Letters To My Sons | December

Dear boys,

There’s no question things are different this year. Normally the lead up to Christmas would involve riding the Nostalgia holiday train, gazing at the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, and visiting with Santa. But because of Covid — with more cases now in the United States than we had in the spring — the Nostalgia train has gone virtual, Mayor DeBlasio is requiring tickets to see the tree with a five-minute viewing limit (Cash balked at this!), and Santa decided it was best to isolate up North.

Still, we’ve done the best we can to get in the holiday spirit by putting up our little Christmas tree that we spritz with scents of Frasier Fir, stringing tiny white lights around your bedroom and baking lots and LOTS of cookies. Even Daddy has begun leaving Christmas music playing at all times in the bathroom which adds a festive feel.

Despite a year filled with tremendous loss and despair there is much to be grateful for. At the top of that list is the recovery of Grandma and Pow Pow who were hospitalized with Covid during Thanksgiving week. It was a tense time calling nurses and doctors around the clock, hoping and praying for positive updates. But prayer is power boys and there’s no doubt many people — not just family — were praying for your grandparents to recover. Thankfully they are doing just that and getting stronger with each day that passes. Since it’s been recommended by the CDC and government officials that people don’t travel or spend the holidays with anyone outside of their household, we won’t be spending our traditional Christmas with Grandma and Pow Pow and the Montes. Instead we are spending our first ever Christmas in Harlem, just the four of us. Grey, our consummate joy boy, thinks this will be really fun. “I’m happy Mommy, we’ve never spent Christmas here. I want to see what it’s like!”

Also in the gratitude bundle is the hope that next year we may be inching toward some sort of normalcy: A vaccine is currently being rolled out and will become available for all by late spring/early summer, the Biden-Harris Administration will take over the White House on January 20th, and in February you boys will return to school, albeit part-time, after being away since March. So we are getting there, slowly but surely.

Traditionally Amy takes our family photos that we use for our Christmas card, but again, things are different this year. Since we couldn’t visit with Santa this month, she transformed one of your summer photos into a festive, tender moment with the jolly fellow!

While scrolling through what’s trending the other night, I came across this 2020 take on the classic poem. I thought it was the perfect way to close out this most unprecedented year. It hasn’t been an easy one, as each of us faced a number of challenges and heartbreaks, but together we made it through, even finding some silver linings and surprising moments of hope and healing.

I love you boys.

Always and forever, Mom

‘Twas a month before Christmas, and all through the town

People wore masks, that covered their frown.

The frown had begun way back in the spring

When A global pandemic changed everything.

They called it corona, it brought with it fear

It didn't bring good time. It didn't bring cheer.

Contagious and deadly, this virus spread fast

Like a wildfire that starts when fueled by gas.

Airplanes were grounded, travel was banned

Borders were closed across air, sea and land.

As the world entered lockdown to flatten the curve

The economy halted, and folks lost their verve.

From March to July we rode the first wave

People stayed home and tried to behave.

When summer emerged the lockdown was lifted

But away from caution, many folks drifted.

Now it's November and cases are spiking

Wave two has arrived, much to our disliking.

Frontline workers, doctors and nurses

Try to save people, from riding in hearses.

This virus is awful, this Covid-19

There isn't a cure, we need the vaccine!

It's true that this year has had sadness a plenty

We'll never forget the year 2020.

And just 'round the corner - the holiday season

But why be merry? Is there even a reason?

To decorate the house and put up the tree

When no one will see it, no-one but me.

But outside my window the snow gently falls

And I think to myself, let's deck the halls!

So I gather the ribbon, the garland and bows

As I play those old carols, my happiness grows.

Christmas ain't cancelled and neither is hope.

If we lean on each other, I know we can cope.

- by Shawna Hickling

Letters To My Sons | November

Dear boys,

On November 7th, 2020, at long last, the election came to an end. Joe Biden was declared the winner after key battleground states finished counting their mail-in ballots. It was not a landslide victory, but the win was nonetheless historic, with Biden winning over 78 million votes — the most in American history. Voters turned out in numbers never seen before and during a pandemic no less! Not only that, Kamala Harris will be the first woman — and the first woman of color — to serve as Vice President of the United States.

Cash and Grey, there are so many reasons I feel joy and relief. Most of all, the end of four years with a leader who exacerbated racial tensions and whose hate-speech divided our country. A president who put our democracy in jeopardy, undermined the Black Lives Matter movement and threatened to let New York City, his hometown, fend for itself during this pandemic.

For the majority of America — and certainly for our household — policy was not on the ballot, but rather character. As the mother of boys of color in this country, trying to teach decency, equity, empathy, inclusion, and sadly, preparation, I knew it was crucial you stay up to watch Biden’s national address; to hear what a true leader sounds like. In this time of great suffering, when our country is deeply divided, we desperately need a leader who can restore hope. Hope for an American story that, as President-elect Biden said, “is real for everybody — no matter their race, their ethnicity, their faith, their identity, or their disability.”

I love you boys. Always and forever. On this day, as we listened to Biden’s speech together, I wept as my hope was restored.

Letters To My Sons | October

Dear boys,

This fall MCS parents formed various “outdoor pods” — another term we’ve learned during this pandemic. These socially-distanced meetups have been vital to maintaining a sense of school community and mental health, but our family favorite is a game of punchball every Friday. Like baseball but without a bat, this popular game at MCS is perfect for these times — highly entertaining with minimal contact! Coordinated by Andrew, Finn’s dad, the group meets at 4:00 in the park to play “parents vs. kids” until the sun goes down. When Daddy told me he didn’t have to go work on a recent Friday I exclaimed, “Get your sneakers on ‘cause you’re gonna play punchball!”

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With his drive and athleticism, Daddy definitely leveled up the game. It’s usually the kids that beat the grownups, but this Friday proved a bit more challenging. And it was no secret how some of the kids felt, especially the more competitive ones like Victor and Tamir.

“How come you had to bring your dad, Cash?! Sheesh. He’s catching all my balls!”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Cash’s dad played professional football AND basketball!!”

When Tamir asked about bunting to help minimize the number of outs Daddy was making, you kids started cheering for the chance to narrow the gap.

Not surprisingly there was a lot of trash talk when you boys were at the plate. Most of the time Daddy caught your balls; if not, he got you out at first base. Andrew, with his sweet-natured voice said, “You’re competitive Anton — so I know you can’t help it — but you can go easy on them.” Daddy laughed, saying, “You’re right Andrew, I can’t help it. But that’s how they get better. And anyways, I PLAY TO WIN!!” Even as a fierce opponent, Daddy embraced the role of coach, giving tips to you and your peers along the sidelines as you waited for your turn to punch.

“Damn Anton! You covered the field like you’re 21!” said Chuk, Victor’s dad who is also our good friend. “If I wasn’t so damn impressed I’d have been like, ‘Slow down fam!’ I mean, I had it easy on first base.”

Having Daddy on the mound and Chuk at first base was so much fun — The Dream Team! Parents cheered and kids groaned as Daddy entertained with one-handed catches and behind-the-back passes!

Playing field positions and sideline coach with such energy, it’s hard to believe Daddy will be turning 51 this week. The oldest parent on the field moving like the youngest!

When I told my friend Fredi about this game she was quick to point out the obvious blessing: you boys have a dad whose athleticism STILL blows people away, both young and old. A dad who can play and and do tricks that ignite your competitive spirit. Who makes you beam with pride in front of your friends! When either of you dove for a catch or slid into base, another parent would turn to me with a wink and say, “I wonder where he gets that from?”

In the end the kids pulled through with a win, due in part to Daddy giving the kids five outs at bat instead of three and his move to the outfield. It was obvious he couldn’t just NOT play as hard because the kids would notice, shouting, “Hey — you’re going soft on us!” So these few handicaps were just enough to get your team to rise up.

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For many of us this is a weekly highlight. Daddy now opts to work Saturday nights so he doesn’t miss these Friday meetups. Whether in the game or on the sidelines chit-chatting with friends, this time together is food for the soul — the chance for parents and kids to play with abandon at a park in west Harlem. Where, for a couple of hours, we can forget about everything going on around us — amidst a global pandemic and contentious election —and just be, carefree.

I love you boys. I love your competitive play and the spirit of Daddy who lives within you.

Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | September

“Mom, don’t you know, I have a sweet exterior and a crusty core.”

After I’d finished laughing, I made sure to jot this down so as not to forget such an insightful self-assessment. Now ten years old Cash, your awareness of both your strengths and shortcomings — and sense of humor! — has grown with you. I remember once reading about the joys and challenges of raising a gifted child. How from an early age, your child may demonstrate extreme independence: "I'll do it myself!" But, as time goes on, that desire to be in control can lead to perceived "bossiness" as well as a fear of taking risks. Yup, that’s a pretty accurate Cash summary. Conversations routinely turn into Matlock episodes as you valiantly defend your case, exposing any hypocrisies at the hands of grownups, namely me and Daddy. A tireless seeker of justice, fairness and equity is not always easy to parent, but out there in the world those will be your strengths.

Your internal fire ignited the moment you became an older brother, smoldering beneath the surface, sometimes burning into a five alarm blaze. Left unchanneled, my therapist warned, as you stand at the precipice of puberty, would not be ideal. “Have you ever heard of art therapy?” she said. “It might be a really good fit for Cash.” With my background in art therapy, I told her I had pondered the idea for some time.

Over the summer you started working with a creative arts therapist and it’s been amazing so far. An artist in your own rite, you’ve shown great insight and creativity when talking about yourself and your emotions, adding, “you’re right, it’s actually nice to have someone to talk to Mom. I feel really good afterwards. Plus she’s an oldest so she gets it.”

Even Grey, often the target of your wrath, has taken notice. “I’m actually glad Cash had me come into this world,” he whispered in my ear during bedtime. “I’m glad he’s my brother ‘cause he does some nice things for me … like with games.”

The next morning, Grey asked for a few pieces of paper “to make Cash a birthday card.” While you slept soundly, he taped two pieces of white paper together on which he made a drawing of you guys playing Nintendo, written with the words, “Cash I know that I have been angry. So I got you something.” Then, rummaging as quietly as he could through his piggy bank, he gathered enough quarters to make several stacks, taping them to the inside of the card. “I want to give Cash some of my money.” You know you don’t have to do that Grey, I said, knowing the piggy bank’s limited contents. “No, I want to give it to him so he can use it for something.”

It’s hard to believe you’re now ten Cash— double digits! And while you say you have a crusty core, there’s also an achingly sweet center. Like the time during quarantine when you opened up about your love for your best friend Thomas, and your sadness around not seeing him. Or the time you helped a nervous Grey with his Taekwondo forms the night before his belt test. Or Mother’s Day when you set your watch alarm for 3:00 a.m. so you could sneak into my room and place a handmade box on my bedside table. Inside was a poem titled, “My Mother” that I couldn’t read aloud without crying. “I wanted it to be the first thing you saw when you woke up in the morning Mommy.”

The truth is you’re a quintessential New Yorker: a little sweet and a little sour — with the perfect dose of snark. Evidenced by your response when I called you “Joe it All” after you’d corrected me for the umpteenth time. “Whatever Mom, that’s a good thing. ‘Cause that just means I have a lot of knowledge. And if it was meant as an insult, I’ll just ignore it.”

Touché my dear! That’s what you like to call a “sick burn”.

So Cash, on this 10th birthday, I wish for you to hold fast to that fiery assertion, the confidence to defend your case, the sweet along with the crusty, and the skill of a well-crafted New York comeback. But especially, most exceptionally, your big heart.

Happy birthday son! I love you.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | August

Dear boys,

The home we rented in Stamford, Connecticut, for almost the entire month of August, allowed us to practice “letting go”, so much in fact, that I’m late posting my monthly “Letter” for the first time in seven years! During this time of global and national unrest, we relinquished our expectations, to-do lists, bedtimes and pandemic concerns and simply enjoyed our time together. Sheltering in a big house with an even bigger yard, we allowed our hearts a much needed reset all the way til summer’s end.

It’s pretty common knowledge that NYC kids learn to ride bikes much later than their suburban counterparts. Not unlike driving I suppose. So when the owner of the house, whose boys are the same age as you, said bikes were available to use, we seized the opportunity. Daddy, proven to be the better teacher, went tirelessly up and down the hill, working to build your self-confidence, showing you how to balance, coast and brake before eventually “letting go”. Then, saving you from a few over-the-handlebar face plants when you braked too hard.

We made a pact to spend as much time as possible in the backyard. Knowing winter is soon coming and with remote learning through the end of the year at MCS, there will be plenty of time spent indoors. So we ran through the sprinkler, played in the inflatable pool, busted out the iconic Slip ‘n Slide, blasted hip hop from the speaker, stomped rockets high into the sky and pumped an ongoing sea of bubbles from the bubble machine to complete our summer party vibe!

Then there were the groundhogs. We named them “Roundy the Groundy” and “Skin Skin” because of their girth or lack thereof, and by the end of the month, had fallen in love with them. First thing every morning we’d lift the blinds to see Roundy out in the yard, and throughout the day, in his various burrows and hiding spots cautiously moving about nibbling on grass. It's no wonder they’re so paranoid since Cash would often see red tailed hawks circling above. On one of our last days we witnessed a very lucky Roundy fleeing the approach of a red fox just below the bedroom window!

You placed carrots and celery on the bush near Roundy’s burrow so hours later we could watch as he got up on his haunches to eat the treats. After dinner Daddy and I would enjoy our nightly coffee and tea on the deck, waiting for our furry friends, sometimes spotting a mama deer with her two babes or peter rabbit out in the yard. He would tell me later it was his favorite time we shared together.

For me, it was our daily “walk and talks” around the neighborhood cul-de-sac. The name may be corny but that’s what we called it cause that’s what we did: we’d walk and we’d talk. A time to connect, “let go”, breathe in the freshly cut grass, examine downed trees, creepy crawlies, grasshoppers, a baby turtle, and a live action Cicada kill by a wasp! Now THAT was wild!

Watching our biggest city boy — Daddy — riding around on a bright orange beach cruiser and hearing the three of you play basketball every day in the garage, laughing and cheering was such a joy. Family dominoes and a hilarious game of in-the-house hide and seek on our last day was food for the soul. Daddy got the win for best hiding spot. “Okay Daddy, we give up! Where are you?!”

And of course, we celebrated my birthday. All THREE of you pulled off secrets and covert deliveries to make it a special day to remember in the midst of our Covid summer tour.

Yet even with this wonderful time away, which nourished us in innumerable ways, and with all the uncertainty and talk of a mass exodus from NYC (I’ll admit, we pondered whether we should uproot), I wasn’t sure how you’d feel when it came time to leave. But it was obvious you love where you live.

“I love New York City,” said Cash, “I mean, it’s nice to get away, but I couldn’t live here. I NEED to be in a city. And I LOVE our apartment. I have a lot of good memories there.”

I’m continually amazed by your resilience, the ability to adapt to any situation, and for reminding me, over and over and over, that things are going to be okay. Everything will be just fine.

This summer tour has served our family well. It allowed us to “let go” of the Covid chaos and offered our hearts a much needed reset so we could return to the city we call home.

I love you boys.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | July

Dear boys,

Back in April when cancellations started pouring in and panic was at an all-time high in NYC, I made a crucial decision for our family’s sanity. Camp refunds would go toward summer escapes. VRBO reservations made when most people were too shell shocked to commit has paid off, and as a result, we’re having a Covid summer tour of our neighboring state of Connecticut.

While enjoying the outdoor deck at the J House in Greenwich this month, I turned on Sirius XM and connected my Beats Pill. The result was a spontaneous dance party. An explosion of laughter and joy that will go down in Davis history!

I barely had time to grab my big girl camera and get the settings just right, but you can clearly “feel” the vibe. What Grey did next during your dance routine had me dying! Zooming in for a close up, I was unaware of the shock that would unfold and had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing over the recording. Where’d you learn those moves Grey?! “I dunno,” you’d say with a shrug and a smirk. That swagger just comes from within I suppose. Cash, your traditional buttons weren’t nearly as impactful as Grey’s shirt snaps, but those “crazy legs” moves certainly were! As you said, “I was there as Grey’s backup dancer!”

These moments of joy are getting us through a pandemic summer when most of our beloved New York is shut down. I don’t know how many times I’ve replayed this video, listening to your infectious laughter, or how often I look through these photos, but my spirit is always lifted as I relive your uninhibited sunset dance performance.

Thank you for such spontaneity. For your swagger and innocent laughter. And for dance moves beyond your years. I’m your groupie for life — not just on our summer tour!

I love you. Always and forever, Mom

Next stop on the tour: Old Saybrook!

Letters To My Sons | June

We did it boys! Home school, or rather MCS En Casa, is officially out for summer! Together we made it through three months of distance learning, the ultimate achievement for the MCS community, who on a dime transformed progressive education into a platform of zooms and google drives. While our collective resilience was put to the test in ways never imagined, teachers and parents rose to the challenge and finished out the year.

The beginning of En Casa was slow going. To be honest, I thought about blowing it off since it was only supposed to be two weeks at first. New York’s sudden rise to hot zone status made it even harder to motivate, with grief and fear leaving little room in our hearts for homeschooling. Eventually, accepting this as our foreseeable future, we learned to Zoom and set up google sites. Days became a routine of musical chairs (and rooms), depending on which one of you had a classroom meeting. When scheduling overlapped, or someone’s meeting ran late, the other would go into a full on panic — “Mom!!! I’m gonna be late for my Zoom!” — so it wasn’t long before a much needed investment was realized: Enter the laptop.

Cash preferred Zooms at the computer desk while Grey loved curling up in our bed, snug as a bug. Strangely you BOTH wore the same clothes for every single class Zoom. Grey wore his fleece onesie - “It’s so comfortable Mom!” - while Cash wore his green t-shirt that reads, “Cash Rules Everything Around Me” (C.R.E.A.M.). When Zooms were over you’d immediately strip down to your underwear. Maybe this was your way of exercising control and comfort during a most uncertain and uncomfortable time?

Cash, your teacher noticed how steady you’d become during En Casa. Still, attentive and patient is what he said, unlike the physical classroom where you struggle to wait your turn, allowing peers to speak without interruption. I suppose that’s a silver lining for this reimagined way of learning. Then, come to find out, you were extremely responsible with your daily schedule: logging into meetings without reminders, accessing your assignments independently, never bypassing challenges deemed optional and never EVER turning in work late. Needless to say this (unexpected) lesson in independence proved very helpful for me.

There were many days I questioned whether we could do this. Think about it, we’ve spent well over three months in close quarters with no privacy, no breaks from one another and no end in sight. Usually you’d be in separate classrooms most of the day — not with each other 24/7. There were many fights, several of which involved pushing and hitting, ending with at least one of you in tears. Following an incident where Cash was “really mean” and lost a privilege, he pleaded, “Mommy! I’ll do anything to get it back!”. After careful consideration, I decided on a restorative consequence, which was to write a diamante poem (a poetry style you practiced this year), under specific guidelines: It would be about your brother, was not to be written in haste, had to reflect a kind standpoint, and when finished, would be read aloud to Grey. While I do believe it turned your stomach to do this, in the end you managed to crack a small smile across Grey’s tearful face.

This period has been wrought with emotion, affecting our family’s ecosystem almost hourly. Grey, you seem to be handling it a little better — maybe cause you’re younger? — missing only Central Park and your friend Luca occasionally. It’s been much more difficult for you Cash. You miss your best friend Thomas SO MUCH and all the nooks and crannies of 8-9’s life. While we were watching Sesame Street’s Town Hall on racism, nearly three months into the lockdown, you had your first big cry. Always one to articulate your feelings, up until now I don’t think you knew exactly what you were grieving and therefore how to express it. Or maybe it just took this long for it to set in?

I listened as you brought to the surface everything your heart breaks for: Thomas (the most longed for), Manhattan Country School, New York City before Covid, life without masks, life without social distancing, being able to see Grandma and Pow Pow, being able to play tag and dodgeball with your friends and laugh against them without hesitation.

“When will this end Mom? … We are never going to get a vaccine … It will be years … And I don’t want to live anywhere else … I love New York City … I don’t ever want to move … I don’t want to live in a big house … I love that we live in an apartment and have a lot of things, just not EVERYTHING … If we lived in a house, then going to places like Nemacolin or upstate would be boring … It wouldn’t be special … And I know the protests are important … I believe in Black Lives Matter, but now the Covid cases are going to go up and our city is going to have to close down again … And I won't be able to go back to MCS for even longer or see Thomas … And my biggest fear, besides not being in class with him next year, is that he'll forget me … 'Cause it might happen Mom … He might forget me if we don't see each other."

Since this release, Thomas’s mom and I created “Splatoon Zooms”, so you and Thomas can see each other while playing the video game. This has been proven to be an immediate mood booster, sounds of joy filling the space of our apartment. We’ve been scheduling these a couple of times a week now, trying our best to help you stay connected. Even as we hear from classmates who are moving away, I continue to reassure you that we in fact are not; our plan is to stay in the city we love, the city you love, through sickness and in health.

Even though the end of the school year was absent of the traditions that mark the last days of school — the chance to hug teachers and friends good-bye, farm outing day and the school picnic — you stepped up to the challenge, proving again that you are New York Tough. And now you are graduates of kindergarten and third grade — congrats!

Nevertheless quarantine fatigue is real and there’s no doubt we are ready for summer. Ready to toss out our Zoom schedules, go to bed later, sleep in later, discover new trails in the tristate and not have to think about homework for a long time!

As Piggie and Gerald would say, “It’s time to go outside and play!” It’s summertime!

I love you boys!

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | May

Happy 7th Grey Grey!!!

Well you’re the first — the first Davis to have a quarantine birthday! We had originally planned to visit Grandma and Pow Pow, celebrating with a private penguin feeding at The Aviary and a corn dog lunch at Eat ‘N Park. So when Covid-19 arrived and messed things up a bit, I figured it best to prepare you.

“Grey Grey — it looks like we may have to celebrate your birthday in the apartment since we can’t go see Grandma and Pow Pow. And we really can’t go anywhere like Chuck E. Cheese or New Roc City because of the virus. But guess what?! You can plan whatever you want for the whole day. If that means cake for breakfast or Metroblast all afternoon — whatever you like. Okay?”

You seemed to accept this, even liking the idea of getting to tell everyone what to do. But as the weeks wore on, I started scouring VRBO for any house rentals in the tristate, discovering that most had either removed their listings or were waiting until the state lockdown lifted. Cash likes to say, “Mommy tackles ANY challenge and doesn’t quit!”. With your birthday falling on Memorial Day weekend, giving Daddy an extra vacation day, I did just this, not stopping until I found a rental upstate in a town I’d never heard of. You took one look at the pictures of the house, including the giant stove where “we can bake birthday treats”, and your lid of joy blew completely off.

“I’m doing the happy dance Mommy! We’re going somewhere for my birthday! I’m so excited! And oh yeah … can we do water balloons when we’re there?!!”



I like to say that Cash made me a mother but YOU Grey, completed the family. And yet it’s hard to believe our baby is seven years old! Before the Covid invasion, you and I would hold hands during our subway rides to school; I’d squeeze your hand three times to say “I love you” and you’d squeeze mine back four times to say “I love you too”. This was our daily ritual. And during those commutes you’d also share confessions, convictions and concerns which I’d try and jot down so as not to forget:

“Mommy, do you just ask someone if you want to go on a date? And what if you want to marry someone — do you just ask too? But ... what if I get down on my knee and it gets dirty?”

”Anyways I’m never getting married. I’m going to live with you forever Mommy. Even when you die I still won’t get married.”

”Will you help me when I grow up? Will you go to the store and help me buy things? ‘Cause I don’t know how to do that.”

”I wanna be a cooker when I grow up. Or an “am-buh-lunce” driver. Or maybe just live with you. I could get a police car and you could just drive around with me. Okay Mommy?”

”I don’t want to be a Dad because I don’t want to get hair on my chest . . . and my peanuts [sic] . . . and here, under my arms.”

”I wish I was a bird Mommy. A bald eagle. So I could fly to the top of the Empire State building.”

”My skin color is tan orange. No, actually , it’s white pineapple.”

”Do you know who saved us?”
Cash answers, “Jesus?”
”No, who else?”
”God?”
”No, who else?”
”The Holy Spirit?”
”No. (Long pause) Martin Luther King! Martin Luther King saved us!!””

Recently Daddy was reinforcing his brotherhood message. “Listen, I want you guys to look out for each other when you’re older,” to which you replied, “What do you mean? I’m going to live here forever — with Mommy!”

“Yeah, but Mommy and I aren’t always going to be around, so I want you guys to promise you’ll stay in touch with each other... and call each other.”

Cash’s promise was followed up by your amusing response: “Yeah Daddy when I get home from work, first I’m gonna go for a swim at the beach, then I’ll call Cash.”

But life isn’t always a swim at the beach for this little brother. In fact, it involves a great deal of suffering which you expressed during one of your epic meltdowns a few weeks back.

“He’s so mean Mommy! I don’t like Cash! I wish he wasn’t in this world!” you cried out in between gasps for air. “I wish I had a little brother … I would be nice to him … I’d be the best big brother. Not mean like Cash.”

And you’re right. Cash CAN can be a meanie — a royal jerk sometimes. We even had issues when it came time to do water balloons on your birthday. The two of you couldn’t agree on the rules, leading to arguments and tears from the birthday boy. But … after you recover from these episodes, when Cash is trying to earn back his good graces, I’ll make him give you a hug and kiss your forehead saying, “I’m sorry Grey for hurting your feelings (or whatever it was).” Then, just to make him suffer a little, I’ll tell him go through the motions all over again, only with a more loving voice. This usually lightens things up, softens your fury, and even brings about some laughter.

At times you’ll admit Cash can be a loving older brother. Like when he used his own birthday money to get you a Nintendo 2DS, or when he taught you how to use iMovie, and most recently when he defended your recurring nightmares. “Go easy on Grey Mommy. I used to have nightmares like those up until I was eight,” he said, before doing a Google search to find ways to help you manage them.

It’s all part of your growing pains; the angst of being a younger sibling who also happens to be the keeper of a sensitive soul. We all know you’re the consummate animal lover in the family, the one who doles out the most “thank-you’s”, and who finds beauty in and shows excitement about the simplest of things. While packing for our weekend getaway, you came and hugged up against me. “Mommy, thank you for working so hard to get ready for my birthday!” In that moment your tenderness put everything in perspective. This is your special gift Grey Grey. And as we were hiking along on our way to a hidden waterfall, on a beautiful spring day in upstate New York, you turned to me and said, “Mommy, it’s so beautiful here, right? I’m so happy we came on this walk!”

Me too Grey Grey! Thank you for still being our “JOY BOY”! And for completing this family seven years ago!

I love you.

Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | April

Dear boys,

One Saturday morning in early March, we were walking back from the movie theatre (which has since closed) after seeing Pixar’s newest release, Onward. A title, which, if you think about it, was a tad prophetic. Inspired by such a bright day, we stopped to take photos in front of a mural on the way to our favorite crêperie. Turning the corner we passed by Jermaine, your movement teacher at MCS, sharing friendly exchanges about how beautiful it was outside and your quick review of the movie. Everyone’s spirits seemed lifted by the promise of warmer weather. Little did we know everything would change in just a matter of days, that these would be the last photos we’d take before our hometown became the hot zone of a global pandemic.

It’s now been almost six weeks since Governor Cuomo closed all schools, non-essential businesses, and commanded New Yorkers distance themselves by at least six feet. The “Shelter at Home” order coincided with your spring break, so teachers not yet knowing the magnitude of this, sent home enough work for you to do should schools remain closed an extra week. At first our isolation was strangely appealing, cozy in a way, like a fun slumber party. One reporter referred to it as the “honeymoon phase” fueled primarily by adrenaline. But things quickly shifted, first daily then almost hourly as we ticked our way to the epicenter of a worldwide health crisis. More than ever we had to embrace the “New York Tough” mentality — even more than 9/11, which you guys weren’t around for, but which was devastating to our city — as the stream of cancellations to our lives flooded in. Fears, hopes, anxieties, disappointments, and frustrations rose to the surface, drowning us in grief often times unexpectedly and with great fervor.

Those first two weeks we did our best to create some semblance of routine. Missing our grandparents we wrote them letters and created homemade postcards; we FaceTimed our friends and taught Pow Pow how to Zoom so we could see him and Grandma in person, virtually. After our first Zoom chat with them, I fell to the floor in a heap of tears. I worry about them, wondering when we will be allowed to see them which makes me sad. It’s no surprise there’s been A LOT of tears, from everyone, over things that wouldn’t normally matter if it weren’t such a stressful, uncertain time. Processing the many feelings and doing our best to be patient in our very confined space is a daily battle. You boys are missing school, your peers, trips to the farm and visits with family. I long to see Grandma and Pow Pow, miss my friends, my routine and the pulse of city life. And most tragically, Daddy is mourning several friends who have passed away as a result of Covid-19, unable to properly honor their lives lived, while each day he travels to work in this grim climate. Riding the subway standing up the entire time, even when train cars are empty, and going through a full contamination process when he returns back home.

Now referred to as the Covid Capital of the world, New York City is reeling, grieving, and eerily calm except for the constant sound of ambulance sirens. There is a frightening desolation in the streets, with far too many dreary days that don’t do much for the mood of Gotham. Even our car was broken into by someone desperate for money as crime has risen — a result of much of our police force out sick with the coronavirus. There are long lines snaking outside the grocery stores, panic about when supplies will be restocked, aggressive pleas from the homeless, and a tense chill everywhere — even my own — that is difficult to shield from you. And that’s just what is happening outside. That doesn’t include the fissures in our emotional health as we routinely get on each other’s nerves with no real place to escape one another. But somehow, despite all this, we manage as a family, to wake up each day and find the blessings.

We try to do as much cathartic movement as we have space for: Taekwondo forms in the living room, boxing drills in the office and “Just Dance” parties on the Wii. Early on we’d scooter to the playground wearing latex gloves, with me constantly reminding you not to touch your face. Then as playgrounds citywide closed because of overcrowding, we started running sprints on the track at Riverbank; scootering in dizzying circles around a shuttered carousel while donning masks now mandated by the Governor. Each day brought new restrictions and new protocol for PPE amidst this war zone.

People are desperate in this city; they are hungry and hopeless. They are losing their jobs and loved ones to this virus. It’s because of all this that I hug you even more. The first thing we do when we wake up is give each other hugs, throughout the day saying, “There’s only three people we can do this with right now!”

Never has there been a time I’ve been more grateful you have each other. I can only imagine what this must be like for an only child. During these weeks, we have formed a deeper connection and though feelings still turn on a dime at any moment, we manage to find silver linings of joy. Like virtual “Happy Hours”, going on a simple car ride from one borough to the next and saying hello to friends from the bottom of their stoop; or making homemade posters to thank those who deliver our groceries and the city-wide clapping outside the window at 7:00 p.m. for essential workers. There isn’t a night, by the way, I’m not brought to tears by that sound.

Chess matches and a daily Metroblast gaming session with Daddy have become highlights to your days. Now that remote learning has started — while it’s a lot of coordination coupled with uncertainty about what school will look like in the months ahead — it does fill the time.

You guys have even mentioned how you kind of like this “new normal”. Cash in particular said, “I don’t know Mom, I mean there’s a lot of bad things happening all around us, with the virus, but I kind of like being with my family all the time.” And notwithstanding the upheaval, you’d never want to live anywhere else.

Grey’s teacher Anna wisely wrote at the beginning of all this, when talking to parents about homeschooling:

“If we can leave you with one thing, it is this: at the end of all of this, your child’s mental health will be more important than their academic skills. And how they felt during this time will stay with them long after the memory of what they did during these weeks is long gone. So keep that in mind every single day.”

And she’s right. You won’t look back and remember how many assignments you completed or whether you stayed on track for school. You’ll look back and remember how you felt, how you were loved by your family during a pandemic and the time you spent with them. I know I could not be more grateful to have a family to shelter with and hug each and every day. And cry with when things are just too much.

So, because it’s no secret my feelings for Governor Cuomo — “Shhhh! I’m listening to Cuomo!” — I’m going to close this letter with a favorite quote from one of his briefings:

“We're going to get through this because we are New York and because we are New York tough. That's why I love New York ... And at the end of the day, my friends, even if it is a long day, and this is a long day, love wins. Always. And it will win again.”

Always AND forever.

I love you boys,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | March

Dear boys,

Things returned back to “normal” in our home after last month’s flu invasion, but quickly took a turn with a global pandemic. A couple of weeks ago, when I first began writing this letter, you were still going to school. We had never heard of “social distancing” or “shelter in place” as the coronavirus had yet to reach our country. We could go to the movies and grab a bite at our favorite restaurant afterwards, go outside to play with friends and shop without restrictions. We could ride the subways and busses, high five and hug our loved ones, and go visit our grandparents. We could find toilet paper shelves fully stocked and cleaning supplies inside every bodega. But New York City has quickly become the epicenter of this virus in our country, and life as we knew it — our daily routines and freedoms — have quickly diminished. Ordered by our governor to “shelter at home” with all non-essential businesses closed to hopefully “flatten the curve” of this virus, our city has ground to a halt. Now, more than ever, your creative indoor games and the the ways you entertain yourselves will prove vital.

As long as I can remember you’ve made up games of the most physical sort. I have a video taken when Grey was two and Cash was nearly five where you’re pretending to fight, dropping and rolling around on the floor after being attacked by each other’s invisible swords. Sound effects in full effect.

“You better run!! Pew! pew! pew!”

“Oh yeah, well you better roll! Shooom! Shiiiiing!”

It’s one of my favorite videos of all time — actually popping up on my Facebook memories a few weeks ago — because you are so little Grey and still wearing a diaper! With five years gone by LITERALLY NOTHING has changed. You guys may be older but the play is the same.

One of your current games is the “Lava game”. Certain themes are timeless because I remember my childhood friend Phoebe Price and I playing this very game when we were six years old. The rule is simple: Don’t touch the lava which is the floor beneath the bed. Your version is to lie on Grey’s bottom bunk, upside down and usually right after dinner for added risk. The objective is to see who can go the lowest without having to touch the floor.

Another game you created is “Underwear Dodgeball” and is self-explanatory: Use your underwear as dodgeballs while … yup … playing in your underwear. Dodgeball is your favorite activity during school gym time, so you guys invented your own version that won’t break the lamps, television or knock down the paintings. Pretty clever I’d say.

There’s also a ping pong game that Cash conjured up. You guys each throw a ping pong ball against the wall above the living room door frame, earning different points for different techniques — i.e. throwing while lying down, while moving backwards, with one arm behind the back, and hitting the molding ledge which brings double points. Points are added or removed depending on how many times the ball bounces. A running tally is posted on our console, each technique named with words and illustrations that don’t make sense to me, but make complete sense to you guys. I can’t help but marvel at your creative resilience, feeling tremendous gratitude you have each other as playmates as we adjust to this “new normal”.

There is a lot of uncertainty about what lies ahead. So for now we are just taking things one day, one hour at a time — playing card games, Nintendo Wii sports, making homemade letters for grandparents we cannot visit, reading books and watching videos of cute baby animals. Just now as I finish up this letter, Dad showed me a link to a folding ping pong table from Walmart and we knew exactly what needed to happen. When it arrives in a couple of days, Dad plans to put it together in the living room without saying a word, watching as your eyes light up.

I’m so grateful for you boys. That I can hug and kiss you each day and don’t have to socially distance from you. We are a resilient bunch. We are New Yorkers for crying out loud. This is what we do. And we will get through this with love, patience and your penchant for creativity as we shelter together at home.

I love you. Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | February

Dear boys,

I had just pointed out to Daddy, a few days prior, how we were going on four winters since anyone in our family had been sick. Besides a few ping pong episodes of pinkeye a couple summers back, we’d been overwhelmingly blessed with good health. I mean neither of you have taken a sick day from school! Ever. That is until now. And if I believed in jinxes, I just might have thought I summoned this virus, because a few days after my boast, Cash started complaining he was feeling hot and sluggish. And it wasn’t long before Grey started feeling the same. With two high fevers in the house, the next morning I’d be phoning in the first sick days of either of your lifetimes, not knowing this was just the beginning.

Because this first sick day was so monumental, Cash suggested I write about in my next “Letters To My Sons”. Also monumental was the need to go over sick day protocol for which had never been necessary. There would be no Nintendo games and no wrestling (a usual part of your daily routine). Staying home from school was for recovery, not a free-play-game-day. It would involve drinking fluids, resting and watching cartoons which you agreed to without hassle — a telltale sign of not feeling well.

Cash had the quickest snapback from the flu. After a 24-hour fever, multiple hug requests, a random lost tooth, and a fever-induced sleepwalking episode that almost had me dashing for the emergency room, you were back amongst the healthy. Counting down the hours to get back to school, you even went to bed an hour early just so the day would end sooner. “I don’t like sick days Mom! They are so boring! I CAN’T WAIT to go back tomorrow!”

Poor Grey didn’t fair as well. The virus hit you with almost all possible symptoms. It was on the second day that your temperature rose to 104.5 and the earache and body aches were more than you could bear. While lying on the examination table, the doctor said that although she’d do the routine flu test (mainly to find out which strain), she could make a diagnosis simply by looking at you. Poor baby! A classic case of what the flu looks like.

That afternoon you began taking Tamiflu which was around the same time I started feeling sick. It’s no wonder since I’d been sharing a bed with you for the past couple of nights. It would be the first time I’ve ever had the flu and left me begging to meet my maker.

You ended up missing an entire week of school and together we worked toward healthy, one day at a time. Even after you returned to school, it took me another full week to recover. Amazingly Dad never got sick. I nicknamed him “The Teflon Don” because the virus never stuck to him; he came away completely unscathed.

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Tremendous joy washed over me when lingering coughs were finally gone, the house had been wiped clean with Lysol and the bedsheets and towels washed and sanitized. I may have even skipped down the street, thrilled to be able to climb steps and do simple tasks again without shortness of breath or fear of collapse.

I pray boys that we have another long stretch of wellness to boast about once again, since there is no greater blessing in the world than good health.

And Cash — thanks for the suggestion to write about this in February’s “Letter”. It was definitely deserving of its own monthly narrative.

I love you boys. Health is our wealth.

Always and forever.

Mom

Letters To My Sons | January

Dear Cash,

When you mentioned in early December your plan to ask Santa for a typewriter, I started to panic. Do they make typewriters especially for kids? Are they expensive? Would it arrive in time for Christmas?

I soon learned that children ages 6 to 16 years old are actually the biggest clientele for vintage typewriters — who knew?! — and their attraction comes after learning that most of the great writers throughout history used typewriters to create unforgettable works. While still too young for a laptop computer, you’ve begun to feel limited by your handwritten books; so it made sense you’d want a typewriter, especially since your authorship began at the sweet age of five.

You didn’t want a super expensive typewriter from Santa. “Just a vintage one in good condition that I can use to type my stories.” Luckily I found a young couple from The Netherlands, Anouk and Rénaldo, who refurbish typewriters and then ship them overseas at no cost. Their passion is restoring vintage machines back to their full glory and they couldn’t have been more helpful in choosing a first typewriter for a child. Before long a bright yellow Tippa Triumph was headed to Pow Pow’s wrapped in butcher paper and a festive red ribbon. Inside the carriage was even a typed note from Santa detailing the steps to begin using. Such a lovely touch!

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Spotting the package underneath the Christmas tree, you lifted it, and feeling its weight knew right away what was inside. “I think this is the typewriter Mom!!” you exclaimed, tearing through the wrapping while Grandma and Pow Pow looked on. Since that moment a day hasn’t gone by that you haven’t used your bright yellow machine.

It came with its original carrying case so you brought your Tippa along on our New Years trip to Westchester. There you sat in the corner of our hotel room, bathed in window light, fastidiously working on your latest masterpiece.

A metronome of keystrokes and the “ding” of a finished line have become the new background noise. To be honest, I love it. And besides nothing is more heartwarming than knowing it’s the sound of you putting your thoughts onto paper, instant, without a screen or delete keys to erase anything. As a perfectionist, when you learned there was no easy way to correct mistakes, you were initially disappointed. The options are either to use white-out and then backspace or just fix mistakes by typing “xxx’s” over them, which, it turns out, is what most typists do according to Anouk. “It’s what I do. Plus, it adds character to the pages. And no two pages will ever look the same.” Not surprisingly this was your choice after learning this.

In the apartment we’ll find you typing on the couch, at your desk, at night in your bed by the light of your headlamp, early in the morning before breakfast, and until the last minute before we risk being late for school. You even asked if you could bring your typewriter to school, and though it was suggested you wait until a future “share day”, the fact that you wanted to bring it “to work on my book during free choice”, shows the extent of your passion.

Your first “typed” story is about a Pokémon world you and your best friend are researching in order to learn about the darkest day of the “Dynamax storm”, along with other characters based loosely on your classmates. When you pulled the first completed page out of the roller you were stunned. “Look how much I can write on ONE page! I’ve been typing this page for days! I mean, I could make a whole book in just three pages!”

You’ve been trying to memorize the keyboard in order to work at a quicker pace and have begun drawing the illustrations first before feeding the paper through on the opposite side. Sort of your own version of double-sided. “Plus with less paper Mom, it’s better for the environment!” Now besides being an environmentalist we can add Hemingway to your list!

I’m absolutely in awe of your love for writing Cash. It thrills me that it’s become such a passion of yours, and I hope you continue to churn those wildly creative thoughts into literature with the help of your bright yellow Tippa — the sweet sound of keynotes filling the air!

I love you son!

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | December

Dear boys,

Earlier this month it was confirmed that after more than 25 years, the best Santa in greater New York was finally hanging up his hat. Once the initial shock wore off that we wouldn’t be returning to ABC Carpet & Home, I set out to find the second most legit Santa in the tristate knowing two things were certain: 1) there’s no way I’d step foot inside Macy’s and 2) I had a nine year-old with a discerning eye for Santa legitimacy. We’d been going to see the same Santa for almost a decade and now we were faced with the VERY REAL possibility this would be the end of Cash’s remaining belief.

I’ve always told you boys Santa stops coming once you stop believing which, in many respects, was to protect younger Grey from being robbed prematurely. I thought that by now Cash, you’d have outright asked me if Santa is real, instead opting for more indirect questions. When asked if you were the only one in the class who still believes, your teacher said, “Absolutely not! Almost half of the class still does.”

Though the other half of your class is likely casting some doubt, it’s clear you aren’t ready to give up the magic of tradition. There’s probably some desire to protect me and Grey as well, thinking you’ll hurt my feelings if you’re upfront with me, knowing Grey still believes without abandon. In your eyes it’s best not to say anything. And in my eyes it’s best not to either, thereby protecting your kind and beautiful heart.

After some research I decided we’d go up to Westchester to see the Santa at the Ridge Hill mall who, from the website photos, looked like he just might pass muster. Maybe the place would be dimly lit? Maybe excitement and nerves would curtail Cash’s discernment? But … I should’ve known better.

As the first family in line (big shocker!) we watched Santa move toward and settle into his comfy green chair. “Mom,” you said, motioning me to lower my ear so you could whisper, “I think this Santa is a fraud … He looks different … His clothes are different … Maybe we should tell someone that Santa was kidnapped?!” I just nodded and shrugged my shoulders as if I wasn’t paying too much attention.

A few moments later…

“But Mom, you know what? Even if he’s a fraud it doesn’t matter. I still like the sentiment of it all.”

Cash’s naughty or nice sketchbook creation

For now you’ll sit on Santa’s lap, mail him a letter, and hilariously, go so far as to create lists of ways you’ve been good and bad with a “Cash head” slider to move between them. In your letter to Santa you asked him to describe his “workshop building room”. “If you can’t tell me, I totaly [sic] get that. People say that to me other times. I get a little disponted [sic] but I quickly get over it.”

Grey Bear, I knew you’d have absolutely no trouble making the Santa shift this year. What I didn’t know was that you’d be asking him for a cotton candy machine! A COTTON CANDY MACHINE?!! Really Grey? “Yes! Yes! Yes!! I’m asking Santa for a cotton candy machine!”

You volunteered, enthusiastically I might add, to be the first to sit on “new” Santa’s lap with your kilowatt smile. While I wasn’t allowed to take personal photos — hello marketing! — it wasn’t all bad since the photo purchase guaranteed our time slot. Plus I think they actually turned out pretty nice. Then it was off to the nearby Cheesecake Factory for corndogs and sliders — wins for the whole family!

With only three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it was a challenge fitting in all the things we normally do during the holidays. But one thing you boys didn’t want to miss was our trip to see the tree at Rockefeller Center.

Even though you live here, native New Yorkers we like to say, you still get excited to see all the lights and decorations during the most magical time of year.

On this day you took your first ever “brothers selfie” in front of the giant tree. What a great job taking this photo Cash! I couldn’t have done any better and couldn’t love it any more. Such a beautiful capture of you two during one of our holiday traditions.

Wishing you boys a very Merry Christmas! And a new year filled with days as sweet as homespun cotton candy!

I love you both so much.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | November

Dear boys,

This photo was taken after we went to The Museum of Natural History’s kids trick-or-treat event where we covered all five floors in record time. Cash and I put together a game plan this year: ride the closest elevator to the top floor, use stairs for quicker access to lower levels, bypass all crafts tables and head straight to the candy ones. And it worked perfectly. We were in and out of a supremely crowded New York event in 45 minutes flat!

When we were almost home I had you guys sit on the neighbor’s stoop, decorated with pumpkins and mums, for a Halloween photo. Grey, too tired to put on his gold Power Rangers mask, and Cash, whose Ghost Face mask was complete with a fake blood pump, made the perfect showcase of good and evil.

On actual Halloween, Cash was up at the MCS farm with his class, so Grey and I were left to trick-or-treat the city streets by ourselves. But we also had a game plan: dress in costume at MCS as soon as school lets out, forgo dinner in order to get as much candy as possible and beat the pending rain (bad or good parenting is up for debate), and travel as far down Columbus Avenue as possible. We managed to walk from 85th street to Columbus Circle — a total of 25 city blocks — hitting up each store along the way until arriving at the Time Warner building. Grey’s bucket, filled with colorful fun-sized treats, was almost too heavy to hold at this point but he STILL wanted to walk more, conceding only when it began to rain lightly. The express train home was not just a relief to our tired dogs, but a chance to devour some of that chocolate yum!

Cash returned home the day after Halloween with a profound feeling of accomplishment. “Mommy, I felt really proud this time at the farm. I did a lot of things for myself.” Like what I asked. “Like carrying my heavy duffle bag to and from the bus … figuring out what clothes I needed to wear for the different types of weather and chores … unpacking and sorting my things. It just felt really good.”

While there were lots of special moments from this farm trip, one of your favorites was the hens eating from your hand. “It didn’t really hurt, it was just a little tug on your palm. Like this Mom (demonstrating on my hand).”

“I didn’t like the mud. Of course. Or the sawdust. But (teacher) Kevin knows this about me so when they were shoveling sawdust, he put me in charge of the wheel barrel. And when my friends were jumping up and down in the mud — and Mom, I mean, it was splashing ALL UP on their clothes!! — they were calling me to come join them … and I was like ‘Nah, that’s okay’.

It’s good though ‘cause they know me. They know I don’t like to get super dirty. That’s just who I am.”

It was nice to have you back home Cash. I’d been sleeping on the couch for two nights because Grey can’t sleep in the room without you. He gets too scared. So I slept on the living room couch as emotional support, the bedroom door cracked just enough for me to be in sight.

Though there weren’t any hugs as your boys reunited, I could tell you were happy to be together. Sometimes I’ll ask you guys to give each other a hug, even taking it a step further saying, “C’mon…say ‘I love you’”, just to get a reaction. Predictably you look at each other and fall out laughing, carrying on with whatever you guys are doing at the time.

There’s no need for that in your brotherhood. It’s unspoken for you at this stage in life. And my silly request is just an unnecessary interruption in your battle against the forces of good and evil!

I love you both so very much.

Always & forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | October

My little baller,

You’ve got a new handle on the game and as Daddy pointed out long ago, your fierce will and determination, let alone your boundless energy, will serve you well on the court. At the age now where you don’t get upset if you miss the shot, you just fetch the ball and shoot again. And again. And again. And with this beautiful fall weather we’ve been having in New York and Daddy in between jobs, there’s been plenty of time to practice. All while rocking your new Kevin Durant jersey.

“I want to get a shirt Mommy. Like the one Daddy wears. That’s just for basketball.”

At the start of the school year, there were a couple days you were dismissed before Cash, so at your request we went straight to the basketball court. You practiced your jump shot for over two hours and even when Daddy wanted to take a break, you kept going to a total of 51 shots made. Who knows how many you actually took in order to make 51 baskets, but I know it was A LOT. The only reason you stopped was because it was time to pick Cash up from school. “I told you!” Daddy said in my direction, “He’s relentless! That’s gonna be what makes him good at the game!”

I love watching Daddy teach you and how you listen. You are so fortunate to have him as your coach. And trust me, it goes both ways because Daddy has said to me before how he hoped at least one kid would love basketball. Someone who felt passion for the game the way he did all those years growing up. The way he still does. Basketball is what changed the whole trajectory of Daddy’s life and now he’s able to share that with you.

Cash noticed you getting better at handling the ball, so not surprisingly he’s rekindled his interest. The three of you go to the court to do practice drills, suicides and two-against-one games. While you work on your dribbling, Cash is learning to use the backboard as an assist. Just your typical brotherly competition which in the end can only make you guys better, like Daddy and Uncle Corey who played together growing up. They were the best teammates — a truly indomitable force on the court!

Whenever you ask Daddy to take you to play basketball, I look over at him with a smile that says, Be careful what you wish for. As I said, he always wanted a child who loves the game and now he’s got one.

For that reason he’ll never turn you down. He takes you to the court no matter how tired he might be because it brings back memories of his own childhood when he would play from sun up to sun down, shooting in the rain so he could have an all-weather jump shot, and dreaming about one day having a son to teach.

With your continued placement in the 95th percentile for height amongst kids your age Grey, it appears you have another advantage. And one day, not too long from now, you will touch that rim — and fly through the air like Jordan!

I love you Grey Grey. Keep shooting high!

Always & forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | September

Dear Cash,

As usual your birthday month kicks off another year of “Letters To My Sons” — incredibly its 6th edition — and is another chance for a written celebration about YOU! Beginning third grade at MCS with some of your best friends (Thomas again!) and the teacher of your choice, you’re off to a pretty great start!

The other day you stopped me in my tracks with the words, “Mommy, (pause)… I love being your son.” I looked over at you, mouth dropped open; the kindness in that simple sentence was astonishing. And I love being your Mom Cash, in ways I’ve always known and others I’m still discovering are meant to expand my heart.

A few weeks ago you shared that from now on you’d only be calling me “Mommy” in private or just around family, and it was obvious you were concerned with how I’d take the news: “It’s not that I don’t want to call you ‘Mommy’ … I mean I don’t want to hurt your feelings … And I may even slip up from time to time because I really still want to call you that, but just probably not in front of my friends or at school … Is that okay?”

I assured you that it was absolutely okay. More than any emotion felt by the name change request as a mother — as your mother — I was floored by the kind way in which you talked with me about it.

You show the same kindness toward complete strangers. Like the day you came home from school and said, “Mommy, I hope it’s okay with you, but I gave one of my dollars to a homeless man today.” According to your teacher, your class was coming back from Central Park when you walked a little ahead so you’d have time to put money in the man’s cup. “His sign said ‘I lost my job and I have two kids’. And I just felt really bad for him.”

Not surprisingly you hate bullying, shy away from gossip and are very attuned to when someone’s feelings are hurt and if you are the cause of it, you’ll check yourself pretty quickly. Once you laughed alongside your friends when another classmate whiffed the ball during soccer, but when you noticed his hurt feelings, your teacher said you walked over on your own accord and apologized.

At times your kind heart causes me to check my own self. There’s a boy at school with behavioral issues and instead of turning against him or putting him down, even when the target of his outbursts, you show genuine compassion. “I know how to handle him Mommy. And maybe things are going on that make him feel bad, so that’s why he tries to hurt other people?” I’ve taught you over the years about why bullies bully, but when I’m going off the rails after he’s done something to you or one of your peers, you’ll reflect back those teachings, calm me down and restore my compassion. It’s rather amazing.

But it’s not entirely without exception and any mother knows that to be true. While you’ve always been self-reflective beyond your years and able to express your feelings, you’ve got a petulant streak that can rise up like a phoenix from the ashes, often times followed up with a shrug. “That’s me. That’s just who I am.” When I hear this from teachers or camp counselors, I can’t lie, I wonder if I should be concerned.

Then I talk with Aunt Gail who reminds me that you are just like Alex when he was your age. You want what you want when you want it, and can be impatient. Plus you think you know everything. “But he’ll learn,” says Gail, “Look at Alex now. Attentive, good-natured, polite, and dare I say — patient!”

And she’s right. You’ll be ALL THAT — as well as a kind, loving civil rights warrior!

There’s a girl that you’ve got a crush on this year, and you finally told me who it is only after I promised not to tell a soul. Not Daddy, not even Grey. And so it remains our secret. But one thing that’s not a secret — one thing I know for sure — is she’s the luckiest girl in the world!

And I’m the luckiest Mom.

Happy birthday Cash! You make the world a brighter place!

I love you. Always and forever. Mom

Letters To My Sons | Summer Tailpiece

As summer comes to an end this week, it’s fun to look through the photos of your sports training. With Daddy in between jobs this summer, he was able to take you to play basketball and soccer in the early mornings — before the courts were occupied with tournaments and before it got too hot. The great legend himself, “Half Court”, aka “Daddy”, helped you work on your jump shot, shake and bake, and handle — and on the turf, your fancy footwork!

High five for a great summer and the completion of another year of Letters!

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | August

Dear boys,

We made our first trip to see Grandma and OT since they moved back down to South Carolina and one thing Daddy wanted to make sure we did was visit Uncle Corey’s gravesite. During prayer time over the years, Daddy always promised Corey that one day he’d bring his sons to visit his resting place, when you were grown enough and had the capacity to understand the experience.

Daddy wanted you to pay respect to your uncle whose life was cut far too short. Uncle Corey was just twenty years old when he was killed; Daddy only twenty-one when he lost his younger brother. Just a year apart, you can imagine how they did everything together and what a tremendous loss this was for Daddy. “We always knew where the other one was on the basketball court — we’d pass the ball to each other without even looking!,” he often tells you. And while Grey is still a little too young to know all the details surrounding his death, Cash, you are well aware, and this visit to Uncle Corey’s gravesite had a great impact on you.

It’s hard to imagine losing a brother so close to you, both in age and relationship; a brother with whom you spent your entire childhood. More than anything Daddy wants you to hold sacred the bond you share — for you never know when it might be taken away. We pray for those lifelong memories that lay ahead of you, and that, God willing, you grow old together and can look back on them with fondness. Through sharing this tragic and unexpected loss, Daddy’s hope is to teach you not to take one another for granted. To show how you are blessed to have each other as brothers, here on earth and forever in eternity, where we will one day see Uncle Corey again.

I love you both so much.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | July

“The Peach and The Pit of our 4th of July Trip”

Well boys, let’s start first with The Pit. In keeping with our usual tradition we arrived at Greenwich Beach during low tide, with nobody around except the sandboni driver and a few predawn swimmers clad in their wetsuits. Even the parking attendant said, “I see we’re getting an early start today!”

You always love having the beach to yourselves: dancing across the sand ribbons, splashing in the shallows, foraging for hermit crabs. But you weren’t dancing for too long Cash before you came walking back toward the shore. First I thought you needed to use the bathroom, until you put your hand on my shoulder for balance, lifting your foot to show blood pouring from several slash marks. While you usually just let me know of any injuries since I am less of an alarmist, I quickly called Daddy to come help. As he carried you to our cabana, draped across his arms, I was reminded of Michelangelo’s Vatican Pieta; a visual testament to a parent’s love and strength.

The sandboni driver called out that he’d unlock the first aid office and to follow him. Apparently he remembered us from last summer. I mean who could forget the early bird family with the blue and white striped cabana he has to circumvent as he combs the empty beach?!

You emerged, gauze tightly wrapped around your foot, with a thumbs up and semi-smile to let me know things were were on the rise. Sadly though you wouldn’t be going back in the Long Island Sound. At least not this trip.

“Such a shame too since you guys literally just got here!" said the sandboni Samaritan. “I know though, I’ve got two boys myself….and it’s always something!”

I only captured a few photos of you in the water, happy and carefree, before the incident. And we never did find out what cut the bottom of your foot. But you were such a trooper, and instead of leaving the beach, you hunkered down in the cabana with your foot propped on a beach bucket, so as not to take away from Grey’s enjoyment. We all know that of the four of us, Grey is the die-hard beach lover! So you draped your towel over your head to cut the glare on your Nintendo screen and played games while Grey carried on in the sand.

Though you wouldn’t go back in this water, the good news was that you could go swimming later in the other water, aka our hotel pool.

Which brings me to The Peach of our trip!

Grey, you reached a new level in your swimming! You’ve been taking lessons for a minute now, but something clicked for you this weekend and you COULD NOT BE STOPPED! “Mommy, stay there! I’m going to swim to you!” I must have heard this said a thousand times. And if you weren’t swimming to me, you were swimming to Daddy or Cash, showing how for the first time you could reach the other side, completely submerged, without choking on water or inhaling it by accident. Rising to the surface with the biggest of grins, you’d make sure at least one of us was watching.

We stayed in the pool all afternoon, and for the first time, as a family, went back in after dinner until its closing. For some reason we have the ability to clear out a pool no matter where we go, and this time was no different. We allowed you to use your squirt guns to attack each other, since we were the only ones in the water, laughing hysterically as you hit your target. “They remind me of growing up with my older brother,” a guy sitting nearby said, “We’re two years apart and we used to play fight EXACTLY like that!”

Adding to the Peach of our trip was the resurgence of your joy Cash as shown by not one but TWO thumbs up! “Mommy, even though the beach didn’t go as planned, I still had fun swimming in the pool!”

Just this morning, you showed me the bottom of your foot where only a faint red line remains. It has healed nicely over the past couple of weeks, leaving behind a memory of a day at the beach that we’ll talk about for years to come.

Like I told Pow Pow recently, our family has crossed into a new realm of low-stress family travel. It’s filled with inside jokes and pinch pokes, hijinks and sarcasm, doubled over belly laughs, injuries and apologies … and most of all, full volume singing of Kidz Bop in the car regardless of any unexpected Pits.

Here’s to more summer days, with both their peaches and their pits; and your ability to love, forgive, heal and laugh — somehow finding a way to emerge with two thumbs up!

I love you both so much.

Always and forever,

Mom

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Letters To My Sons | June

Dear Cash,

The time had finally come for the 7-8’s trip to the MCS farm. This first trip to the Catskills with your peers is a big day at MCS and one for which you are well prepared. As you walked out the front door of the school alongside your best friend, you were smiling and confident.

For over a year you’d been anticipating being away from home for two nights and three days. “But Mommy, I don’t want to be away from you … What if I don’t like the food? … I only like your cooking … Maybe I just won’t eat for three days … and the barn chores … I don’t like getting dirty … I hope I get sick the day we’re supposed to leave … or maybe I can refuse to get on the bus and just sit with Lorraine in the school lobby.”

It was about three weeks ago when John, who has run the farm for over 30 years and is one of the 12 on-site staff members, came to speak with your class about what you could expect and answer any of your questions. Afterwards you came home with a totally new perspective. “Mommy, I’m actually really looking forward to the farm now. I’m not worried anymore. Plus, John told us about all the good food we’ll be eating — french toast, pancakes, my favorite MCS bacon and fresh maple syrup that they actually make there!”

John also spoke to the parents that morning, presenting a slideshow of students at the farm throughout the years, during all four seasons. “Graduating students of MCS often say, that yes, they learn about farming, agriculture, textiles and where their food and water sources come from, but what matters most in the end is how the farm changes them with each trip — 17 in total before graduation! — and the tight-knit friendships they make.” I was so moved by the slideshow — jealous even! — as I sat thinking about the precipice on which you are standing; the incredible seven-year journey that begins with this first trip!

How wonderful that you and Thomas were bus mates! As your best friend, he was your first request and watching the two of you prepare to board the bus together was moving for both his mom and me. In your backpack was your travel chess set, a sketchbook and drawing supplies, word search books, your rubix cube and Mad Libs to entertain the two of you during the 3 1/2 hour ride. When you learned I had sent along two disposable cameras, you asked if you could share one of them with Thomas. But of course sweet boy.

Good-bye wasn’t so difficult since we both knew you’d have the best time. You were strong, confident and ready. We shared a big hug (thanks to Thomas’s mom for the capture!) and then it was Grey’s turn. He was the one who had a difficult time with your departure. It wasn’t easy for him to watch the bus pull off knowing he wouldn’t see his big brother for a few days. Before returning to Paulo’s classroom, we stole a few minutes in the school bathroom to recover and wipe away the tears.

Final wave good-bye!

[ Slideshow of farm photos ]

Although John jokingly told parents, “What happens at the farm, stays at the farm!”, on the second day we all received an email from the teachers with some wonderful photos.

Apparently you were greeted with both rain and beautiful sunshine! There was plenty of outdoor exploration, which ran the gamut of frog catching, investigating the farmyard, petting hens, splashing around in the stream and jumping in piles of hay! There were barn chores — milking cows and cleaning stalls — and house chores that included cooking a complete farm-raised meal with Gaby and a full sampling of farm classes comprised of weaving with Donna, a nature hike with Annie and Lacey, and a lesson in gardening with Cathy. Also on the schedule was LOTS of free play! To me, the campfire looked especially fun! Bring on the s’mores!

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When you returned that Friday you looked a bit like a zombie. Though tired from the long bus ride and the adventure itself, you were excited to be back and tell us about everything you did. You never felt homesick, the food was as AMAZING as you expected (fresh milk and eggs!) and you learned so much about the workings of the farm.

“And how was it getting dirty?” I asked.

“Oh yeah Mom, so I just pretended all the poop was just dirt. Cause there’s poop EVERYWHERE!! And when I did that I was fine.”

Already the farm is changing you Cash! Now this is what you call living your best life as city and country boy! You are 100% ready for next year’s even longer trips to the farm!

I love you so very much!

Always and forever, Mom