An Open Letter to My Daughter on Her 6th Birthday

May 14

May 14 An Open Letter to My Daughter on Her 6th Birthday

Bianca—

I’ve always struggled with the definition of home. You and Oliver know I am an only child. I spent most of my childhood surrounded by books and pets. The community we lived in for the bulk of my growing up years wasn’t one my parents took a lot of time to invest in. They worked full time. I was in daycare or at school. Time wasn’t something they really had and, as far as I know, they thought it rained too much to be a place that would be their forever. It was a means to an end.

I still don’t know where they wanted that end to be. Idaho for my dad. Maybe the islands for my mom?

But, because I spent summers with my grandparents in Waterville and saw how tight the community was there, I thought a place like that would be more home than the places I lived had been. I started searching for—and creating—communities so that I could feel a part of something bigger.

I started with my university and my sorority. Then, I picked neighborhoods in Seattle that felt more close knit. I joined groups and found roommates. I built and built and built.

I continued to search.

I married your dad and we had you and Oliver.

And it wasn’t until I sat in a group of twenty other writers at a retreat on Orcas Island that I realized home was never a place.

Home is us, our family.

At that retreat, we were challenged to write a poem answering an essential question we ask ourselves. I had asked myself what home is. The second layer of the challenge was to write the poem from the perspective of someone who knew the answer to our question.

You hold the answer. You are the answer.

So, here’s the poem I wrote—from you. It shows exactly where we are in our relationship right now.

Mama—

I drew you a picture.

It’s you and me and Dada and Oliver.

And Prima and Harry Potter, too.

Did you notice I made the kitties out of hearts, Mama?

Mama, I picked a flower for you and wrote you a note.

I wrote “I love you,” and I left the flower with the note where you would see it.

Did you see it, Mama?

Hold my hand for we can twirl. Mama!

Dance with me, Mama! Can we dance now?

Huggy, Mama! I want a huggy!

Can I help you, Mama? I’m a really good helper.

Which book should I read you first, Mama?

I’m a really good reader—

just like you.

Mama, I drew you a picture.

It’s you and me and Dad and Oliver.

And Prima and Harry Potter, too.

The thing about you, Bianca, is you are the biggest-hearted little mommy I’ve ever met. You love your kitties. You love your friends. You love pretty things. And you don’t care who knows it.

We had a Hello Kitty spa birthday party with your friends at our house this year. And tonight we’ll go to Ulta to get you six things for turning six. Sephora’s five-product haul last year was a little pricey, so we’ll see how Ulta compares—ha!

You are a gift every year. I hope you never forget, never question how much you are loved and celebrated. After all, you gave me the biggest gift of all—a true sense of home.

I love you,