Dear Bear,
Today you are ten years old. On your third birthday, I
wrote you a letter
wrote you a letter
(http://beansbreastcancerblog.blogspot.com/2011/10/),
thinking that one day you would stumble upon it. Oh,
how I hoped to be a fly on the wall when that happened.
I imagined that it would be after I was long gone, and
that DotDot would show you how to find it…or that you
would be doing research for a paper and come across it
on your own. But I should have known better than that.
You like to ask questions, and I don’t like to feel left out!
thinking that one day you would stumble upon it. Oh,
how I hoped to be a fly on the wall when that happened.
I imagined that it would be after I was long gone, and
that DotDot would show you how to find it…or that you
would be doing research for a paper and come across it
on your own. But I should have known better than that.
You like to ask questions, and I don’t like to feel left out!
I’ll never forget the conversation that we had last year
about blogs. I asked you what you knew about blogs,
and you blew my mind. You knew an awful lot. I told
you that I had a blog, and you immediately asked to
read it. I told you that you weren’t ready yet. You
negotiated a peek, in true Logan fashion. I let you read
the letter I wrote to you. We were sitting in the Dunkin
Donuts parking lot. You were silent. I turned around to
see if you had finished reading, and you put the phone
in your lap, still silent. Your eyes were swimming in a
about blogs. I asked you what you knew about blogs,
and you blew my mind. You knew an awful lot. I told
you that I had a blog, and you immediately asked to
read it. I told you that you weren’t ready yet. You
negotiated a peek, in true Logan fashion. I let you read
the letter I wrote to you. We were sitting in the Dunkin
Donuts parking lot. You were silent. I turned around to
see if you had finished reading, and you put the phone
in your lap, still silent. Your eyes were swimming in a
pool of tears that refused to drop. I told you I loved
you, and your response was, “I know you do...now.
Thank you for letting me read that.” We both bawled.
You unbuckled and crawled into the front seat with
me, and I hugged you a big hug. I am so glad that got
to be there when you read that letter.
you, and your response was, “I know you do...now.
Thank you for letting me read that.” We both bawled.
You unbuckled and crawled into the front seat with
me, and I hugged you a big hug. I am so glad that got
to be there when you read that letter.
You have a wonderful curiosity about the world
around you. You love to explore. You climb trees. You
get stuck in them. You get cut out of them. Then you
climb them again. You know who you are, and you
are proud. You are so confident. You probe. You are
constantly asking me questions about when you were
a baby, and I think to myself, “Wasn’t that just
yesterday?” It wasn’t. We have come a long way since
I first wrote you that letter.
around you. You love to explore. You climb trees. You
get stuck in them. You get cut out of them. Then you
climb them again. You know who you are, and you
are proud. You are so confident. You probe. You are
constantly asking me questions about when you were
a baby, and I think to myself, “Wasn’t that just
yesterday?” It wasn’t. We have come a long way since
I first wrote you that letter.
You haven’t changed much either. As I have read that
letter many times over the past 7 years, I have often
been in awe of how developed your personality was
at that age. Honestly I could tell a million stories
about pokie fish and triangles and beating bed bugs
(not literally) with a shoe. I could go on and on
about you singing “3 Little Birds” on stage at a
concert, or the significance of that song. I could
talk about sushi or flossing or cactus costumes until
I was blue in the face. Because you love to hear
stories about what an extraordinary boy you’ve
always been, I’m going to share some of my favorites
here. Roll your eyes all you want to. Pronounce the
word “ugh” as “uhhhhgg,” drawing it out long and
emphasizing the “g.” Nervously fidget with your
fingers touching your lips…whatever it takes to get
through this letter.
letter many times over the past 7 years, I have often
been in awe of how developed your personality was
at that age. Honestly I could tell a million stories
about pokie fish and triangles and beating bed bugs
(not literally) with a shoe. I could go on and on
about you singing “3 Little Birds” on stage at a
concert, or the significance of that song. I could
talk about sushi or flossing or cactus costumes until
I was blue in the face. Because you love to hear
stories about what an extraordinary boy you’ve
always been, I’m going to share some of my favorites
here. Roll your eyes all you want to. Pronounce the
word “ugh” as “uhhhhgg,” drawing it out long and
emphasizing the “g.” Nervously fidget with your
fingers touching your lips…whatever it takes to get
through this letter.
Your pre-school teacher stopped my hustle and
bustle at pick-up one day to tell me a story. I
thought, “Oh, no. What has he done now?” She
told me about how, at 4 years old, you wanted to
sort the foam alphabet interlocking tiles in order.
You assembled a group of girls from the class (4
or 5 if I recall correctly), and directed them to find
each tile and put them together. When the girls
got stuck, you did not tell them what letter came
next. Instead, you lead them in the ABC’s and yelled
“STOP!” when they reached the next appropriate
letter. The teacher pointed out your natural
leadership abilities, and at that point I laughed,
saying, “Yeah…I’m pretty sure he will be a lawyer,
bustle at pick-up one day to tell me a story. I
thought, “Oh, no. What has he done now?” She
told me about how, at 4 years old, you wanted to
sort the foam alphabet interlocking tiles in order.
You assembled a group of girls from the class (4
or 5 if I recall correctly), and directed them to find
each tile and put them together. When the girls
got stuck, you did not tell them what letter came
next. Instead, you lead them in the ABC’s and yelled
“STOP!” when they reached the next appropriate
letter. The teacher pointed out your natural
leadership abilities, and at that point I laughed,
saying, “Yeah…I’m pretty sure he will be a lawyer,
a preacher, or (heaven help us) a politician.” I have
no doubt that stands today, given your love of rules,
your strong negotiating skills, your ability to lead,
and your charismatic story-telling ability. I do
wonder where those traits came from. ;-)
no doubt that stands today, given your love of rules,
your strong negotiating skills, your ability to lead,
and your charismatic story-telling ability. I do
wonder where those traits came from. ;-)
There was a night that we drove down Franklin
Street. Franklin is the steep hill that goes from our
house on the east side of town to the downtown
area. As the leaves change colors in Wisconsin,
Franklin is nothing short of magical. Between the
maples lies a view of the west side of town
blanketed by the dark night sky. If you catch it at
the right time, the moon lingers in that space
between the trees. I’m not sure where we were
going that night. I’m not even sure of what time
of year it was, or if the leaves were in full color.
But I remember silence. I remember you saying,
“Mama, I think that moon stole somebody’s smile.”
I looked to the sky to find the most perfect
crescent moon. I looked back at you…so peaceful,
so imaginative…just staring out the window, so
unaware of how you just touched my heart. Those
moments haven’t stopped as you’ve grown. You
even had a conversation with James this month
about how the moon looked like an orange slice.
I’ve caught your day-dreaming more times than I
can count, and I often wonder what vast
adventures are bouncing around in that head of
yours. I’ve wanted to join you every time. Keep
your head in the clouds, Sunshine…as you told
me sometime in the past year, “The clouds have
stories to tell.” You deserve to hear every one of
them.
Street. Franklin is the steep hill that goes from our
house on the east side of town to the downtown
area. As the leaves change colors in Wisconsin,
Franklin is nothing short of magical. Between the
maples lies a view of the west side of town
blanketed by the dark night sky. If you catch it at
the right time, the moon lingers in that space
between the trees. I’m not sure where we were
going that night. I’m not even sure of what time
of year it was, or if the leaves were in full color.
But I remember silence. I remember you saying,
“Mama, I think that moon stole somebody’s smile.”
I looked to the sky to find the most perfect
crescent moon. I looked back at you…so peaceful,
so imaginative…just staring out the window, so
unaware of how you just touched my heart. Those
moments haven’t stopped as you’ve grown. You
even had a conversation with James this month
about how the moon looked like an orange slice.
I’ve caught your day-dreaming more times than I
can count, and I often wonder what vast
adventures are bouncing around in that head of
yours. I’ve wanted to join you every time. Keep
your head in the clouds, Sunshine…as you told
me sometime in the past year, “The clouds have
stories to tell.” You deserve to hear every one of
them.
There are times where your imagination kind of
freaks me out. Like the time that we were
snuggling in your bed and you were petting my
hair. You said, “I love your hair.” I had a
flashback to when you were 3, rubbing my bald
head, telling me that I was cute. And then you
said, “I wish I could cut if off and make a blanket
out of it so that I could sleep with it forever and
ever.” Ummm, that was the line from cute to
creepy, and you just crossed it. There was also a
time when you told me that I would always have
a place in your bed to snuggle you…right between
you and your wife. I rolled onto the floor laughing,
and I thought, “Your wife is going to love me!”
Mostly, though, your creativity helps you in areas
you couldn’t imagine.
freaks me out. Like the time that we were
snuggling in your bed and you were petting my
hair. You said, “I love your hair.” I had a
flashback to when you were 3, rubbing my bald
head, telling me that I was cute. And then you
said, “I wish I could cut if off and make a blanket
out of it so that I could sleep with it forever and
ever.” Ummm, that was the line from cute to
creepy, and you just crossed it. There was also a
time when you told me that I would always have
a place in your bed to snuggle you…right between
you and your wife. I rolled onto the floor laughing,
and I thought, “Your wife is going to love me!”
Mostly, though, your creativity helps you in areas
you couldn’t imagine.
You are so clever…and funny. We sat in church
one day…you were 4 or 5. Parker Dean was in the
nursery, and it was just you and me. You picked a
pew 4 rows from the front, and you would have
sat in the front row if I hadn’t talked you out of
it. I told you that the closer you sit to the front
the more responsible you have to be because
everyone behind you can see your every move.
You said you understood. The Sunday School
teacher gave you an M&M cookie in a Ziploc
bag. It looked delicious, and you wanted it
badly. In a moment of sanity, I told you that
you could have the cookie after church…if you
behaved. I was not counting on you getting that
one day…you were 4 or 5. Parker Dean was in the
nursery, and it was just you and me. You picked a
pew 4 rows from the front, and you would have
sat in the front row if I hadn’t talked you out of
it. I told you that the closer you sit to the front
the more responsible you have to be because
everyone behind you can see your every move.
You said you understood. The Sunday School
teacher gave you an M&M cookie in a Ziploc
bag. It looked delicious, and you wanted it
badly. In a moment of sanity, I told you that
you could have the cookie after church…if you
behaved. I was not counting on you getting that
cookie. I was gearing up for a fight. You were
pretty still. And I was proud that day. Then it
came time for the sermon. You got squirmy. I
wrote a note on the bulletin and slid it over to
you...you see, you were also an incredibly
advanced reader for your age. The note read:
"I will eat your cookie." I looked at you, and you
straightened up right away…still as a statue.
That may have been the first time I listened to
a sermon without distraction in over 4 years.
As the preacher wrapped up, I looked at you
and smiled. Then I noticed you glance at my
thigh. The bulletin was under my left leg. I
pulled it out and read the words: "Then I will
eat you." I wasn’t the only proud one that day.
pretty still. And I was proud that day. Then it
came time for the sermon. You got squirmy. I
wrote a note on the bulletin and slid it over to
you...you see, you were also an incredibly
advanced reader for your age. The note read:
"I will eat your cookie." I looked at you, and you
straightened up right away…still as a statue.
That may have been the first time I listened to
a sermon without distraction in over 4 years.
As the preacher wrapped up, I looked at you
and smiled. Then I noticed you glance at my
thigh. The bulletin was under my left leg. I
pulled it out and read the words: "Then I will
eat you." I wasn’t the only proud one that day.
I was so proud of myself for taking the Love
and Logic parenting class. I needed something
that worked. You were so independent that I
couldn’t get you to do anything without
yelling and fussing and crying and time outs
and spankings. I was exhausted. You were
winning. Then I learned that all I had to do was
to not lose my cool with you. Eventually, if I
said something twice, I would follow it with
“That’s two.” You no longer got a third chance.
You knew that “two” meant business. Now all
I have to do is say your name and hold up two
fingers and you do what I said the first time. You
know, that time you acted like you didn’t hear me
but really you did? If you argued with me (which
was all the time), all I had to do to leave the
argument was walk away while saying, “I love
you too much to argue about it.” Argument
ended. #winning. You crawled into bed with me
one night, and I groggily told you to go back to
your bed. You said no. No? Really? “Go back to
bed, Bear, that’s two.” You rolled away from me,
snuggled into my down comforter, and scooted
your little butt up next to mine. “I love you too
and Logic parenting class. I needed something
that worked. You were so independent that I
couldn’t get you to do anything without
yelling and fussing and crying and time outs
and spankings. I was exhausted. You were
winning. Then I learned that all I had to do was
to not lose my cool with you. Eventually, if I
said something twice, I would follow it with
“That’s two.” You no longer got a third chance.
You knew that “two” meant business. Now all
I have to do is say your name and hold up two
fingers and you do what I said the first time. You
know, that time you acted like you didn’t hear me
but really you did? If you argued with me (which
was all the time), all I had to do to leave the
argument was walk away while saying, “I love
you too much to argue about it.” Argument
ended. #winning. You crawled into bed with me
one night, and I groggily told you to go back to
your bed. You said no. No? Really? “Go back to
bed, Bear, that’s two.” You rolled away from me,
snuggled into my down comforter, and scooted
your little butt up next to mine. “I love you too
much to argue about it,” you said. You won that
one…hands down. Or did you?
one…hands down. Or did you?
You are a really good “big.” I mean it. You are so
loving and helpful with Parker Dean. You celebrate
when he does something well. You encourage
him when he doesn’t. You play so well with him.
You have never known anything to be just
yours…you share because it makes things more fun
when others can participate. You are genuinely
excited for others. Remember on Parker’s 3rd
birthday when he was a total grumpapotamus and
you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? You were
like a chipmunk – all chipper and happy, bouncing
in his face. You kept saying, “It’s your birthday,
Parker! Aren’t you excited? This is the best birthday
ever!” You didn’t care that it wasn’t your birthday
…you were genuinely excited to celebrate him.
That’s just how you are…and I love that about you.
You are a nurturer. You are social. I have no doubt
that, one day, you will take care of me and Parker
Dean will provide the financial resources. This is
where you say, “Hey!” And then you throw your
hands up because you know I’m right.
loving and helpful with Parker Dean. You celebrate
when he does something well. You encourage
him when he doesn’t. You play so well with him.
You have never known anything to be just
yours…you share because it makes things more fun
when others can participate. You are genuinely
excited for others. Remember on Parker’s 3rd
birthday when he was a total grumpapotamus and
you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? You were
like a chipmunk – all chipper and happy, bouncing
in his face. You kept saying, “It’s your birthday,
Parker! Aren’t you excited? This is the best birthday
ever!” You didn’t care that it wasn’t your birthday
…you were genuinely excited to celebrate him.
That’s just how you are…and I love that about you.
You are a nurturer. You are social. I have no doubt
that, one day, you will take care of me and Parker
Dean will provide the financial resources. This is
where you say, “Hey!” And then you throw your
hands up because you know I’m right.
You are also a really good “little.” From the day
you met James, Lizzy and Jimmy, they were your
family. You are like your aunt JayJay that way.
Whenever you are asked how many people are
in your family, you say “7” without skipping a
beat. There are always 2 dads and there are
always 2 brothers and 1 sister. Family is important
to you. You love your Mama and your Daddy and
your James...you love all 3 of your siblings. You
love all of your grandparents and
great-granddaddy. Your heart knows no distance.
I love that...so much. And I get it.
you met James, Lizzy and Jimmy, they were your
family. You are like your aunt JayJay that way.
Whenever you are asked how many people are
in your family, you say “7” without skipping a
beat. There are always 2 dads and there are
always 2 brothers and 1 sister. Family is important
to you. You love your Mama and your Daddy and
your James...you love all 3 of your siblings. You
love all of your grandparents and
great-granddaddy. Your heart knows no distance.
I love that...so much. And I get it.
You are perceptive. One time, while you were in
