Dear Miles,

 I think it’s clear that these letters are as much about me evolving in my role as your mother as they are about you developing into a truer version of yourself. 

On the eve of the eve of your birthday this year you ran away.  Not because you were sad or because you were scared or angry. Not because you wanted to leave your family. Not because we had a fight.

You ran away because you had an impulse to. Because you had an urge to. Because you wanted to see your best friend Charlie. Because you knew how to get to his house on your own. Because you wanted to see if you could do it. By yourself. 

I realized I lost you about 10 minutes after you snuck away. I knew where you went because you told me you wanted to do it earlier in the evening. We had reviewed the outcomes of you slipping away unannounced - the distress it would cause me, the consequences you would face, the possibilities of unforeseen danger.

As I drove up to your best friend’s house, my phone rang - it was his mother letting me know that you were there. I felt embarrassed and upset. And relieved. 

You were surprised that I was mad because I wasn’t yelling. And you learned that choices have consequences. This choices/consequences lesson is a prominent one in our lives right now.

But, if I’m honest, in addition to feeling embarrassment and distress, I’m also impressed by your initiative and independence. We wanted to raise a kid who questioned rules. We wanted a kid who trusts himself. We wanted a kid who is incessantly curious about the world, who looks for evidence, who pushes boundaries. You do those things. Sometimes you could make better choices. But also, sometimes I could make better choices too.

I find it challenging to parent you but I find it effortless to love you. 

To many more years of choices and their consequences (good and bad)! Happy 10th birthday!

Love, Mom

Dear Will,

 Most mornings I can count on your little feet padding up to my bed. Your messy hair appears next to me, your body clamoring over the sheets, your knees and head finding their way into my soft spots. As much as I love sleep, I love these moments more. And often, I’m already awake, waiting for your body to join mine in the early morning light. 

We giggle and play games on my phone. We cuddle and watch tiktok. You share your latest thoughts about the stuffy that accompanied you on your journey from one set of sheets to another. We make plans for the day. Mostly that involves you asking me to play and me saying I need to work, or garden, or cook. But these early morning moments are ours, yours and mine alone.

It was back to school this year, kindergarten, repeatedly interrupted by Covid quarantines. You are reading. You are writing. You idolize your brother. You love this family your dad and I have built. You are bright and funny and sweet and cuddly. 

You turn 6 today. I wonder if I’ll have 6 more years of this friendship we’ve built. I wonder what we’ll laugh about when you’re 12. I hope you still find me, wherever I am in the house, to share your morning thoughts and your morning breath, your sparkly eyes and your messy hair. 

I love you dearly my sweet 6 year old.

Love, Mom