Letter to My Children: Hunger, Homework, and a Story

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Letter to My Children: Hunger, Homework, and a Story

Dearest Beloveds,

There is a particular iteration of Cranky Monster who arrives at school pickup. Her pointy elbows scrape my side. Her jagged teeth feed on cutting remarks and snarky asides. Your mother, as you both know, has a long and intimate relationship with this monster. We are buddies in a way.

She shows up when I am overwhelmed, hungry, thirsty, and overstimulated. So, I placate this monster when I see her dancing with you two with juice, snacks, and quiet.

She is why I don’t pepper you with questions the moment you get into the car. I want to give you both a chance to land from your day. Reset into yourselves, pause, and regroup.

And breathe and settle.

Regroup for sports and settle into insect collection walks for Dragon.

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Letter to my Children: Integrity, Lying, and Dignity

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Letter to my Children: Integrity, Lying, and Dignity

Dearest Beloved Children, 

We are at the end of 2025 and our world is having a nervous breakdown. There is really no other to describe what is happening. 

I don’t need to list the reasons why people are overwhelmed. I want to talk about integrity because it is an integral component in your mother’s toolbox against these winds of accelerated chaos.

Integrity.

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Letter to Bean: The Self-Driven Child and Homework

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Letter to Bean: The Self-Driven Child and Homework

Dearest Bean,

As the life popsicle of Meme’s brain slowly melts - certain calcified memories persevere. They form the popsicle stick in this metaphor.

One of Meme’s popsicle stick memories is about not being offered the choice to become a serious pianist. Apparently, Meme’s parents were told that Meme had sufficient innate piano ability to become a virtuoso if given the proper instruction. Meme’s parents declined, deciding they wanted her to have a “normal childhood” (whatever the hell that means). Meme did not know this opportunity existed until many many years later.

Even now, she can no longer remember the name of her sister, where she was born, what day it is, but the piano memory? Sharp and intact. “Corinna, I could have been a concert pianist! I would have loved that!! I could have been so good. I love music!”

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Letter to my children: Being in the Middle, Middle-Aged, or Sandwich Generation

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Dearests Beloveds,

I hope very much when you are my age I am compos mentis enough to remember what it is like to be in the middle. If not, this is why your Momma is writing, and you are welcome. Feel free to throw it in my face and have me reread - I would be honored.

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Letter to my children: Laughing contests and carnal pleasures

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Dearest Beloveds,

A few days before I headed to the hospital for my Bone Marrow Transplant, we were at dinner.

“Let’s play Animal, Vegetable, Mineral!” Clamored Bean.

“Hmmm, I am not quite sure that Momma can handle another game like last night. What was I trying to guess - a Cheetar?”

“No, Momma, it was a CheePho, half cheetah half phoenix.”

“Right, okay, I think my head may have exploded with that one.”

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Letter to my children: On presents

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Letter to my children: On presents

Dearest Beloveds,

I want to share these anecdotes with you for two reasons. Primarily when I write them down I get to relive my joy. Additionally I savor the stories of my childhood that I have been told. Despite the potential for teasing as they are shared in the years to come - I think they are wonderful, uplifting, amazing. These personality nuggets make up you as you - glorious, unique, and inimitable you. They are treasures because you are treasures.

About a week before Christmas both of you became concerned that you wanted to give gifts.

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Letter to my children: On unicorns at breakfast and Schoolsteading

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Dearest Beloveds,

The latest addition to our Homesteading Homeschooling life arrived yesterday. (I think I am am going to combine those into Schoolsteading - like Femivore.) The barn. The barn to house the stuff/equipment that seems to have multiplied in the not even 8 years that we have lived here. It is a glorious empty space and soon will have a gardening niche, beekeeping corner, handtool alley, heavy saw plaza, Tentrr station, and riding equipment boulevard - can’t wait.

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Letter to my children: On choosing a mate

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Letter to my children: On choosing a mate

Dearest Beloveds,

The word mate is so funny to me - it rhymes with skate, connotes zoos, and makes me feel as though I need a tail. Partner is a good word too, but it also works for businesses. Though, I guess, a marriage is rather like running a business (servant leadership, open book finance, negotiating, the art of compromise, long term planning, a vision - thank you Zingermans) especially once children get added to the mix. Husband and wife are loverly as well. But I think mate is the best word for what I want to talk about.

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