To My Dearest

Having children is only a dream at this point. We have a lot to do in our lives before we can begin trying for children. A wedding, for one. Not that we particularly care if we have children before the wedding, we just can’t fathom adding on pregnancy/childbirth/child raising onto our already hectic schedule. And our schedules are awfully busy, mainly due to graduate school and wedding planning.

But we want children, desperately, and we often talk about what it will be like to have children, to raise them, and how we would approach different things. We joke that my husband-to-be will be the fun dad. He’ll be the one that gets on the floor and plays games with them, rough houses with them, lets them get away with some treats when I’m not looking. I said I would be the mother who tends to boo-boos and keeps their schedule. After a moment, my fiance looked at me and said, casually, “You’d be the mom that makes holidays magical. You’re going to be the one that makes them have those special memories about different holidays.”

Like the Grinch, my heart grew. I love that idea, particularly since my mother very much played a similar role in my life. I always appreciated the holidays when I was younger but now as an adult I appreciate them in a different way because I know the sheer amount of effort she put into making each month, each holiday, shine.

So, to my dearest–yet to be conceived, yet to be a twinkle in anyone’s eye–children:

I hope to make you feel joy with each passing season. That even if the season’s get a little boring after awhile, you still rejoice at the change of the world around you.

I hope to decorate the house for each season, for each holiday, and to do it while you’re not looking. I mean that when you’re at school you come home and suddenly there’s Easter eggs sitting on the table or turkeys on the mantle.

I hope to make a special cookie for Christmas. One that you get excited about, that you can smell and know it’s really Christmas.

I hope to shower you in hearts and Valentine’s each February, to make it special, even if you dislike the school side of it (but perhaps you won’t be like your mother when she was a child and enjoy the holiday at school).

I hope to have a special back to school feast every September where we all celebrate the new school year, eat a lot, and have fun.

I hope to bring you to farms as often as possible so you not only understand and appreciate where our food comes from, but aren’t afraid of country-esque life. I want you to pick apples and pumpkins and learn that farm-fresh veggies always taste the best.

I hope to have picnics with you in spring weather and cover our yard with bulbs that make a fairy landscape in those early, warm days.

I hope to bring you to the mountains and the forests, to have you swim in riverbeds, to have you fish with chunks of cheese.

I hope to celebrate the first snow with you, by waking you up and bundling you up, bringing you outside and dancing under the snowfall.

There’s so much I hope to do, all stemmed by my own nostalgia and appreciation for what my mother has done. I hope that my children end up seeing the same glimmer of light and love that my mother created for me.

For now, while we’re juggling hectic schedules and working toward our goals, I’ll take the time to practice making those cookies and perfecting the decorations.