You’re getting taller and your world keeps getting bigger. You’re growing up. That’s the way the world works. You’re moving farther away from me. It’s slow but it feels so fast. And my insides cave in a little.
This last year’s been a booger. Tears, sadness, joy. We’ve traveled lonely roads, rocky roads and open roads.
I want to kick and scratch at the world when you get hurt. Clear a fierce trail of mother love around you. I want to beat the world back with fists and teeth and razor words. I want to push you back from curbs and ledges and places filled with grey. I want to find your horizon line. I want your hand locked in mine till I see a well paved road for you to walk.
The woman you are becoming I cannot make for you. I can only show. With words and actions and my own mistakes.
You must fall. Cry. Kick. Stomp. Fail. Break. Fly. Bruise. Heal.
Learn to be brave. To be afraid. Fear with good strong legs. That’s all bravery is.
Take Girl Wonder sized steps. They don’t need to be any bigger than you.
When the world is throwing daggers or question marks, I’m right here. I’m a mother spooner. You’re never so big I can’t curve around you. I can hold your head in my lap or lead us on a wild rumpus around the kitchen; shimmying and shaking till the Joy stash is filled.
Find yourself. Through kindness, compassion, generosity and laughter. Wear these things like rock star purple plaid pants.
Stand convicted. Convinced. That you know your heart and mind.
Find that thing that makes you lose yourself, which takes the noisy world and shoves it in a box. Don’t be afraid to work for it. Your level of appreciation is directly related to your sweat output.
Dream something big and jungle wild. Make it happen.
Always wear your seatbelt.
You’re smart and funny. You’re independent. You’re resilient. Own it. Don’t forget it.
What was the wisest advice you got in those scaly upside-down teen years?