casserole dish down on the table and unwrapped it.  “What’s in it?” my now-mother-in-law inquired.

“Just ground beef,” I answered.

Anthony proceeded to start cutting.  Looking at his mom expectantly, he asked how big of a slice.  “Oh, just a sliver,” she said.

He went to cut, and she motioned for a smaller piece.  Anthony seemed annoyed.  “Are you on a diet?”

She responded no, but I could tell something was off.

It wasn’t until we were in the car on the way back to my apartment when it hit him.  “So… uh… my mom’s a vegetarian.”

I was mortified.  “But I asked you if it was okay!” was all I could muster. 

And so this went down in Rediger family history as the first time a Farng sister made your Mu eat meat.  I’ll have your aunties fill you in on the second and third times…

Apparently, your Mu had not eaten meat in 30 years, but on that day, she did for me.  (And that speaks volumes about your Mu’s character, so kindhearted, not wanting to upset me).

But this is also when I started making vegetarian lasagna.

So my sweet girl, this incredible year of firsts has culminated into the onset of the remarkable story of YOU.  And the story I shared is a part of the remarkable story of US.  One day when you’re older, and wonder why I no longer make meat lasagnas or why sometimes you’ll see the vegetarian version on the Thanksgiving table amongst the more old-fashioned casseroles, there is history there.  The story, as with your story, had a beginning, however embarrassing or comical it was – and we celebrate it, because it has become a piece of our narrative.  And this tale is particularly special because it entwines our two families together.

Whenever you’re filled with doubt or uncertainty, remember this: you’ve given more to us in this first year than we ever could have imagined, and for that we are forever grateful.

There is so much more ahead of you.  I hope that one day you read this back and see all that has transpired, and take a moment to relish in those first accomplishments, when everything felt shiny and new, untouched and unchartered, simple and straightforward.

This Thanksgiving, we’re thankful for your firsts and our firsts, recalling how our stories were born, honoring old traditions as well as new additions, and realizing that sometimes, it’s worth a pause to think about our humble beginnings.

Love,

Mommy

scar tissue

On the afternoon of Sophia's first birthday party, after the last guest had left, the family headed down to the memorial to visit Lily and Lucas.  In a moment of quiet stillness, I snapped this picture.  

It instantly brought tears to my eyes, the rawness of it, the beautiful handiwork of my in-laws who spent hours clearing up the area and planting flowers, the fact that I missed my babies more than anything in that second.  Swiping at the tears running down my face, I said a little sheepishly, "I don't know why I'm crying.  Some days are harder than others." 

After a pregnant pause, my father-in-law responded, "Well, Gloria... Think of all you have now."

It's an honest sentiment.  I think about that all the time, and it's a consistent topic between Anthony and me.  If we hadn't had and lost the twins, we may never have had Sophia... and it's an odd and heartbreaking realization to bear.

The twins would be nearly three now, and with every milestone that Sophia achieves, I can't help but to think of all they didn't have a chance to have.  I vividly remember the first time we discovered there were two heartbeats, crying when we saw the flickers on the screen.  I remember the feel of them inside, carrying them for 21 weeks.  I remember giving birth to Lily at home, of almost being swallowed by panic when I saw her sweet face and still form and jumped into action to perform CPR.  I remember being in labor with Lucas for over 15 hours, pushing him out and hearing his cry, holding him close until his last breath.  I remember us having the hardest time naming our babies because it didn't feel completely right giving them the original names we had picked out.  I remember healing at home with empty arms and engorged breasts, the quiet at some points overwhelming.  

I remember becoming pregnant with Sophia and the close to crippling anxiety, the decision not to tell Anthony's parents the happy news before 20 weeks (and 24 in the case of my parents) because we didn't want to risk breaking their hearts again.

There are times that I think back to all of these things and it becomes hard to breathe... and then Sophia looks at me in a way that speaks volumes of understanding, reaches for my face, and snuggles in, and suddenly the tightness in my chest subsides.

Her existence doesn't replace the void of the babies we've lost, but it's helped to heal our grieving hearts.  It's a little like scar tissue --  the wound has healed but the composition has changed forever.

Our rainbow baby is one.  It's remarkable, and I never, ever forget that.  She'll grow up knowing her sister and brother.  She'll learn how fragile and precious this life is.  She'll recognize how incredibly much she is loved.

Since birth, Sophia has always looked over my shoulder or reached out or waved (and now babbling) to something beside us... and I'm comforted by the thought that she's communicating with her siblings, that they're watching over us, that they're never too far beyond.

ONE

Dear Sophia Grace,

Happy first birthday!  Our baby is ONE!!

As I sit here reflecting on the year we've had as a family, there's no doubt that you've taught me how to navigate though motherhood while getting to know myself better in the process.  We're learning together, and I'm being reintroduced to the world through every milestone and moment.

Tonight you were pushing up from the ground with straight arms and legs, and I thought, It's only a matter of time before you take your first steps.  How can that be?  Wasn't it just yesterday that you were protesting tummy time, giving us gassy smiles, sporting the spiky poof, wiggling out of your swaddle?  Now we have a cruiser who's opening cabinets, tossing toys, clapping on demand, and already giving us the eyebrow raise.

You have somehow found that delicate balance most of us would aim to achieve.  You're funny (sometimes even laughing to yourself) and attentive (watching for our reactions), fearless (wanting to catapult off the bed) but logical (realizing you need Daddy to help you walk with your hands), spirited (always on the go) while well-mannered (at least when you're not getting your diaper changed), tenderhearted (a total sweetheart) and strong (but able to hang with the big kids).  You're giving.  Lately you've been offering your toys to others with a smile and do not seem to mind if they're not returned.  You love to dance, and I hope you'll never stop wanting to.  You light up our world, and in turn, our hearts are full.

On your first birthday I wish you happiness with a slice of wholesomeness, sprinkled with loads of fun, and topped with extra hugs and kisses.

Love you baby,

Mommy

you are beautiful

Hi baby,

I often reflect upon my childhood and the struggles I've had, and even still do, with my weight. The societal pressure, especially on women today, to be rail thin or shaped a certain way or to lose the baby weight basically immediately after giving birth is immense. It plagues me that you'll be subjected to this pressure as a young girl, and I'm already preparing myself for how to respond. As you grow older and are exposed to the body shaming and guilt and impossible standards of beauty, I want you to remember this: You are beautiful. You are beautiful and always will be. At almost(!) one-year-old, I love the way you look in the mirror and smile wide at your reflection. That is how it should always be. When the world gets you down or makes you feel ugly, you're the one who knows the truth inside.

Your daddy tells me I'm beautiful all the time, when I haven't showered, when my hair's a mess, when I'm wearing a stained t-shirt. He often reminds me not to put myself down when I'm feeling bad about myself, since one day soon you'll start to understand what the seemingly harmless negativity means. And I want to be a good example for you as a strong and happy woman, secure in her body and sound in her mind. You'll be fed many messages in the future, so keep in mind that you can choose to filter them.  Focus on messages (like the ones below) from positive role models who are comfortable just as they are, as it should be.

YOU get to choose, so let's choose happy, okay?

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/us_57855586e4b03fc3ee4e626f

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/weartheswimsuit-jennifer-weiner-explains-campaign-40364878

Love,

Mommy