Dear Jack,

Your character and maturity always astound me. You have so much compassion for others.

Last week at gymnastics, one of the boys there, Eric, is known for saying rude things and inappropriate words.  And for some reason, he began a conversation with you, saying that he’s bullied a few people at school, and now, the popular kids, and his friends, aren’t speaking to him anymore. And you patted him on the shoulder and said, ‘Well, you may have lost all your friends, but you have a friend right here’.

I know that you don’t completely understand what he’s talking about yet, and it’s probably because you don’t go to public school.  But you showed kindness to someone whom you knew to be unkind. And that’s pretty impressive for a 10 year old.


Yesterday you were at the sitter’s for the day, so Dad could go to his meeting, and I could have some alone time, and she handed you a book on religions. And you hesitated, concerned that maybe it wasn’t appropriate for you. So you decided to look up Christianity. And it said that these people believe in one God, and we believe that He sent His Son to earth and He died for us.  And you said to A, that it wasn’t completely accurate because we don’t need to just believe, we need to accept Jesus into our hearts. And A said, ‘Well, everyone has their own opinion.’ And instead of arguing with her, you thought to yourself, ‘I’ll be quiet now’.

So I’m proud of you. You could have argued with her and it could have pushed her away. But you didn’t. And you were respectful because she is older than you.

Bravo, sir.


Have I mentioned lately, how much you make me laugh? Ohmygoodness, you always make me laugh. You still speak in that crazy voice and try to imitate me, with my big, frizzy hair and my stomping around.

I hope your wife laughs.  Because you shouldn’t marry her if you can’t make her laugh.  That would be a very boring life.

I love you, crazy-pants.





Hey Jack,

For the first time ever, I’m really worried about you.

It’s been a hard couple of months.  Nothing big, just…well, we did sell our house. When we least expected to. Do you remember that big, beautiful stone house that we bought, conditionally on the sale of our house? And then we lost it because we didn’t sell our house? And then afterwards, by the end of the summer, I was so stressed from our house not having been looked at for so long, that we decided to stay. We agreed that we would take it off the market mid-September. I began bringing boxes back from storage and putting up pictures again. We would stay for the winter. But then that nutjob lady came and bought our house. Gave us 5 weeks to move. We figured it would be awesome and easy.

And it was.

We bought a house. An adorable, way too small stone house that lives in a magical forest. They agreed to our terms and we were ready to break ground to build an addition the week after we moved in. But then they freaked out. Or rather, he freaked out. Went to bed for three days, so much drama – and refused to sell to us.  And all we had to do was take the house from them. It was perfectly legal and believe me, I wanted to.  We had suffered so much, losing houses.  We had suffered sleepless nights, anxiety and exhaustion. And we had finally found THE HOUSE. The one that I thought we had suffered for. The one that had made all of this worthwhile. And that asshole freaked out and shut down.  He wouldn’t see your father when he drove out to see him. The realtors were pathetic, barely even trying to help. We tried to get our lawyer to do something and it turns out, they didn’t have a lawyer.  And our lawyer is dealing with our realtor and neither of them are telling us anything.

It is a big, stupid mess.

And I wish your father would talk to our realtor, but he won’t.  He keeps giving him chances. The benefit to do well.  And I’m done with that.


But the past two nights, you haven’t slept well.  You aren’t focusing on your homeschooling.

And I wonder if you’re worried.

I tried talking to you about it all, but you shrugged and said you were looking forward to the adventure.

Are you?

Should I be worried about you?

I know you’re tired. I know you’re weird. You’re acting strange. Kind of manic.  Clingy.  Non-stop talking.


I wish you’d stop worrying.

Because when I was growing up, I did the exact same thing.  I didn’t sleep well. I always worried about my parents. About whether my mom was mad. Whether they would divorce. Whether we had enough money.  I was clingy and it irritated her.

I hope you know that you don’t irritate me. Ever. I hate to say that my brain is fully occupied, but it is.


Just know that I think you’re awesome.

And I love your sensitive little heart.



Stranger Danger

Hi Honey,

Yesterday you were playing with the dog in the circle. I always keep an eye on you to make sure there aren’t any cars coming or dogs running loose – like our neighbour’s. Remember how much that dog barked? Good grief. And we’d always say, ‘Hey Dad! Copa’s barking!’

I was baking two pies for your birthday dinner with nana and papa. I was stirring the lemon for the pie. You came in and everything was fine. And then five minutes later you told me that someone had talked to you while you were outside. You said that he was an older gentleman, on a purple bike with gold mudtrims.  He asked how old our dog was and you told him. He said that Dad had cut trees for him recently. You nodded. Then he asked Daisy’s age again and then he rode away. I didn’t think too much of it, but then I asked what he looked like. No glasses, kinda scruffy. Greyish curly hair. And he was black.

But your father has never cut trees for a black man. Except Leon. And it wasn’t him.

So I worried. I tried to stay calm in front of you because you don’t want your children to freak out, thinking someone is going to take them. But I talked to your dad and the police came over and took a statement. Because you never know.


We changed the locks on the doors that night. Your father put the shotgun in our closet, just in case.

So far so good.

I hope he didn’t want to steal Daisy. A lot of dogs get stolen. We keep a close eye on her.

The worries never stop, do they?

Love you.

The Fall

As a Mom, you always struggle with wondering if you’re doing the right thing for your child or not.

We’ve encouraged you to join the Orchestra program in Ottawa, for youth.  You were supposed to have an audition, and then you weren’t and then you were and now we just don’t know.  You’ve been taking piano/xylophone lessons from a friend of ours, Allyssa.  She’s teaching basic piano scales and when you went to music camp last week, they just happened to have a xylophone. And you picked it up rather quickly.  So now you start in the fall. And if you’re good enough, they’ll invite you to join their orchestra.


We’ve also encouraged you in gymnastics. Dad took you down to the competitive gym and you tried out for the coach. He said you were close, but because you didn’t have any experience in rings or the pommel horse, you’d be placed into intermediate. Which is cool. Because next year you  might be good enough for competitive.

But the question is, how far do we push? Are we pushing? I think about the homeschooling this year and I’m looking forward to it again. I mean, I wasn’t sure at first, but then when you were gone to camp for a week, it was hard to deal with. We weren’t getting your ‘best’ when you came home at the end of the day. And that sucks.

We keep telling you to rock it out. Because you just might get a scholarship. And you might. It would help.  Then you could study science anywhere you like.

We believe in you.

And I’m sorry in advance if I messed this whole thing up.

I love you.


Bad Mommy

Lately you’ve taken to calling me, Bad Mommy.

We were out walking the dog after dinner and I said out loud, ‘Oh, I forgot to take my pills today! That’s why I’m so tired!’ and you promptly replied, in a ‘Bahman, Piderman’ voice: ‘You da Bad Mommy. Always forgetting to take your pills. What’s wrong with you? I mean, seriously?’

And I just about peed I was laughing so hard.

So now you’ll snuggle me and say, ‘You da baddest mommy in the whole world. But I love you.’


And it always makes me laugh.




You were asking me the other day if I wanted the Parisian Café Lego set, or the Pet Store one. I answered that the Parisian Café was awesome and perhaps one day I would buy it.

I heard you talking to your father about buying it for me with your own money. He offered to pay for half.


that’s really sweet.


I love you.


Mother’s Day 2014

Dear Jack,

I have been your mom for over 10 years now. And I do count the time you were in my tummy.

Oh, Jack.

What a blessing you are.

I wish I could explain to you how…wonderful and funny and compassionate and sweet you are.

You wrote me a very sweet note for today and left 10$ on my bedside to buy a rose. Of course you dropped the coins on the floor and woke me up at 6:30.  And you sent me on an origami treasure hunt, finishing with an original Queen Amidala origami. It’s awesome.

I have been so stressed and so tired lately. The anxiety  has been giving me chest pains.  We have a house to move to, the stone one on 85 acres. And we have yet to sell our own home.  It is stressful. It’s hard to make plans when you have no idea what’s going to happen.  I have so many vegetables in pots in the backyard. They all fell over when the greenhouse crashed in the backyard, remember? We just got home from Comic-Con, which was less fun this year.  Maybe it was because I was tired. Or maybe it was because I was taking it too seriously. And the t-shirts weren’t as amazing as last year. And we didn’t get to walk around much, which I should have taken advantage of. Next year we are buying VIP passes and we will take our time.  And the costumes will be better. We did Han Solo, Luke and Leia. You and Dad looked amazing. I looked kinda pathetic. It was ok. My expectations were too high. But we did get to meet Dan Parent.  Anyways, back to moving.  I’d like to move now.  It’s time.  But God has other plans, and I don’t know what they are yet. And today at church, I just broke down because I am so confused and frustrated.  But I know God will take care of us. He always does, no matter what. And if we don’t move to that stone house, well.. I won’t die.  I’ll just have more vegetables then I know what to do with.

But back to Mother’s Day.

You are so incredibly cool. And I love that at nine, you are still my best friend. In a non-creepy way.

I love you, Mister.


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