A letter from Scarlett, as dictated to Mommy

Dear Nonnie,
Hi. I want to say hi to Nonnie. Hi Nonnie! It's your birthday! Hi Nonnie! Nonnie's not home yet. I want to watch Snowflake. I love you. NO! I want to watch Snowflake! I'm dancing. I gonna play at Recess, Nonnie. Happy Birthday Nonnie!

This is a picture of Scout. And that's a doggie.

Love,
Scarlett

My Girl

Dear Scarlett,
At the beginning of this year, I resolved to write you two letters a month. I think by this measure I'm not totally failing, but I do worry that it's not often enough to track all of your hilarious doings and sayings. You make me laugh every day. You also make me crazy every day. I probably deserve it. I don't think I was a particularly easy child.

But in many ways you are an easy child. You are cuddly, and quick to be soothed. You barely ever cry, unless you are fake crying and you get yourself worked up into a real cry. You only need band-aids for aesthetic purposes (this is not to say you don't have bumps and bruises, just that you don't care about them.) Lately, you even let me wear my hair up on occasion. Especially in the kitchen, where we've been discussing hygiene. "We don't want to get food in the hair," you'll say. Close enough.

We have been playing around with different voices. "I want a chocolate cookie," you'll sing in a falsetto. Then you'll say the same thing in your "low voice," which sounds exactly like the creepy kid from The Shining. Red Rum. Look it up.

I've signed you up for tumbling this summer, and you, Dad and I are going to take an Italian class together in July. We're trying to get you ready for your Italian immersion preschool, which starts in August. I think the Italian will likely come in handy more than the tumbling, but you never know. Being able to tuck and roll is a good skill to have when you're trying to steal someone else's snack. Please don't get kicked out of preschool.

You are infatuated with balloons. Nothing makes you happier. "I need a balloon right now, please!" you have been known to yell from your crib. Today we went to get you three new balloons, because we've been talking about doing it for days. When I told you we were going, your entire body started twitching. "Are you excited?" I asked. "YES!" you screamed. You picked three Mylar balloons. Elmo, an orange star, and a ladybug. You named the star Twinkle Twinkle and the ladybug Tigger. When we got home, Twinkle Twinkle made an escape attempt and actually got a block away before getting tangled in a bush, where we captured it. I ran back to our car, yelling "I got Twinkle Twinkle!" Then we high-fived.

 I think we can do anything.

 Love, Mom

Toddlering

Dear Scarlett,
You are in bed, Dad is at work, and I am sitting amidst a pile of papers in the dining room streaming Jack White's new album. I'm ostensibly getting organized, but what is really happening is that I'm slowly shaking off the day. It was not our best. For the past two days you've had a really hard time listening and following instructions. I realize you're two. But you've actually been much better at this in the recent past. Today you ran away from me numerous times in public places, once directly towards a parking lot, where a total stranger had to stop you. You broke a glass, you knocked everything off the coffee table, you refused to get into your car seat, you poured your snack all over the floor. I will admit, I was very angry with you. And with myself, because I need to be more prepared for this behavior, and more able to deal with it patiently. Today is also a day (not the first) that I seriously considered getting you a child leash. Ugh, just seeing those words is horrible. But watching you nearly run into a crowded parking lot was definitely more horrible. In the car on the way home, you said "When Mommy calls you, you have to stop." But I think you're just paying lip service to that concept.

So it was a rough day, but we've also had a lot of successes lately that I want to write about. You got your green ribbon in swim class for swimming all on your own, including kicking and paddling. You are potty trained, and it was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be. You are funny and conversational, though still bossy. When you want me or Dad to do something now, you just inform us that we will do it. "Mommy will sit down," you'll say, gesturing to the spot where I'm supposed to be. When I tell you to ask politely, you'll throw in a cursory "please" with a look on your face that I expect to see a lot more of when you're 15.

On Tuesday morning of last week, you woke up to find that Pops had arrived for a visit. You were so excited, you couldn't stand still for the rest of the week. We rode the cable car, went to the aquarium, watched Uncle Rob's softball game, and danced at the Farmer's Market. Pops even got to see you receive your swimming ribbon. Now that I think about it, maybe all of your naughtiness is a response to Pop's departure. I miss him, too.

But I am optimistic that things will improve. After all, tomorrow is another day.

Love,
Mom

A Family Photo

A Visit to Chicago

Dear Scarlett,
We just returned from a week-long trip to Chicago. Aside from the airplane rides, we had a terrific time, but with the airplane rides, it was like a little slice of hell. On our way there, you demanded to get out of your seat the entire time, refused to nap, and spent the descent screaming at the top of your lungs (probably because your ears hurt and you refused to drink or eat anything I was offering you. Luckily, I finally found a one-year-old lollipop in the bottom of my bag and that kept you quiet for the last minute before touchdown, until you wanted another one.) I was sweating, putting my hand over your mouth, singing to you, telling you stories, trying to shove yogurt bites into your mouth, and doing everything I could to avoid eye contact with the other passengers.

On the way back to San Francisco, you threw your tantrum before we even boarded the plane. I had to carry you kicking and screaming down the aisle, while all people around us secretly hoped that we would not be sitting anywhere near them. As an aside, I could write an entire paragraph on United Airlines refusal to pre-board families, but by the time you're reading this, that airline won't exist anymore, so really, what's the point? Once the flight started, you were actually pretty good, because I let you have three lollipops and play with my iPad. But you still didn't nap.



In between flights, we stayed with Nonnie and Pops, who threw you a birthday party and doted on you every moment. On the two days when you woke up at 4:45 for no apparent reason, Pops got up and played with you so I could go back to bed. Nonnie showed you a video of an owl and a star dancing to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and it became your new obsession. You made several jokes, including adding "Uncle" to the beginning of everyone's name: Uncle Pops, Uncle Shishie, Uncle Layla, Uncle Banana, Uncle Mommy's Jacket...and laughed uncontrollably. You made a brief appearance at Shishie's baby shower and dropped a cracker into each of her gift bags. When you spilled your whole fruit salad in the present pile, we decided it was time for you to leave.

Nonnie watched you one night so Pops and I could go see The Hunger Games and have dinner at Uncle Paul's bar. That was an awesome night, and I realized it is really great and important to behave like an adult every now and then, even when that means going to see a PG-13 movie and eating macaroni and cheese and tater tots. We also had several play dates with your buddies Grace, Noah, Timmy, Tommy and Ava, and I am now kicking myself for forgetting to get pictures of that good-looking group.

When we got back to our house, you kissed me and danced in the kitchen. I know you had a great trip, but it is good to be home, to have all of our stuff, to be with Dad. This morning when you woke up, you immediately asked if you could go see him in bed. This afternoon you asked if he could come over. I can't wait to see your face when he gets home tonight.

Also of note: today was your 2-year doctor appointment. You are 30 pounds and 35.5 inches tall. The doctor estimates that you will be 5'9" or 5'10" when you are all grown. I'm so jealous. Maybe you can carry me around for a change once that happens.



Love,
Mom

This pretty much sums up the birthday reaction

Almost TWO

Dear Scarlett,
You are turning two tomorrow. To commemorate this important event, I thought I would give you an idea of what you do on your average day as an almost-two-year-old:

6:40am: Wake up, yelling Mommy Hair Down!!

6:45am: Climb into bed with Mom and Dad and tell us that you are a kitten or gorilla or meerkat or dragon. Make appropriate animal/fantasy creature noises. Sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

7am: Demand, quite suddenly, to go into the kitchen to listen to Animal Playground, your new favorite CD. Say things during breakfast like "I eating breakfast." and "Good morning Emma. Emma in the kitchen!" Sing. Tell Daddy bye-bye long before it is time for him to go, leaving him slightly insulted. Put cereal bowl on your head and explain that it is a hat.

7:30am: Chase the cats.

7:35-7:36am: Timeout for throwing Smokey.

7:40am: Play with puzzles. Dump all the pieces to at least 7 puzzles on the floor and then stand up and say "What happened here?"

8am: Back in Mommy's bed to read books before swim class. Halfway through any given story, grab the book out of Mom's hands and say "By self." Flip through the pages and ask "Who's that?" about every single illustration.

8:30am: Declare undying interest in going to swim class, but when it's time to get ready, announce you are staying home.

9:45am: Swim class. Teacher Nick puts on your goggles. Teacher Ben teaches you how to paddle. You yell "No fear" and jump into the water from a standing position instead of sitting like you are supposed to.

11am: Go out for brunch with Mom. Devour 2 entire pancakes the size of a dinner plate, plus a piece of cheese, a pumpkin banana pouch and some strawberries.

Noon: Ask if Daddy can come over.

1pm: Go into crib for nap. Sing for 45 minutes. At one point, I hear you fake crying and then saying "It's ok water. You bumped your head, water." Presumably you are saying this to the water cup you refuse to sleep without.

1:45pm: Stop singing and start yelling Mommy Hair Down!!

2pm: Fall asleep.

2:35pm: Wake up. Yell Mommy Hair Down!! for 15 minutes while Mom listens, secretly hoping you will fall back to sleep. You don't.

3pm: Go for a walk on Haight Street. Stop into your favorite store, The Cannabis Company, and spin around for a few minutes to hip hop. The store manager is used to this. Tell Mom that you are listening to "kitty cat music."

4pm: Playground. The swings are your favorite and you will sit in one the entire time we are at the park. Slides are suggested. You have a visceral reaction and remain in the swings.

5:30pm: Dinner. Though you have had several snacks, you eat a plate of couscous with peas, garbanzo beans, and cottage cheese. Request bunny crackers, but you hid them somewhere earlier so you have to eat normal shaped graham crackers instead. A minor tantrum ensues, but you gain control pretty quickly.

6:30pm: Fairy Tales with Dad in "Mommy bed." Count to ten, leaving out seven (every time) and ending with Big Fat Hen. Brush teeth.

7pm: Bed. Request that Dad sings the quintessential bedtime song Miss Mary Mack, which he doesn't know, so Mom comes in for a cameo. Dad then sings Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head and Here Comes the Sun and slowly backs out of the room.

Silence

7:15pm MOMMY HAIR DOWN!!

7:30pm Real silence. Dad opens a bottle of wine and gets two glasses.

We love you, big girl.
Mom