Luke,
You are my little, huge buddy. And sometimes I am amazed with how much of me I see in you, or maybe how much of you I see you in me. You are so passionate. If you're doing something, you are all in. 100%. You love to play tag these days and you get this gleeful laughter every time I run after you. It cheers me up, every time. Right now you are convinced that you are stronger and faster than me because, to this point, when we race I hold back a little, and you say things to me like, "Dad you're really slow". Which lets me know that maybe I should actually race you for real and see if I can beat you, fair and square.
I love how you are such a great mixture of incredibly tough and Incredibly soft. You remind me of how I see myself in this way. When I drop you off at school you don't even say goodbye. This lets me know that you have the confidence to dive into life without me, and that makes me proud. When you show up at school, 5 or 6 kids gather around you and show you what they're doing and call your name and are excited that you showed up to be a part of the day. It's as though the people around you hope to be a part of whatever you're doing because you're so passionate about life.
You and Mason are best friends and are inseparable. He calls you "buddy" and the way the two of you play together is so full of whimsy and possibilities. Every day in the mornings you ask me if Mason Spring will be in school that day and on the days that he is there, you get so excited and want to go to school right away.
Recently after we drop your sister off at school, you and I come home and spend an hour together before I take you to pre-K. This is always one of the best parts of my day. You and I wrestle and play games that you create from your incredible imagination. And every day that hour flies by so quickly. I'm reminded that someday. not very long from now, the time I have with you will be different and harder to come by. But for now while you're my little man, who still thinks I'm cool, I revel in the moments that I get to spend with you and I am amazed with the man you are becoming.
I am so proud of you. If you weren't my son you I would hope to know you in some other arena. I would hope that we could still be friends. But somehow I got lucky enough to be your dad and to have these years where I get to spend time, just you and me, and learn from you and be amazed with how much passion you approach your life with.
Love,
Dad
Hands and words and feelings
Luke,
You are one powerful, resolute, passionate, tender, soon to be five year old. You are also funny, a real prankster, actually. Right now, that means hiding my cell phone at bedtime, pulling the elastic out of my hair, and making Alexa (our Amazon speaker) play songs called "i poop". You think you are hilarious, and you really are. You can keep a blank face for a minute, but then I can see it in your eyes, and the second you can tell that I can tell what you're up to, your whole self just explodes in delight and laughter and pride.
You speak most naturally with your body. Not to say that you don't use words too; you do. You are precise and honest when you speak, and you aren't afraid to say exactly what you think or feel. You might whisper it if you're embarrassed, but it still comes out. I love that about you. I am trying to be more like you in that way - not afraid to say what you think, and when what you think is embarrassing, you still say it, just softer.
But often your body moves before words even have a chance to form inside you. Sometimes this gets you into trouble. You touch, push, grab, punch, and hug. All of it fiercely. The feelings you have are so powerful that they scare you sometimes; they control you more than you have yet learned how to control them. When you have a good day at preschool, a day when you use your words and not your hands, you tell us all with pride. And when you have a bad day, as we all do, you tell us that too. You know that the things we think about you have most to do with who you are inside, not what you do.
The control will come in time, Luke. Eventually, you will feel the hard things without physically acting out your angry feelings, your sadness, your hurt. But the feelings themselves will not disappear. Life gives us plenty of times every day to feel the hard feelings. And the good feelings, too. You will have a life full of laughter, friends, pride, meaning, most of all - love. Love will surround you, because you were made that way. You can trust me on that. You can trust me about your future, even when you don't trust yourself so much. I am watching the substance of who God made you to be come together, piece by piece, and it is good. World-changing, if you let it be. But it will not always be easy. If you are living any sort of actual life, it will definitely feel too hard a lot of the time.
I want you, Luke, to keep feeling all the feelings. Even when you feel them more with your body than with your lips, I want you to be brave and to feel them all. You'll learn, when you're older, all about your Daddy and his hard work to feel the feelings. For passionate men like the two of you, it seems easier sometimes, definitely less exhausting, less work, to put off the feelings. And sometimes, putting off the feelings is okay, even necessary, for a little while. But if you ignore how you feel about something for long enough, the feeling starts to get tricky. It acts scary. It seems bigger than life, too overwhelming, too complicated, and you might decide that since you're a man, you don't really need to feel things at all.
Luke, your heart is good, and the truest self inside your heart needs the respect of being heard. He won't guide you wrong, and you don't have to be afraid of what he says. The bravest, most powerful, most masculine thing a man can do is to let his truest heart speak, no matter what it says. And if it says embarrassing things, and it will sometimes, there is NO SHAME in that. You still let your heart speak, just softer. There is only bravery in that place, where you are honest about all the questions inside of you. Anyone who says otherwise is talking to you from a scared, small place: feel free to ignore them.
Use your words most often. Use your body too, when that works better. Feel it all, and don't be afraid, Luke. Your strength runs deeper than you know. I am so, very, proud to know you.
With love,
Mom
You are one powerful, resolute, passionate, tender, soon to be five year old. You are also funny, a real prankster, actually. Right now, that means hiding my cell phone at bedtime, pulling the elastic out of my hair, and making Alexa (our Amazon speaker) play songs called "i poop". You think you are hilarious, and you really are. You can keep a blank face for a minute, but then I can see it in your eyes, and the second you can tell that I can tell what you're up to, your whole self just explodes in delight and laughter and pride.
You speak most naturally with your body. Not to say that you don't use words too; you do. You are precise and honest when you speak, and you aren't afraid to say exactly what you think or feel. You might whisper it if you're embarrassed, but it still comes out. I love that about you. I am trying to be more like you in that way - not afraid to say what you think, and when what you think is embarrassing, you still say it, just softer.
But often your body moves before words even have a chance to form inside you. Sometimes this gets you into trouble. You touch, push, grab, punch, and hug. All of it fiercely. The feelings you have are so powerful that they scare you sometimes; they control you more than you have yet learned how to control them. When you have a good day at preschool, a day when you use your words and not your hands, you tell us all with pride. And when you have a bad day, as we all do, you tell us that too. You know that the things we think about you have most to do with who you are inside, not what you do.
The control will come in time, Luke. Eventually, you will feel the hard things without physically acting out your angry feelings, your sadness, your hurt. But the feelings themselves will not disappear. Life gives us plenty of times every day to feel the hard feelings. And the good feelings, too. You will have a life full of laughter, friends, pride, meaning, most of all - love. Love will surround you, because you were made that way. You can trust me on that. You can trust me about your future, even when you don't trust yourself so much. I am watching the substance of who God made you to be come together, piece by piece, and it is good. World-changing, if you let it be. But it will not always be easy. If you are living any sort of actual life, it will definitely feel too hard a lot of the time.
I want you, Luke, to keep feeling all the feelings. Even when you feel them more with your body than with your lips, I want you to be brave and to feel them all. You'll learn, when you're older, all about your Daddy and his hard work to feel the feelings. For passionate men like the two of you, it seems easier sometimes, definitely less exhausting, less work, to put off the feelings. And sometimes, putting off the feelings is okay, even necessary, for a little while. But if you ignore how you feel about something for long enough, the feeling starts to get tricky. It acts scary. It seems bigger than life, too overwhelming, too complicated, and you might decide that since you're a man, you don't really need to feel things at all.
Luke, your heart is good, and the truest self inside your heart needs the respect of being heard. He won't guide you wrong, and you don't have to be afraid of what he says. The bravest, most powerful, most masculine thing a man can do is to let his truest heart speak, no matter what it says. And if it says embarrassing things, and it will sometimes, there is NO SHAME in that. You still let your heart speak, just softer. There is only bravery in that place, where you are honest about all the questions inside of you. Anyone who says otherwise is talking to you from a scared, small place: feel free to ignore them.
Use your words most often. Use your body too, when that works better. Feel it all, and don't be afraid, Luke. Your strength runs deeper than you know. I am so, very, proud to know you.
With love,
Mom
that laugh
After you had your tonsils out last summer, your voice changed. They were so big that once they were gone, your voice got lighter, crisper. We loved your voice then, but it's even better now. You have a little man voice that commands, laughs, teases, plays. I recorded you laughing last week because I'm convinced it's the very best sound God ever made. Infectious, joyous, hilarious.
We play this ridiculous game called Sneaky Onion. I take a felted toy onion and croon,"sneaky onion!" while sneaking up on you. You crack up. It's ridiculous. We do this all the time.
You are rough and tumble but soft hearted. You love to share things. You like your Kindle, you love silly stories and poop jokes and singing Kung Foo Fighting. You love to steal my glasses and make me chase you around while you wear them upside down. You are sure of yourself and I am sure of you.
I love the man you are and the man you have potential to be, Luke.
Love,
Mommy
We play this ridiculous game called Sneaky Onion. I take a felted toy onion and croon,"sneaky onion!" while sneaking up on you. You crack up. It's ridiculous. We do this all the time.
You are rough and tumble but soft hearted. You love to share things. You like your Kindle, you love silly stories and poop jokes and singing Kung Foo Fighting. You love to steal my glasses and make me chase you around while you wear them upside down. You are sure of yourself and I am sure of you.
I love the man you are and the man you have potential to be, Luke.
Love,
Mommy
The second-most hospitalized Synowiec
Luke, you are giving Dad a run for his money this year.
This is the summer of 2015, and you are two and a half. This year Dad was in the hospital for an infection, a sprained ankle, stitches in his hand...and had a few other black eyes that he didn't go in to get checked out.
You got your tonsils and your adenoids out. Since you're so little, they wanted to keep you overnight anyway, but you had a reaction to the anesthesia, and so there was no question. They kept us in an observation unit in the ER, in a room with no windows, no playroom, no place to walk around. Dude, you were as brave as you could be, but it was no picnic. They wanted you to have an IV, but you were totally unimpressed and were determined to rip it out the first chance you got. The sweet peds ENT fellow walked us around outside and took you to see the dinosaur statue outside, and you hung in there with your sore throat. Eventually, they moved us to another floor, one with a room full of toys and endless popsicles and we made it through the night.
A week later, you woke up crying and bleeding, and we made a 2AM trip across town to Children's Hospital again, through the late-night blinking traffic signals on the bare, wet roads. You got another IV, more fluids, more time in that window-less obs unit. But this time around, you kept your IV in. You rested your head on the hospital pillow with your favorite blue fleece blanket in your arms and slept. You were a champ; a well-behaved little guy who ended up not needing to go back to the OR and came home the next day smiling.
The thing your Dad and I can't get over is how much your voice changed. We thought it was just because you were hoarse, but here we are a month later, and your deep little man-boy voice is gone. You sound lighter, and you breathe so much better, but I miss your manly 'Mommmeeee?'.
How quickly things change. Things you don't expect, like the sound of your favorite voice. Like the passing of a summer when you weren't yet three and Daddy and I were caught finishing leftover projects, throwing your Grandparents an anniversary party, surviving a busy season for Mom at work that left her cranky and working too late.
Summer is over, and fall is come already. We're planning to slow down a little this season. Dad bought a fire barrel, and we've been making a lot of smores, sitting outside at twilight and throwing in the first of the fallen leaves and twigs. We're enjoying the days watching you grow.
With Love,
Mom
This is the summer of 2015, and you are two and a half. This year Dad was in the hospital for an infection, a sprained ankle, stitches in his hand...and had a few other black eyes that he didn't go in to get checked out.
You got your tonsils and your adenoids out. Since you're so little, they wanted to keep you overnight anyway, but you had a reaction to the anesthesia, and so there was no question. They kept us in an observation unit in the ER, in a room with no windows, no playroom, no place to walk around. Dude, you were as brave as you could be, but it was no picnic. They wanted you to have an IV, but you were totally unimpressed and were determined to rip it out the first chance you got. The sweet peds ENT fellow walked us around outside and took you to see the dinosaur statue outside, and you hung in there with your sore throat. Eventually, they moved us to another floor, one with a room full of toys and endless popsicles and we made it through the night.
A week later, you woke up crying and bleeding, and we made a 2AM trip across town to Children's Hospital again, through the late-night blinking traffic signals on the bare, wet roads. You got another IV, more fluids, more time in that window-less obs unit. But this time around, you kept your IV in. You rested your head on the hospital pillow with your favorite blue fleece blanket in your arms and slept. You were a champ; a well-behaved little guy who ended up not needing to go back to the OR and came home the next day smiling.
The thing your Dad and I can't get over is how much your voice changed. We thought it was just because you were hoarse, but here we are a month later, and your deep little man-boy voice is gone. You sound lighter, and you breathe so much better, but I miss your manly 'Mommmeeee?'.
How quickly things change. Things you don't expect, like the sound of your favorite voice. Like the passing of a summer when you weren't yet three and Daddy and I were caught finishing leftover projects, throwing your Grandparents an anniversary party, surviving a busy season for Mom at work that left her cranky and working too late.
Summer is over, and fall is come already. We're planning to slow down a little this season. Dad bought a fire barrel, and we've been making a lot of smores, sitting outside at twilight and throwing in the first of the fallen leaves and twigs. We're enjoying the days watching you grow.
With Love,
Mom
Shoes, fleece, and words
Luke,
You are almost two already. These almost two years have just flown by, and I can hardly believe how many words you know already. You have always spent some extra quiet time in the middle of the day awake, exploring in your crib. Lately, I hear you practicing phrases you hear during the day. "Not gonna do that!" you say. Or "I love you Mommy" (which, of course, is my favorite). You are growing up. Here's what I want to remember about who you are today.
You love wearing shoes and jacket. Especially fleece jackets. Even when you're eating dinner. "Shoes ON Mommy!" you shout. I think you like to travel, and you want to be ready to go just in case a door opens. You've got places to be, for sure.
You like hugs and to be held and to share. You like applesauce and clementines and oatmeal. You can name every kid in your whole toddler room at school. Your favorite song is "The Wheels On The Bus", followed closely by "Rude" by Magic. You say please and thank you and I love you. You can count to ten, identify letters and shapes, and you steal my heart all day long with your tiny but forceful voice.
You're learning to do things yourself, but you're not very coordinated yet. That makes it really hard to do simple things, like put a shirt on or brush your teeth. You get frustrated and you hit, sometimes. But when you realize that you hurt someone or something, your face softens instantly and your hand softens too. Your will is strong, and your heart is soft.
I love these things about you. I can't wait to get to know you more.
Love,
Mom
You are almost two already. These almost two years have just flown by, and I can hardly believe how many words you know already. You have always spent some extra quiet time in the middle of the day awake, exploring in your crib. Lately, I hear you practicing phrases you hear during the day. "Not gonna do that!" you say. Or "I love you Mommy" (which, of course, is my favorite). You are growing up. Here's what I want to remember about who you are today.
You love wearing shoes and jacket. Especially fleece jackets. Even when you're eating dinner. "Shoes ON Mommy!" you shout. I think you like to travel, and you want to be ready to go just in case a door opens. You've got places to be, for sure.
You like hugs and to be held and to share. You like applesauce and clementines and oatmeal. You can name every kid in your whole toddler room at school. Your favorite song is "The Wheels On The Bus", followed closely by "Rude" by Magic. You say please and thank you and I love you. You can count to ten, identify letters and shapes, and you steal my heart all day long with your tiny but forceful voice.
You're learning to do things yourself, but you're not very coordinated yet. That makes it really hard to do simple things, like put a shirt on or brush your teeth. You get frustrated and you hit, sometimes. But when you realize that you hurt someone or something, your face softens instantly and your hand softens too. Your will is strong, and your heart is soft.
I love these things about you. I can't wait to get to know you more.
Love,
Mom
First Thanksgiving
Yesterday was your first Thanksgiving! You made quite a splash, smearing stuffing and mashed potatoes all over everything you touched, and finishing off the day by making a lightning-fast grab at the cranberry sauce and overturning the family-sized bowl onto your grandparents dining room carpet. We cleaned it up pretty well. I was thankful for that.
Your first year has flown by. Today you are still a baby, but we are going to your school today to learn about your upcoming transition to the toddler room. The TODDLER room. Be still my soul.
So here's what I have learned about you so far: first, you are a serious trooper. I mean, you have had one ear infection after another for months on end. Your nose is never not running. And with all those sore ears, you were in a big old plastic helmet for four months! But in all of the miserableness of constantly having a cold, your smile is the most contagious thing about you. Everyone comments on how happy you are. And to be sure, you have your unpleasable moments just like everyone else, but those are the minority. Most of the time, you're a happy-go-lucky little boy. Lately, you love to speed-crawl into mountains of blankets or pillows and then roll over quick, so that you roll right down the mound and onto the floor. And then you do this baby-chuckle that is totally hilarious. I love that.
Second, you are persistent. This is a trait that runs in our family, and I can already tell that you have it too. You're just starting to walk, and you fall. A lot. But you don't cry when you fall, like a lot of little walkers do. You get ready to go down and stick your bottom out, and you thump to the floor. You don't mind the bump if it gets the job done.
Third, you are busy. So busy that I don't have another second to pontificate about your smiles, your baby chuckle, your playful nature. Got.to.go.
With Love,
Mom
Third, you are busy. So busy that I don't have another second to pontificate about your smiles, your baby chuckle, your playful nature. Got.to.go.
With Love,
Mom
Dedicated
Luke,
This weekend, we celebrated your dedication. Your Grammie and Grandpa, your Grandma and Grandpap, and about a dozen other people came to church with us, and then came back to our house for lunch and to spend some time with you.
Dedication, in our church, is a time when the whole congregation prays for you and agrees to help us teach you about who God is. We learn about God in many ways, but a big way is through each other. When people show us love and grace and acceptance, we get to experience God's presence here on earth. And as your Dad and I have dedicated our lives and our family to God, we put your life in His hands as well.
It is a funny thing to dedicate a thing or a person to God, Luke. He already has you, really. He has all of our days written before one of them comes to pass. We are made by Him and loved by Him and already belong to Him in our entirety. But the process of dedication is not really for God; it's for us. It's easy to be grabby with life. I find myself taking time or resources or expectations and holding them tight and calling them MINE. MINE, like a toddler grabbing a toy. Living like that is hard, because none of those things are actually mine. I can't control much about life, even though here and there is the illusion that I can. In the end, living a life dedicated to God means that I can acknowledge how little control I have, even over the very most important things to me, and that it's ok. It's enough to know the One who IS in control, and to know that His will for me is good.
Please don't think this process is an easy one. It has never been; at least, not for me. Dedication of my time and my energy is a daily task, and there are many days that I muddle through. But it's enough, and I am learning on the way, and you will learn, too.
You are my very favorite little boy, Luke. Your smile lights up the room. You are patient and persistent and warm and smart. You, your sister, and your Dad are the best things about this world. I am so proud and honored to be your Mom, and I am committed to you no matter where life takes you, no matter what decisions you make, no matter who you decide to be.
Remember that. Happy Dedication, Little Man.
Love, Mama.
This weekend, we celebrated your dedication. Your Grammie and Grandpa, your Grandma and Grandpap, and about a dozen other people came to church with us, and then came back to our house for lunch and to spend some time with you.
Dedication, in our church, is a time when the whole congregation prays for you and agrees to help us teach you about who God is. We learn about God in many ways, but a big way is through each other. When people show us love and grace and acceptance, we get to experience God's presence here on earth. And as your Dad and I have dedicated our lives and our family to God, we put your life in His hands as well.
It is a funny thing to dedicate a thing or a person to God, Luke. He already has you, really. He has all of our days written before one of them comes to pass. We are made by Him and loved by Him and already belong to Him in our entirety. But the process of dedication is not really for God; it's for us. It's easy to be grabby with life. I find myself taking time or resources or expectations and holding them tight and calling them MINE. MINE, like a toddler grabbing a toy. Living like that is hard, because none of those things are actually mine. I can't control much about life, even though here and there is the illusion that I can. In the end, living a life dedicated to God means that I can acknowledge how little control I have, even over the very most important things to me, and that it's ok. It's enough to know the One who IS in control, and to know that His will for me is good.
Please don't think this process is an easy one. It has never been; at least, not for me. Dedication of my time and my energy is a daily task, and there are many days that I muddle through. But it's enough, and I am learning on the way, and you will learn, too.
You are my very favorite little boy, Luke. Your smile lights up the room. You are patient and persistent and warm and smart. You, your sister, and your Dad are the best things about this world. I am so proud and honored to be your Mom, and I am committed to you no matter where life takes you, no matter what decisions you make, no matter who you decide to be.
Remember that. Happy Dedication, Little Man.
Love, Mama.
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