Dear Graham, In the Wake of Tragedy

Dear Graham,
This isn't a normal one of your monthly letters. Instead it's one that is about a life experience that I hope you never have to endure, and yet I know you will. It's one of grief for your fellow humans, raw sadness and such emotional, disappointed despair.

While you may never read about this in a history book like you will Pearl Harbor or September 11, today at least 20 children were murdered in a mass school shooting. This is nothing a two-year old could comprehend. In fact, it's nothing your 32-year-old mommy can comprehend.

So, why do I write you about such a horrific event?

It's because it's so easy to take this event and think it defines us. It's because we can be so quick to harness the negative and believe that it is our future. It's because it is so horrific that it's hard to take its senselessness and believe that it's just that: senseless.

I write to tell you that this is not how you have to choose for your world to be defined. As I rubbed your back in your crib tonight with tears rolling off my cheeks and onto your blanket, I have such hope for you.  Just like one person can cause an event that can bring a nation to its knees like we have today, another one person can be a beacon of hope, joy and love.

In light of something as horrific as we are experiencing today, it's easy to think one person can't possibly make enough of a difference to compensate for this type of destruction. And maybe that's true. But while one person can't, 10 people can. Or 1,000 people can. Or 1 million people can. And together, in that unity of service, compassion and respect for our fellow human beings, positive things can happen.

The future can be bright.

I write to you to ask you to be one of those 10. Or 1,000. Or 1 million. Because the good works of one can multiply in ways you never believed possible and send ripples of blessings through a society that is in need of that hope.

Love,
Mommy

Dear Graham, 27 months (plus one day)

Dear Graham,
Technically, your 27th month ended one day shy of Halloween, but I can't post all of the pictures leading up to Halloween and not Halloween day itself.

Like a page out of a storybook, October involved all things fall-related, including pumpkins, fall festivals, farms, costumes and, of course, trick or treating. And you loved it all. Seeing the excitement through your eyes made the month so much fun, except for those few moments at your fall festival when you became deathly afraid of another little boy wearing a Hulk costume. Apparently you loved all of October except the scary masks.

We started the month with a long weekend in Florida so your mommy could throw one of her best friends a baby shower. Our flight was delayed for nearly two hours before taking off, and you could not understand why you couldn’t get on a plane. Right now. It didn’t matter which plane or where it was going. You just wanted on it. And with your speaking abilities only continuing to improve, I heard about how you wanted to get on the airplane about 1,000 times. When we were finally on the plane, you were great at flying and did really well staying in your own seat the entire time. While in Florida you entertained everyone, from your Auntie Shann who took you to the zoo where you fed the giraffes to your Uncle Troy who you would call for when he wasn’t in the room.

Also during the month, we managed to cram in not one, not two, but three trips to three separate farms. For the little boy who sings “Old Macdonald Had a Farm” nonstop, this was pure bliss for you. The first trip involved a pumpkin patch at a Christmas tree farm. While you loved riding on the hay ride, you pretty much could care less about posing next to some pumpkins. The farm was conveniently located next to a municipal airport, so you spent much of your time watching airplanes take off and land. Little did you know that after the farm, we headed to that airport to eat in their little café, which features lots of windows for you to watch planes through.

 

The next weekend featured a trip to Dewberry Farms, where you jumped (on a bounce house), played (on a playground), petted (animals in the petting zoo), rode (a little train) and ran around until your heart was content. By the time we went to pose with some pumpkins at the end of the visit, you wanted no part of sitting with an orange spherical object when there was so much other fun to be had. 

On your third and final trip to a farm in October, you went for a birthday party that involved really seeing the animals up close and even riding on a pony. When you said you wanted to ride a pony, I had visions of us waiting in line only to have you change your mind once it was your turn. However, you surprised me in not only getting right on it, but not wanting to get off of it when your time was done. Now at home when we read your farm book, each time we come to the page with horses and ponies you talk about how you rode the pony at Charlie’s birthday. It clearly was a memorable experience. 

You were a cowboy for your third Halloween and this was really the first year that you experienced trick-or-treating, even though you had no clue that you received candy at each house (in fact, you denied the single piece of candy we were going to let you have after trick-or-treating and then you never asked about it again). We went with neighborhood friends who range in age from three to six. But you were not going to let being the youngest slow you down. You would run with them in your cowboy boots, making sure not to fall behind. And they would help you open your candy bag and get to and from each house. You would yell “yee-haw” when asked what a cowboy says. And you kept your cowboy hat on all night long.

During your 27^th month, we really learned how much more you can comprehend, which never ceases to surprise me. You respond much better to knowing what a situation will be like in advance, so I spend a lot of time telling you about what we’re going to do, or experience. It also means that you get a lot of “five more minutes” warnings before it’s time to leave a situation or take a bath or go to bed, because it makes transitions so much easier.

Not everything about parenting is so easy, especially when you are so strong-willed (a trait that I think will eventually serve you well). On a day filled with those special moments that only a two-year old could create, it was finally your bedtime. I offered to sing you a song after prayers and chose Jesus Loves Me. On this particular night after a long day the word “no” coming out of your mouth frequently, when I got to the chorus and sang “Yes, Jesus loves me,” you promptly said “no.” And then I would repeat it in the chorus, to which you said “no” again. And it played out this way through the entire song.

On this one particular night, I don’t think I was ever so excited to say good-night and pour myself a large glass of “I-survived-a-two-year-old-today” wine.

Love,

Mommy