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Dear Child,
I’d like to think that I’ve said everything I am writing now out loud to you at some point during your brief and beautiful life thus far. And maybe I have. But what if I didn’t say it loud enough or often enough or in the manner in which you could hear it? What if I whispered it to you as you fell asleep or said it in a language your ears couldn’t understand or your heart wouldn’t hear? And that’s why I am writing this down. Recording it. In another format. A different way. Because it’s all bits and pieces I want you to hear a thousand times in…
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five finds friday (on a SATURDAY, featuring cute letters and free stuff)
Unscheduled. Awry. Shifted. Not as planned. Those are all the correct words to describe this week. Mostly stemming from car issues, nearly nothing that I thought was going to happen or scheduled to happen actually occurred as planned or anticipated. All. Week. Long. Some days my car would start. Some days it would not. Some days I spent trying to get it repaired. Some days it looked repaired. Some days it did not. Also, several of the kids began to feel off this week – a cough there or a fever here, light headed for one, extra exhausted for another. Again – changed up all the plans. I’ve got…
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Dear Lady After Me at the Checkout Counter at Trader Joe’s,
My daughter was watching your face as you watched my kids and I bag our groceries. As you received a phone call and chatted loudly, noting your annoyance at how long it was taking to get out of the store today because it was soooo slow. Saw your face as you grimaced and barely maintained civility when my EBT card functioned improperly. Watched your face as you eyed our grocery choices and our clothing choices and whatever other choices you decided didn’t measure up to your standard on your exceptionally busy Sunday afternoon. Hey. Maybe you were having an incredibly hectic day. Maybe it was awful and a burden…
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Words on the wall
Kevin needed a desk in his upstairs office. Our school room had three desks. It only seemed right to send one of those upstairs. Moving that desk out naturally meant that I needed to rearrange the space to accommodate the change. That, plus the acquisition of a long slim book shelf for $20 from a second hand shop. Also, this little treasure of a box for even less. And, also, the obvious fact that I love a change was enough to propel me forward. In moving the desk and locating the only wall long enough for the new bookshelf I realized I had to move my giant magnetic board. I…
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A Letter About Ice Cream, Cookies and Disappointment
Dear Breyer’s Ice Cream, I am choosing to address my letter to you as you are the official maker of this particular product. I like bright colors, funky shoes and exuberant headwear. But I like my ice cream in the plain old vanilla variety. My children love cookies with a chocolate coating and cookies with a chocolate filling and cookies with chocolate sprinkles. But I like my cookies simple and plain as well – like the Golden Oreo. When I do decide to mix it up and go a little crazy at dessert time, I chop a Golden Oreo or two (or six) into little bits and mix it into…
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Dear 18 me.
My husband is a genius. He just invented a time machine. It has its faults, of course. It can only go backward, not forward. And there’s only one age where this machine stops. 18. Oh, and it isn’t actually a time machine. It’s just a website. But on this website you can write a letter to yourself at the ripe old age of eighteen. I’m writing a letter to funky-headed, self-absorbed, weird-outfit-wearing eighteen-year-old Lacey over there today. Which, I think, implies two things. One. You should click here and read my letter. And. Two. You should join the fun and write a letter to eighteen-year-old you. (And please, for the…
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I Can & I Can’t. I Will & I Won’t.
Dear My Children, I can’t or I won’t pay the full cost of your first car. Your father and I probably won’t be footing the bill for your entire college education. The latest fashions at Abercrombie (or fill-in-blank-overpriced-popular-store-at-your-appropriate-age) won’t be paid for out of my debit card. I might not be able to afford one hundred percent locally grown, organic foods from the Whole Foods market for every meal. I can’t promise to answer “yes” to every question of “Can I?” that you will inevitably present to me. You will have opportunities that you will have to miss. Parties you will not be allowed to attend. You will hear the…
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Letter Number Four (4)
Dear Otto’s Nursery Worker, I don’t know why I do not know your name. I am sorry for that. But I do know something about you. You make me happy. Every. Single. Tuesday. You are a blessing – and here’s what funny. You are a stranger to me. To my ten-month-old son. But every week when you see me enter that nursery room with a grinning baby in my arms, you get excited. Genuinely excited. As if you love my baby too. As if taking care of my son is actually a gift to you. Which made me think. Maybe it is. Sort of. See, I know there will be…
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Letter Two
Dear Craig, Your list is cooler than any I have ever made. I love our new sofa. Thanks for your help. Sincerely, Lacey
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A Letter
Dear Lady in the Red Sweater, I like you. I noticed you at church tonight. You lifted your arms high into the air while we sang. You stood up and praised God publicly in the way I only do in my mind. And when we were all sitting down for one song, you couldn’t help yourself. You stood back up. You lifted your arms back in the air. You closed your eyes. And you just praised God. Because you wanted to. Because you could. And I like you for it.
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Six
Dear London, You make me laugh. Your thinking face is adorable. Your trying-a-new-food face is so serious and thoughtful. Your accents are spot on. (You are your daddy’s daughter, after all.) You are such a good big sister. I love how you help your brother when he is hurt. And I like how you offer your favorite toys to Mosely when she cries. You entertain Piper and make her laugh. You love to pick out onesies for Otto and you always want to cuddle with “his face”, as you say. You are obsessed with food. Every night at bedtime the questions are always the same. “What are we eating for…
