My Dear Sweet Evan,

Today you are four. This is a very important day for you—one you’ve been talking about for at least six months. You know, as do I, that four year olds are big kids. You welcome that fact, while I resist it. I know that you are meant to grow and change, but the time is going by so much faster than I could have imagined.

It has been said that the days are long but the years are short, and it is true.  It seems like just yesterday you surprised me by arriving five weeks ahead of schedule.

You’ve been surprising me ever since. When I look back at the pictures from our first few days together, I think about all that I’ve learned since then. I had no way of knowing how much you’d love Oreos (pronounced eeerios), Tic Tacs or superheroes. I would never have guessed that you’d fall in love with hockey and turn the rest of us into fans right along with you.

I didn’t know how much time we’d spend dancing in the kitchen or negotiating over bedtime.

You adore mornings and wake up treating each day like the gift it really is. You rise before dawn each day and find your way into our room asking if it is morning time. 

I know I am going to forget so much about these early years. I’m grateful to have written notes and digital reminders of the things I adore about you. I love that you blow me kisses from across the table and that you fall asleep while we read bedtime stories. You can only drink milk if you have your special bear, which is so tattered and worn. You love Band-aids and request them for every bump and scratch. They make you feel better, so I oblige. In all honestly, I give in to most of your requests because in the grand scheme of things, they are really quite small but mean the world to you right now. 

When you were a baby, I had a hard time seeing the little boy you’d become. Just like right now I can’t picture you as your eight-year-old self or, gasp, the "growb up" you are so eager to become.

I love watching you grow. I love the ways you surprise me. You’ve made me love, laugh, worry and think more than I could have ever imagined.  Thank you for making me a mama and for being such a joy.  

Love you,

Mommy 

Yeah! Monday again. I love Mondays because they get me back in a routine after the weekend free-for-alls we tend to have around our house. Do you keep a schedule on the weekends? I would like to, but it is impossible. This weekend was especially busy as we celebrated my little guy turning four. It involved lots of baking, lots of noise and a REAL bike with a bell (thank you, thank you, thank you Grandma Betty and Papa Stu for giving Evan a bike for his birthday).

Between a hectic work schedule and birthday prep, I’m still recovering. I always think of things I plan to do "when things slow down," but it seems like they never do. All in all, I think that is a good thing. Life is meant to be lived. I prefer to pack in as much as I can, even if it means I’m a few weeks behind on those blog posts I’ve been carefully crafting in my head. They make it up here sooner or later! 

This morning Evan asked me what day it was. I told him it was Friday, and he looked up from his breakfast and said, “It just keeps going around and around.” He’s right. It does. We wake up, have breakfast, get dressed, take on the day, eat dinner, have a bath and go to bed—all to wake up and do it again the next day. Day after day. 

It can seem monotonous, even to a three year old. But really it is day by day that we build a life. The seemingly meaningless moments that shape our days really do affect who we are. I think that that is what excites me and scares me the most. It is so easy to squander away a day instead of using it to its fullest. Yet, at the same time, we have a clean slate each day. Fixing dinner, wiping noses and finishing a work project can all take on more meaning when we realize that they are moving us closer to our greater goals.  

So, yes Evan, it’s Friday. Friday means ice skating and lunch at the food court. We’ll sit at our table by the fountain. You’ll ask me for pennies and I’ll slowly dole out five that you’ll toss in the water. Madelyn will sit on my lap and watch your every move. You and Madelyn will both fall asleep on our way home and, fingers crossed, stay asleep when I carry you in the house. Later we’ll read books, play cars and fix dinner. I’ll coax you to eat four more bites while Madelyn gobbles up everything in site. You’ll have a bath, we’ll read more books and I’ll lie in bed with you until you fall asleep. I’ll tuck the covers under your chin and sneak out of the room—just so we can wake up tomorrow and do it all again. 

But, it isn’t just a Friday—it is a stepping stone. 

It is our little routine that is shaping us both into who we’re meant to be. Thinking of our days reminds me of my favorite Ernest Hemingway quote: "There are some things which cannot be learned quickly, and time, which is all we have, must be paid heavily for their acquiring. They are simple things, and because it takes a man’s life to know them, the little new that each man gets from life is very costly and the only heritage he has to leave." 

My biggest hope is that I can find a "little new" in each of my days. 

 

Ten years ago, I stood in this spot and shot broadcast stand ups for a CBS station in Vermont. With the Capitol as my backdrop, I told stories about Sen. Jim Jeffords switching political parties and Paul McCartney lobbying on Capitol Hill. I tracked bills and told the folks back home how the latest legislation would affect them. I was obsessed with news and loved that I got to be on the front lines.  

Today I stood in the same spot and held my baby girl. I pulled her hat over her ears and put gloves on her hands. I kissed her chubby cheeks and wiped drool from her chin.

With the Capitol in the background once again, I thought about my life then—in broadcast—and my life now as a mom and a freelance writer. How very lucky I am to have already had three of my life dreams come true. Sometimes I forget to count my blessings. Sometimes I need a simple reminder, and a snapshot can be a very powerful tool.

Why is it that most of my photos live in my computer or buried in a box? Do yours, too? I think it is time to go on a little archeological dig and unearth the photos that have special meaning and put them out where we can see them. Reminders of all that we’ve accomplished and the things we hold dear can be powerful things.