Saratoga News Family Daze Debbie Farmer Mom's love letter offers perspective on children This year for Valentine's Day, instead of giving my children another stale bag of candy hearts, I decided to sit down and write each one a love note that contained all the special things I was always too tired or busy to say. Dearest Daughter: You gave me my first experience of motherhood, immortality and natural childbirth. You gave me my figure back, thanks to hours of walking up and down the hallway as you screamed, and I wore out a set of tires on the new family car driving you around until you fell asleep. I made you wear the fleece snowsuit with feet you hated so you would stay warm; and I changed your diaper while you shivered in the cold and dark at 3 a.m., so you wouldn't be sore the next day. I locked the refrigerator so you wouldn't eat cookies for breakfast, and I tortured you by serving green vegetables with your dinner. I had the nerve to pull you away from your favorite TV program to make you run and play outside with the neighborhood children in the fresh air--and the gall to make you stay in the house when it rained. I loved you even when you put my expensive lipstick on the cat and tried dressing your little brother in my good negligee. I loved you through your "me" phase, your "sensitive" phase and the "only eat purple things" phase. The ballet lessons you cried through weren't punishment, but my gift of grace and art to you, so you'd grow up to be a well-rounded young lady. And my goodbye kisses before school in front of your sophisticated kindergarten friends, were never meant to embarrass you--they were to comfort me. I never meant to torture you by scrubbing your face and forcing you into your best clothes just to smile in front of a camera. I love you always, Mom. P.S. I wasn't really going to sell you to the gypsies for a dollar if you told my age and weight to your kindergarten class on sharing day. Dearest Son: You are truly special. Being my younger child, you gave me renewed energy, confidence and a second chance to ask for an epidural. I let you cry a little longer in your crib, and I discovered diaper lotion would protect your bottom through the night. I realized you would survive if you ate an occasional cookie for breakfast, and your brain wouldn't shrivel if you watched three Barney videos in a row, so I could take a shower and do the laundry. I loved you even when you used my good china for homeplate and put the snails you found sitting on the driveway in the microwave to warm them up because they looked cold. I loved you through your clingy stage, your independent stage and your "wear nothing but boots" stage, although I still have trouble explaining that year's Christmas picture. I was proud you were such a good sport when I was too late to sign you up for soccer practice, and you ended up being the only boy in ballet class, and when you held my hand on your first day of preschool when I couldn't stop crying. I didn't mean to miss brushing your teeth on nights I was too tired to squeeze the toothpaste out of the tube or to embarrass you by making you wear a coat over your diaper and Superman cape when you went out to play in the rain. I really meant to take more pictures, so your baby album wouldn't go straight from birth to preschool graduation, but our time together went too fast. I love you always, Mom. P.S. I really wasn't going to trade you for a poodle the time you put your bug collection in the crisper to eat the lettuce. I wouldn't have traded you for the world. [ Back to Contents Page | Saratoga News Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Saratoga News, February 10, 1999. ©1999 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.