Letters to Our Children: June 2014

This is the sixth in a 12 month series of letters written to my children. I'm so excited (and honored) to be a part of this great project with a group of fellow photographers and moms. The next up in our circle is my friend, Ann, who is a talented photographer when she's not doing surgery. Please go read her letter here.

Saoirse, Rowan, Fiona and Liam-
This month was the first time this year that we headed to the cottage. Because it's on an island, it's an event every spring when the ice breaks up and the boats can get there again. You girls wait anxiously all winter for it to be time again, and I'm sure that Liam will join you in that as soon as he's old enough to understand. Since I've been a parent, I've thought a lot about memories. When you are tiny, like you are now, Liam, you are surrounded by so much love and joy, and it is one of the sadnesses of parenting to know that you won't remember any of it. I believe that it forms you, just the same, but you won't be able to recall any of it consciously. But at some point, that changes. Somewhere around 3, maybe 4, things start to stick. More and more after that. There are things from my own childhood that I remember so clearly, I can smell them, and hear them. I wonder all the time which things will stick with all of you. Sometimes it's such strange, random things, so it's one of the mysteries of raising you all.
One thing I'm pretty sure of: You will remember your summers at the cottage, with your grandparents. What details are biggest in your memory I can only guess. But the summers will stick. I know this because I spent long summer days and nights with my own grandparents, doing a lot of the same things you're doing: fishing, swimming, running through sprinklers, eating outside, having ice cream in front of the TV in the evenings before bed, trying to eat popsicles before they melted outside in swimsuits. This summer, for the first time, you'll even be there with a cousin of your own. My memories of my own grandparents, and especially our summers together, are the best part of my childhood. I wanted something like that for you, and I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see you love your time there. We will be there together as a family for the 4th of July this year, and I am so looking forward to it. The year that you were two, Saoirse, you saw fireworks for the first time on Grandpa's pontoon boat, anchored in the lake and surrounded by dozens of other boats. You sat on Grandma's lap, wrapped in a towel to keep you warm, and every time a big burst would go off, you would turn to her and say "See dat?!" I will never forget the sound of your voice that night, and the enthusiasm on your face. Last summer all three of you girls decided that you would stay with Grandma and Grandpa for the longest stretch you'd ever done, ten days. I thought that Fiona would get homesick, for sure, and that I would get a call to come pick her up. You insisted, though, that you were a big girl now, and you were staying, Fiona. You were right, you did, and you came home tanned, looking visibly older than when I dropped you off. This summer all of you girls are enjoying catching fish (and eating them for dinner), learning to water ski and kayak, and showing off that you are brave enough to jump off the end of the pier into Grandpa's waiting arms. Liam, you just like it when Grandpa dips your toes in the water, and when Grandma lets you play with the shells in the bowl on the coffee table.
You have no idea, yet, how lucky you are to have these experiences. But I do, and when I see you there, it gives me a kind of joy that you won't know until you're a parent yourself. I love you all so much.


Love always, Mama.