Dear Nine-Year-Old Currier,

Dear Eight-Year-Old Currier,

I’m having a difficult time seeing you turn eight.  My mother died when I was eight so I think maybe I’m struggling because I’m forced to look at you through my mother’s eyes and I can only imagine the terror she must of felt knowing she wouldn't watch her eight-year-old grow up?  Although you’re so grown up in some ways there are so many ways about you that are so sweet and innocent.  I just can’t bear the thought of ever leaving you. 

You’re very bright but you’re also very gullible.  There’s a scene in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation were Clark and his family are sitting at the table for Christmas Eve dinner and Clark announces “ Hey, Kids, I heard on the news that an airline pilot spotted Santa's sleigh on its way in from New York City.” And Cousin Eddie asks, “You serious, Clark?”  I've nicknamed you “Cousin Eddie” because at least once a day you ask, “You serious, Mom?” to one of my many ridiculous lies wonderfully, imaginative stories.  I love that about you! 

You lost your best friend last month.  Bruco got very sick very fast and was gone within a week.  You spent every moment you could beside him right up until he died.  I felt unsure about having you and Rya there while the vet ended Bruco’s suffering but once we were all in the room and in the moment, I knew it was exactly the right thing to do.  We all had our hands on Bruco’s frail chest when he took his last breath.  There is no better way to leave this earth than to be surrounded by the people who love you.  I wanted to protect you from the pain of loss but the truth is death is a part of life and it’s inevitable.  I hope the experience of losing Bruco taught you that even death can be incredibly beautiful if you just stop and pay attention to it.     

You’re finishing up your last year at Laurel Hill Primary School and moving on to Pinckney Elementary School next year.  You didn't enjoy the second grade as much as you did Kindergarten and the first grade.  You begged to stay home from school a lot this year by faking sick.  Sometimes I caved and let you stay home but most days I forced you to face your fear—the bullies, the tests and the bus ride.  Currier, I hate to say this but bullies, tests and bus rides will always suck but the older you get the less you care about that nonsense. 

 

I’m not going to leave you, Currier.  My job is not done.  There are millions of fantastic stories albeit straight up lies to feed you.  There are more sad losses in your life that you’ll need me for an inappropriate laugh.  And there will be many more years of school that I will try my hardest to help you overcome and when it’s all over I’ll buy you a beer and we’ll laugh and laugh and laugh and look back at the time you were eight-years-old and how simple and innocent and sweet this time was and we'll laugh some more.  

All my love,

Mama

Dear Seven-Year-Old Currier,

You're just finishing up the first grade.  You're a good student and you love school.  The minute you get home from school you ask to do your homework.  I don't think this is because you actually like to do your homework but more because you like to get it over with so you can relax.  I'm the same way.  I have trouble enjoying myself when I know there is work to do.   

This year you got your own pet, Rosie, a bearded dragon.  As I suspected, you lost interest in her after the first month.  Not entirely.  You still play with her but you don't give her as much attention as she deserves.  Luckily for Rosie I have I taken a liking to her and I surprise myself how much I enjoy her company on my shoulder.  She's a sweet addition to our little family.      

I talked your father into surprising you with a Kindle for your birthday.  His fear was that you'd become one of those boys with his face stuck to a video game all day.  I vouched that I would monitor it with a daily time limit and parental controls.  I'll have you know that it took a lot of convincing but I rallied for you because I knew how badly you wanted one.  Man, we loved seeing your face when you opened it.  It was epic (as you would say) to see you so happy and grateful.   

You're growing up fast and have quickly morphed from a child into a young man.  You can make your own choices and decisions now.  I'm proud of your self discipline to get your school work done before play.  I appreciate your efforts (although half ass at times) to care for Rosie.  I trust you are responsible enough to have an electronic device and I adore your gratefulness for it.  I love being your mom.

All my love,
Mama

Dear Six-Year-Old Currier,

You survived kindergarten. Actually you did more than survive, you thrived this year! You’re reading and writing and you love school. Your teacher, Mrs. Schuck, adores you. She said your stories are so funny, animated and captivating that she hates to stop your gabbing and give you a bad report for interrupting in class. I’m afraid you may have inherited my big mouth. I’ll warn you right now that mouth is going to get you in a lot of trouble in life. Finding a healthy balance of knowing when and where it’s appropriate to open your big mouth is key. If you succeed in doing this, teach me!

Like most six-year-old boys, you like video games, Legos and superheroes. You‘re a social butterfly who makes friends easily and you’re the life of the party! Unlike most six-year-old boys, you’re completely obsessed with washing your hands and avoiding anything sticky or dirty. We’ve even had to make a rule that you’re not allowed to get up from the dinner table to wash your hands. I’m afraid you inherited the OCD behavior from me too. Sorry.

You’re a Mama’s boy and this makes my heart smile. I sometimes meet you for lunch dates in the school cafeteria and I love how proud you are to introduce me to your friends, “Hey guys, this is Mom! She’s the best!” I relish in your adoration because I know it won’t be long before you figure out I’m not the awesome princess that you think I am. The realization and embarrassment are sure to set in soon.

Even when you do become embarrassed of me and let’s face it, there’s a damn good chance of that, I hope you’ll still be my sweet, little Mama’s boy when your friends aren’t around to witness. We are very much alike—you even have my wicked Boston accent and ridiculous sarcasm—so we have a tendency to drive each other crazy but there’s a special connection there and a whole lot of laughs and silly, quirky love!

All my love,

Mama

Dear Five-Year-Old Currier,

Wasn’t it just yesterday that you were pulled into the world screaming, slippery, and wriggling while I laid there exhausted, terrified, and paralyzed. I’ve replayed your birth in my head so many times. After 48 hours of labor, I was delirious when they finally cut you out of me. They held you to my face, I yelped, “I love you” and then I collapsed into a deep sleep. I was dreaming of the beach when the nurse woke me to feed you by placing your warm tiny body on my chest.  I come back to that memory often, your eyes staring at me, the two of us meeting for the first time. I remember feeling like I’ve known you forever.

I love the age you’re at now. You’re becoming more self-sufficient every day which makes life much easier for me. You dress yourself, get your own drinks and snacks, wipe your own ass (not very well as your underwear proves), buckle your seat belt and shower all on your own.  At the rate you’re learning things, I figure we can get you out of the house and on your own by the time you turn six.

Last week you had several seizures in the car on the way to school and then you lost consciousness. This was the first time anything like that has ever happened and of course it had to happen while your father was away for work. It happened very quickly but the thoughts that raced through my brain lasted forever and those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. I’m still trying to catch my breath. Don’t ever do that to me again!

You have changed so much since that morning five years ago when you spiraled into my life.  I have changed too.  You are growing into a fine young man and I'm a better person because of you.  My mind will forever be occupied with your well being.  I want you to be safe and healthy.  I want you to be happy, content and kind.  I want you to always feel my love.  Happy 5th Birthday Little Buddy!  You mean the world to me. 
All my love,
Mama

Dear Four-Year-Old Currier,

When you turned three years old other parents warned me, "If you thought the terrible twos were bad, the threes are way worse."  I kindly thanked them for their upbeat insight into our future while rolling my eyes but damn it they were right! You became more verbal and you have different ideas about things and you want things a certain way. You took every opportunity to push the limits and you pushed me to my breaking point on many occasions but we made it through the year and we're all still alive. Although seriously I almost murdered you for the egg smashing incident, you little turd! 

Of course this year wasn't all bad. You are growing into a fine young man. You are kind, sensitive and so smart. You give compliments and have good manners without my prompting you. You are so sweet to your sister (unless she touches one of your toys!).  You are starting to read words and you speak more Italian than I do (which isn't saying much!). And you have your Mama's wicked sense of humor that will serve you well during the tough times in life—trust me.

Other parents have assured me that the fours are a breeze compared to the twos and threes so bring on the better behavior my friend because your little sister is about to hit the terrible twos and I can't handle two monsters under one roof! 

All my love,
Mama

Dear Three-Year-Old Currier,

You turned three years old today. Does that mean that the terrible twos are officially over? I really hope so because our recycle bins are always overflowing with booze bottles and the neighbors are starting to talk about your Mama! No seriously, it wasn't that bad but I will fess up that in addition to some of the happiest moments of my life this year also brought some of the most frustrating moments. The whining, the defiance, the temper tantrums—you certainly lived up to the legend of the terrible twos! And at the same time you surprised me with how gentle, smart, funny and kind a two-year-old can be!

Your personality is budding and it's so cool to see the person you're becoming. I not only love you as my child but I really like you as a person. You're easy to like—even when you're being a total pain in the ass! It's funny, sometime this year I stopped watching you and starting "hanging" out with you. I enjoy your company. We have actual conversations now and you talk and talk and talk—I'm afraid you got that trait from me! Actually, you are a lot like me. You're super sensitive. You're a touch obsessive-compulsive. You're a bit of a big mouth. You're silly to the core.

You are my best friend, my favorite lunch date and the funniest little person I know! I can't wait to see what this next year has in store! Happy birthday little guy. I love you.

All my love,
Mama

Dear Two-Year-Old Currier,

You're growing up so fast it makes my head spin. Some days it's subtle like the shoes I just bought you a few weeks ago are already tight. Other days it's something so huge I call your dad at work to boast, "Currier just said a sentence! He said, 'Currier do it'. Can you believe it? Our son is a genius!" Speaking of 'Currier do it', you're an independent little person. There are times when your independence infuriates me. Like when we're in a rush to be someplace and you absolutely insist on putting on your own shoes. I have to take deep breaths and try to remind myself that raising an independent person is my job.

The past five months have been tough on you. We said good-bye to Italy and some really good friends—the only home and family you've ever known. We went five months without our furniture and you without your toys and you just rolled with the punches. I’m pregnant with your sibling right now and I feel guilty because most of our days are spent on the couch watching TV because “Mama is sick”. You don’t seem to mind and you’ve actually showed empathy a few times by rubbing my back and saying, “Mama okay?” You learned to adapt to these new situations and that makes me very proud of you.

You’re at the age where it's impossible to take you anywhere. Shopping and restaurants are a thing of the past. Other moms assure me that this is a phase. Please hurry through this phase because I’d kill for an hour of mindless shopping at Target without a temper tantrum or a meal in a restaurant that I don’t have to scarf down because my son is screaming and everyone is staring at me!

I hate wishing away any phase because I know that means I’m also wishing you’d grow up faster. Everyone is always telling me, “Cherish every moment because it goes by so fast” and it is so astoundingly true. I can’t believe you’re already two-years-old! I promise to try to slow down and enjoy the little moments and not wish away the phases but embrace them with deep breaths. Because one day before I know it you'll be a grown man and this Boston Red Sox t-shirt will fit you and I'll wish you were a two-year-old again.

All my love,
Mama