Letter to my children: Fire Fishing and Wood Ticks

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Letter to my children: Fire Fishing and Wood Ticks

Dragon, you have been dealing with palate expanding to encourage your tiny baby teeth to leave. As a result, there is an entire list of dos and don’ts of food allowances on the fridge. Sometimes your mouth is too sore to even contemplate the oh so finely shaved carrots and apples. You, all on your own, nailed the solution: Fire Fishing with Apples. (Ahem, the official name of course.)

“Momma, what I want to do is to roast an apple in the woodstove to make it soft.”

“Oh, dearest, not inside the house. It is warm enough that we could make a bonfire outside and you could do it there?”

A pause, a contemplative look, a shrug. “Sure.”

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Letter to my Children: Hooray for the Jump Rope

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“Four” Dragon stated.

“Yea, I keep stopping, I don’t know why.” Bean retorted.

“You jumped, but it got caught on the back of your leg… Wait, would you stop? I want to go and grab mine.” Dragon moved towards the stairs.

“Yours is the green one.” Bean called out. “It is like neon green, Dragon.”

“Dragon, I just did five… I almost did six!”

“Hold on Bean, wait till I come back up!”

We purchased the jump ropes in March of 2020.

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Letter to my Children: Adulting vs Parenting Hat

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Letter to my Children: Adulting vs Parenting Hat

Dearest Beloveds,

I switch hats throughout the day from Adulting Corinna to Parenting Corinna and vis-a-versa. Adulting Corinna pays attention and gives time to MY wants, desires, thoughts, responsibilities, and curiosities.

Parenting Corinna pays attention and gives time to YOUR wants, desires, thoughts, responsibilities, and curiosities.

I have found during my almost 10 years as a hat switcher, that life goes more smoothly when I wear only one hat when I am with you two - because, as you may have noticed, your mother only has one head.

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Letter to my children: Hay jumping

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Letter to my children: Hay jumping

Dearest Beloveds,

Recently Dragon and I were driving along some country road and admiring a surfeit of round hay bales. Many acres of fields were shorn yet all of the bales were concentrated on one field.

“Momma! Look how close those hay bales are! If they were closer I could jump between them.”

“Yes, you certainly could, that is very true. Would you take a running leap or try to bounce like a bunny?”

“Bounce like a bunny.”

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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: Nighttime peregrinations

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Dearest Beloveds,

A recent evening after saying goodnight to the two of you, I staggered to my own bed. We had swam earlier that day, the sheets were clean, and The New Yorker beckoned. It was 7:36 pm and your father was on call. I was looking forward to passing out obscenely early and not waking up groggy at 5:20 for my morning sadhana.

Then the peregrinations started.

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Letter to my children: Ego, The Cranky Monster, and Kundalini

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Dearest Beloveds,

Four years ago, I wrote about the importance of spending the early morning with The Good (thank you Mary Magdalene)- and not just once in a week, but on a consistent daily basis to keep you anchored to The Good. Then I did the bone marrow transplant and all self care of that nature flew out the window.

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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: Facetime and Fishes

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Dearest Beloveds,

I am so grateful I am doing my time away from home in a world prepared by Covid to live online. Yoga classes, Facetime, therapy appointments, healings with Rob Wergin - all are accessible from my chair in my princess tower.

I am happy to be seeing you regularly (even if only in 2 dimensions) because I am hoping that way when I am home I won’t be as shocked by your 6 weeks of growth. That satisfies some parts of me that are missing you - but not all of the parts.

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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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