I write love letters to my sons. I save them after they’ve read them, in the back of their sock drawers. They resurface when it’s time to do laundry and get buried again when we put the clothes away.
I file away artwork. The large pieces are in a suitcase in the basement, up off the floor in case the ten-year old hot water heater decides to blow, or the plumbing explodes while we’re out of town. I’ve heard about that happening. It only happens when you’re not home.
Their best work is framed in the hallway outside their bedrooms, like an art gallery. I gave them their framed artwork for Christmas one year. They opened them silently — silence that wasn’t disappointment. Silent pleasure, to see their work honored, what pieces I chose, how official the work looked in the frame. I had nails already in the wall waiting. We hung them together on the “I love me wall.”
When I organize papers from our daily life, I sort carefully. Hand them their work and tell them to put it over on the bookshelf counter so I can file it with their important papers. I tell them I save their writing and drawing for when they’re older because I want them to know their work is important.
Sometimes we pull out the folders for each year, look through them together and talk about them, compare the work across the years. It’s way better than a bedtime book from the library. It’s their life chart, leading up to where they are now. I pull these out on days when they’re not sure who they are.
I didn’t have these things tucked away for me when I was a kid. I am trying to keep a balance somewhere between only keeping things we use, as my mother had, out of necessity from frequent moves in the Air Force, and turning into a pack rat, buried in envelopes of every haircut, every restaurant placemat doodle.
On mornings that the boys emerge from their bedrooms in pants that stop above the ankles, we walk over to the wall in the hallway with a thick-leaded pencil and mark their new height with a line and a date. We linger, and study the progression of height marks. Notice the growth spurts and the slow growth.
My favorite moments with my kids are in the car on the way to school, or after school. Sometimes, we park in the driveway and talk for a half-hour or more before going into the house. In the evening, bedtime might be off schedule if we are spontaneously gathered in the kitchen getting rowdy.
I love laughing in the kitchen, laughing in the heart of the home. The boys deliver one-liners, try on different characters and accents and expressions. Everyone gets a turn. Everyone gets a high-five somewhere in the mix. Wit is expected. Inappropriate humor is welcomed. Dorky dance moves are encouraged. It’s medicinal, and unfolds naturally. You can tell for whom the soul salve was most needed by how hard they laugh.
We reluctantly move onto the next step of getting to bed, but we have to, so we keep volleying one-liners, giggling through the walls in our separate corners of the house, trying to keep the kitchen laughter alive.
Why we can never sell this house is because we’re all afraid of losing track of the breadcrumb trail that brings us back to who we are. The art gallery, the growth lines, the giggling through the walls, our spots around the kitchen where we tell stories and act silly. The folders on the bookshelves, the portfolios in the basement. Those are our markers. Moving would alter what we’re building, that which makes us feel strong.
I am not sure I am preparing my boys the way other parents are preparing theirs for the outside world. I’m not hoping for them to blend. I’m hoping they’ll be who they are, whomever that is from one growth line to the next. Not who the outside world thinks they should be. I’ve seen a lot of friends have to start their lives over from scratch in their forties to try to get back to who they are. They’ve lost sight of all the markers.
The other day, I pulled a book off the bookshelf for my son to read. A yellowed hard bound book of poetry, it is the only book I have from my childhood. I remember the day my mother gave it to me. The copyright is 1968. When I open the book to find a poem to share with Vincent that I used to like, I created more cracks in the glue, out of which fell an unopened love letter from my mom.
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I love all these beautiful thoughts, experiences and meaningful times with family – they make life so worth while!
Kristin
How romantic of you as a mother. Your children will not forget.
I also saved my loveletters- not for my son but for my husband. It’s now in hardbound copies. You can read my post about this and see the books in my blog. The title is “Sealed with A Kiss”.
good article as usual!
Wonderful story Amy. I too saved art work and treasures as my kids were growing up. I still have them tucked safely away in a trunk for each of them along with keepsakes from their grand parents. While these treasures might not be important to them right now, I hope they will be as they grow older.
This is such a gorgeous post! You have given me some awesome ideas to use with my girls. Thank you
Awesome, Meg! That’s what I like to hear! Pass it on!
You’re so sentimental – but that’s great! I save things, too. Someday, I hope my children will be glad (surprised?) to see I’ve kept those little things…those little projects, homework that was marked with “Excellent job!” and stuff like that. Little things mean so much!
Whatever happens in the future you are savoring these moments with your boys now. And that is truly priceless.
I have a drawer upstairs, a box downstairs and measurements on the basement door. These markers mean the world, and the way you write about them is perfect.
Hi! First, thank you for your kind comment on my blog. Amy, this post was really inspiring to me. I think the fact that you want to cherish your house is wonderful.. I moved around different countries while growing up and that affected me emotionally more than anything. I still don’t know where I consider my home.. The inconsistency of cultural references in my life always confuse me when I need to make my own decisions because I have no ‘home’ to rely on or refer back to. I am jealous that you and your family get to come home to the same home everyday..
Hope you are having a great Sunday!
this is incredible Amy. Very moving.
Refreshing and touching! Glad you sent a friend request by mistake that day, LOL!
Very well said! They should be brought up as who they are as they grow up and not what others think they should be. It will be hard for them to feel lost in the former. Thank you for sharing this happy read.
So sweet and poignant and true! I keep little mementos of my kids work through the years. I think it would be fun to give it to them as a present at Christmas when they have their own families. Cherished little pieces of who they were. Love that! And letting them be who they are, especially at home with family.
Loved this post. My girls and I tend to be the same way. I have two little books kept in one of my draws, one for each of them ‘I hope you dance’ it came with a CD. As old as the song will be when they turn 16, the book will be thiers.
Yea, I love that song. There’s another one similar in feel and message is “Standing out in a Crowd” on Trisha Yearwood’s Jasper County album. Not that I’m a big groupie or anything. I can’t decide which one to marry, Trisha Yearwood or Brandi Carlile. I’m torn, really.
Thanks. You just gave me a great xmas present idea.
Good grief. I absolutely loved this. Some of this I do with my own sons, but you’ve also given me some great ideas. Thanks Amy.
ps: if you were thinking of visiting, click on this link and not the one in my last comment.
Why? Because I managed to screw up my website link in the last message.
THIS time, I’m relatively convinced that my typing skills have not failed me (don’t judge me – it’s early here!!)
This is a really nice piece.
I found your site via BlogCatalog and it’s a pleasure to meet you.
right, of course, you grew up in an air force family so you must’ve moved a lot!
but hey, at least you moved to the one state that voted against Nixon eh?
boy did you get me with this line: “Why we can never sell this house is because we’re all afraid of losing track of the breadcrumb trail that brings us back to who we are.”
Made me think of all the times we moved when I was a kid, and how much I lost each time — the biggest when we moved from South Africa, where I was born, to West Virginia (I know, I know) when I was nine.
Still gettin’ over that one.
Also like that you say you want your kids to be who they are out in the world. Not what/who you think they ought to be.
I know, I know! I moved from Izmir, Turkey to a depressing Air Force base in Massachusetts during an election year when I turned nine, and the wrong guy one. Nixon won by a landslide. Only state he couldn’t carry was Massachusetts. It just felt like one big losing year.
I write birthday letters to my two sons, and am inspired to write more by your post.
I was just thinking, that now my oldest is 5, I can now have him be the Author, and I can be his typist. It will be fun for him to compose a letter to his future self. How he sees life now. His interests etc.
Great idea. I’d love to be able to pull something like that out in ten years.
It’s funny to connect with people that you picked as friends way back when you were in elementary school. How right you were then still applies. As little ones we have really good sight.
Very sweet, I love this story. Can’t wait to hear what the letter from your mother said. Gotta love these moments with the kiddos, they pass too quickly!
I wish you had been my mum. x x x
I loved this piece so much. It made my heart swell. xoxoxoxoxo.
I was just the typist. This one came out of me while I was waiting for a real one.
This is a wonderfully inspiring peek into your home. I am in awe of my children and their perspective on things. However, I tend to get lost in the tasks at hand and too often obsess about the inconsequential. I feel bad for that, but I continue to be a work in progress. Thank you for the tender sentimentality of this post so full of love. I think I’ll borrow your gifting the framed artwork idea.
I suppose I am now a fan:o) Consider yourself followed.
That’s the message. Pass it on. Frame it in love and pass it on. They’ll love that you did that, especially when they have friends over.
You made me laugh and cry. Laugh because of all the wonderful things you have done, some we do to. All the artwork, the kitchen goofiness, etc.
Cry because of the things I don’t — in our crazy lives, I have not gotten to things like writing letters, frame artwork. So many of those small but important things that I cannot do.
Wonderful post.
Sweeeeeet…
I love gathering and laughing in the kitchen; it’s always been the heart of the home to me.
Love you and your kids; hope to see you again soon…
Door’s always open. But could you come when I’m having a much better hair day? God, those pictures were awful. And lay off the sunbathing. I look like a ghost next to you! Bitch, please!
this is beautiful.
Amy~ You are such an amazing mom. I enjoy reading these posts a lot.
I loved this post.
Thanks, Kim and Slouchy and Tawnya!