Today You are Twelve

Hey Little Man,


I don’t think you understand how hard it is to see you grow up.

The benefits are plentiful. But I miss your littleness. I miss your snuggly dependency on me. Oh, you still snuggle, but of course, not as much as you used to.

You’re twelve. I don’t even.

In one year, we have ‘almost’ completed grade 6. I was distracted by gardening in the greenhouse, getting the chickens and garden set up, and we did go to NYC for two weeks, remember? Remember when we came back we found out that some things were broken? Like my favourite arm chair had rips in the arms? Some of your Nerf darts were broken? And that awful smell that took us 4 hours to figure out it was a sludge of dead bugs in your air conditioner?

You auditioned, and got into OJYO. You played beautifully. You played Beethoven’s 1st, parts of the Nutcracker, Danses Cubanes (where Angus said, more cowbell), La Gazza Ladra, Beethoven’s Egmont, Slavonic Dance, Ritual Fire Dance… and this year you are auditioning again. You are nervous. I’ve had to tell you that you are amazing, and that you will get in. Because you will.

You began gymnastics at Gymnosphere and your coach, Michael took you to new heights.  Spinning on the mushroom, rings, parallel bars…  and now you’ve left Gymnosphere and you followed Michael to Resolute Gymnastics which is thankfully in CP, but not for long.

You’ve helped dad with many tree jobs. You’ve picked bugs for me. You grew too many inches. You are now up to my nose.


I want to emphasize just how much you mean to me.  You are smart, kind, so funny, a good snuggler, and good encourager, make eggs like nobody’s business… and determined. So determined.

I adore you and admire you.


You’re at Calypso water park right now, on the coldest day of summer after a long drought.


I adore you and love you, my little monkey.


PS: pew pew.


You’re Nine

You turned nine recently.

You are so adorable.

We visited your school a few weeks ago, to drop something off. As we walked from the van to the school, I reached out for your hand. I gave it a squeeze and said, ‘I hope that when you’re older and holding my hand becomes embarrassing for you, that you’ll hold my hand at home, on the couch.’ And you said, ‘I feel kind of embarrassed I think.’  And I asked why. And then you shook your head, and took my hand in yours, firmly, and said, ‘if I have too much pride to hold your hand, then something is wrong with me.’

We had a bmx party.  Your father brought out a ramp, a piece of 2 x 4 that you were supposed to bike down, like a tight rope, and a ramp with a little ‘high jump’ bar.

It only took ten minutes for me to be bringing out the first aid kit.


You are smart. Kind. Compassionate. You are so tough and strong.  You always give me a kiss.  You laugh easily.  You make the best origami.

I’m crazy about you.


love mom.