Dear Sara Bear,

I’ll write the same to Kelly on her next letter, but for the first time since I started these letters, I’m consolidating months.  The holidays have been wacky busy, but very good.  And well honestly, I’ve discovered in order to be happy staying at home, I must have “something else” besides you and Kelly.  My complete and undying devotion to you both created a state of unbalance.  For Mommy to thrive, Mommy must have a life of her own.  Not big.  Not famous.  Not even income-producing (although Lordy that would be niiiice)….but something.  We’ll laugh about it in the years to come, but The Gifts War has filled a large void for me.  I do a bit of it every single day and I find it energizes and interests me.  Putting something other than my Mommy Brain into gear has turned out to be very healthy.

You’ve been very busy too.  You announced to Daddy last week at Wal-Mart that we’ve officially priced every single thing in the city.  I try never to Gifts War with you and Kelly, but sometimes, the three of us just have to hit a store together.  You love it, but Kelly has zero patience for digging for bargains.  You love to search for fun items and then ask “Is this in our price range?  No?  We’ll have to wait for a sale.  Do you have a coupon for it?  Where is the closest scanner?  Maybe we should check it just in case.”  The only thing official is that you’ve priced every Elmo doll at every Target in Indianapolis.  Nope kiddio, those are never, ever, ever under $5.  Not even with a coupon.

You’re no dummy and you insist on a fair wage as my fellow shopper.  I think you have every dollar section of every store memorized on every side of this city.  It never fails that we walk out with 100 items, along with one princess lollipop, and one gooshy sticky ball that I call “the germ catcher”, and a little something you pick out for Kelly.  Basically, you charge anywhere from $1 to $3 per store, based on the extent of your shopping consultant agreement.  I don’t even want to talk about the night we bought 800 bows and 1500 sheets of tissue paper.  Or what about the day I buried you in self-sticking gift tags?  Or the night I begged you not to break the Dreidel shaped cookie jar?  That night, you earned two princess lolllipops.  If it drags on too long, we call Avery.  You and Avery chat on the phone like old sorority sisters.  When she asked you what you were doing, you very matter of factly stated, “We’re buying 40 rolls of wrapping paper.” Like duh.  Doesn’t everybody buy 40 rolls of wrapping paper on December 30th? (All paper goes 75% off not ON the 31st, but the NIGHT of the 30th….do whatever you like with that information…go wild.)

You seem more interested in math these days than reading.  And by interested, I mean you mention “numbery” things more than “lettery things”.  Oh yes, that’s what you call words, “lettery things”.  You named a stuffed dog “Letter”.  I was hoping that meant you were warming up to letters, but not so much.  The good news is that we have so much fun at Meijer in the produce section.  You weigh every single thing we buy, and you say, “I’m going to scale it Mommy”.  I know you are only repeating things you’ve heard me say, but last week you marched up to the string beans, picked up a handful and said, “Ugh.  These are less fresh than last week’s, but better than Wal-Mart’s.  Still, it makes me miss the summer.  You fill up the bag Mommy and I’ll go scale it.”  I nearly fell on the floor in a heap of giggles.  Do I sound that ridiculous?  I suppose I do!

I’m hoping all of this time I’m dedicating to The Gifts War is actually a good thing for you and Kelly.  First, it shows that it’s important to give of your time to things outside of our family.  Daddy and I are very specific and dedicated about our charitable time and money.  We sincerely hope you and Kelly get IT: we ALL have more than enough.  You  must give.  And then give.  And then give some more.  Not just to anything…read, talk about it, call and visit the places where you choose to donate…and then give of your time if you can.  Time is more valuable than money, and something we wish we had more of.

Second, The Gifts War is an education in budgeting.  4000 items costing less than $5, but I only have a budget that allows for an average cost of $2.44 per item.  You’ve already learned that not everything we want can be bought.  You’ve learned that money is indeed finite.  You’ve saved money in your piggy bank and carefully saved for a toy trumpet and a princess phone.  You’ve also told me that you’ll never visit another Big Lots as long as you live.  Too gross.  Too smelly.  And in the end, you’ve learned that waiting means you get to keep some of your money.  I know this because when you handed me a box of Kleenex out of my bathroom and offered me one, I said, “No thanks, I don’t need a Kleenex right now.”  You replied, “Take the Kleenex Mommy.  It’s 75% off and it’s not going to get cheaper than this.”

You grow more inquisitive every day.  Most days by 4pm, I tell you that you’re out of whys.  SOOOO OUT.  No more whys until tomorrow.  If that sounds awful, just know that it’s a desperate act of self-preservation.

Example: Lydia is allergic to cats.  We swept out the guest room and then blocked the cat door so that the cats could not meander into her area of the house while she visited.  THIS had to be explored by you in great detail.  After all, the concept of allergies is endlessly fascinating to a 3 year old.  Last night when we were, yet again, talking about your sleeping/not sleeping/never going to go to sleep “stuff”, you responded with, “Can people be allergic to light bulbs?  Do you think someone could be allergic to the color green?”  And that completes the list.  You’ve now listed every single thing on earth to which someone could be allergic.  It took you 2 weeks of non-stop listing, but you’ve made it.  Thank you Lydia…Sara is giving up a future career in surgery to become an allergist.

When interviewed for something at school, you told a fellow student’s Mom that you’re going to grow up to be a trumpet playing doctor.  She thought she’d found your sense of humor until she asked you about your favorite subject at preschool, to which you answered, “I’m not prepared to answer that question at this time.” And then you walked away.  Later that week, you told me you’re going to be the BEST doctor in the WHOLE WORLD.  When you become a doctor, you’ll wear red.  Until you are tired of wearing red, when you’ll next wear blue.  And you’ll walk around all day doing docter-y things.  And you’ll be the BEST trumpet player in the WHOLE WORLD.  What you lack in focus you gain in specificity.

You’re suddenly my little chatterbox sidekick: easy to transport, fun to have around when I drop a snow globe in the Target parking lot.  You’re finally excited to see new places and look at new things.  School has brought out the best in you and given you a peace.  Some call it school, I call it therapy.  Whatever.  We’re all happier for it.  I’m so over the guilt of not being enough for you.  I’m just glad we are in a place of “enough”.   Dare I whisper the words, “More than enough”?  Am I there?  More importantly, are WE there?  Have the endless cheers of my friends, “it gets easier” come to an end?  Whisper it with me Duck…”please God, let this part last just a little longer…”

Some dreams are worth the wait,

Mommy