Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Our little Hostess
Dear Scarlett,
Nonnie and Pops just left, and you are so exhausted that you passed out on your back in your crib and are just lying there like "a fat old man"--Aunt Lizzie's words. I don't normally use this space to make fun of you, but seriously, I can see you in the video monitor right now and there is something about your hair and the angle of the camera...basically, and I swear I am not exaggerating, you bear a striking resemblance to Kim Jong Il.
Nonnie did not cry on the way to the airport, even though I know she wanted to. No matter how much time she and Pops spend with you, it's not enough (for any of us.) Still they ignore my requests that they leave their friends and family to move across the country. Maybe by the time you're reading this, we will have convinced them.
You had a great time with your visitors. First Aunt Cathy, Rachel and Anne were here and we shopped and ate and ate and shopped. The first day they were here we helped stop a shoplifter on Haight Street. I saw him leave with a black purse stuffed into his bag and told the store manager. She ran after him, and Aunt Lizzie ran after her, while I called the police. It was high drama, but the good guys won. And no one was harmed, not even the bag.
You have decided that your new goal in life is to make everyone laugh and clap, so you did a lot of Tough Guy face and So Big whenever your cousins were in the room. You like to take breaks from your meals to wave at everyone in the kitchen. Another attractive new habit is running your hands through your hair while they are full of food.
You are a big eater these days. Blueberries, broccoli, toast, and macaroni and cheese with spinach are a few of your favorite things. When offered string cheese, you laugh maniacally as if your evil plan worked, and then devour it piece by piece, stopping only to tense up your entire body and grunt until more cheese appears in front of you. Ah, you are my daughter.
Pops got to town on Wednesday and it took you about 10 minutes to remember that you are obsessed with him. He counts to 10 while he's holding you and you will often lean in to kiss him in the middle of it. You went to the Academy of Science and saw fish and butterflies, took Nonnie to music class for the first time, swung at the park and met other babies, turned 10 months, went to a Bears/Packers party, and read one million books.
It's going to seem very quiet here this week.
Love,
Mom
Nonnie and Pops just left, and you are so exhausted that you passed out on your back in your crib and are just lying there like "a fat old man"--Aunt Lizzie's words. I don't normally use this space to make fun of you, but seriously, I can see you in the video monitor right now and there is something about your hair and the angle of the camera...basically, and I swear I am not exaggerating, you bear a striking resemblance to Kim Jong Il.
Nonnie did not cry on the way to the airport, even though I know she wanted to. No matter how much time she and Pops spend with you, it's not enough (for any of us.) Still they ignore my requests that they leave their friends and family to move across the country. Maybe by the time you're reading this, we will have convinced them.
You had a great time with your visitors. First Aunt Cathy, Rachel and Anne were here and we shopped and ate and ate and shopped. The first day they were here we helped stop a shoplifter on Haight Street. I saw him leave with a black purse stuffed into his bag and told the store manager. She ran after him, and Aunt Lizzie ran after her, while I called the police. It was high drama, but the good guys won. And no one was harmed, not even the bag.
You have decided that your new goal in life is to make everyone laugh and clap, so you did a lot of Tough Guy face and So Big whenever your cousins were in the room. You like to take breaks from your meals to wave at everyone in the kitchen. Another attractive new habit is running your hands through your hair while they are full of food.
You are a big eater these days. Blueberries, broccoli, toast, and macaroni and cheese with spinach are a few of your favorite things. When offered string cheese, you laugh maniacally as if your evil plan worked, and then devour it piece by piece, stopping only to tense up your entire body and grunt until more cheese appears in front of you. Ah, you are my daughter.
Pops got to town on Wednesday and it took you about 10 minutes to remember that you are obsessed with him. He counts to 10 while he's holding you and you will often lean in to kiss him in the middle of it. You went to the Academy of Science and saw fish and butterflies, took Nonnie to music class for the first time, swung at the park and met other babies, turned 10 months, went to a Bears/Packers party, and read one million books.
It's going to seem very quiet here this week.
Love,
Mom
Monday, January 24, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Something to think about
Dear Scarlett,
When I was in high school, there were boys in my classes who would sniff pixie stix. They would scream when the sugar burned their noses, and then they would sniff more of it. And all I'm saying here is that you kind of reminded me of those boys tonight when you kept drinking water out of the bathtub and choking on it, and then going back for more.
Love,
Mom
When I was in high school, there were boys in my classes who would sniff pixie stix. They would scream when the sugar burned their noses, and then they would sniff more of it. And all I'm saying here is that you kind of reminded me of those boys tonight when you kept drinking water out of the bathtub and choking on it, and then going back for more.
Love,
Mom
Monday, January 17, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Happy Birthday to Dad!
Dear Scarlett,
Today is Dad's birthday. I won't write his age, lest he try to chase me down and end up embarrassed because I'm fast and he's so old. But it is his birthday, so let's be nice to him. Isn't he cute?
You and Dad have a very special relationship, and not just because you share the same face. Every morning, you and I wake Dad up. We sneak into bed with him around 6:30 and you pounce on him, squealing. Dad gives you his watch to play with and you mostly ignore us for a while. Then the two of you play a game where you try to climb up the bedframe and when you've reached the top, you let go, falling into Dad and laughing hysterically.
When Dad comes home from work, you are often in your highchair having dinner. Your face breaks into a huge smile when you see him, and you stare at him the entire time he's in the room, halfheartedly eating your meal, while you make sure that you have his undivided attention.
In the evenings after dinner, Dad gives you your bath. I think it's one of his favorite times of day. You splash in the water and play with your Sea Party animals. Dad shampoos your hair and wraps you in a big towel. He sings a song and most of the words are "Scrub."
I know you are going to love your Dad more and more as you get older. Sometimes I bet I'll be jealous of the two of you. When you're allowed to watch TV, he's going to teach you to appreciate football. He'll show you how to ride a bike, and how to ski. He'll help you with your history homework and add his own commentary to whatever you're learning. He'll probably let you try wine.
This is a big birthday for Dad because he's never been a Dad on his birthday before. And he is really, really good at it.
Love,
Mom
Today is Dad's birthday. I won't write his age, lest he try to chase me down and end up embarrassed because I'm fast and he's so old. But it is his birthday, so let's be nice to him. Isn't he cute?
You and Dad have a very special relationship, and not just because you share the same face. Every morning, you and I wake Dad up. We sneak into bed with him around 6:30 and you pounce on him, squealing. Dad gives you his watch to play with and you mostly ignore us for a while. Then the two of you play a game where you try to climb up the bedframe and when you've reached the top, you let go, falling into Dad and laughing hysterically.
When Dad comes home from work, you are often in your highchair having dinner. Your face breaks into a huge smile when you see him, and you stare at him the entire time he's in the room, halfheartedly eating your meal, while you make sure that you have his undivided attention.
In the evenings after dinner, Dad gives you your bath. I think it's one of his favorite times of day. You splash in the water and play with your Sea Party animals. Dad shampoos your hair and wraps you in a big towel. He sings a song and most of the words are "Scrub."
I know you are going to love your Dad more and more as you get older. Sometimes I bet I'll be jealous of the two of you. When you're allowed to watch TV, he's going to teach you to appreciate football. He'll show you how to ride a bike, and how to ski. He'll help you with your history homework and add his own commentary to whatever you're learning. He'll probably let you try wine.
This is a big birthday for Dad because he's never been a Dad on his birthday before. And he is really, really good at it.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Tangled Up in Scout
Dear Scarlett,
Let me paint you a picture: It is 7am. A 32-year-old woman takes a cup of tea and walks down a long hallway in her pajama bottoms and a sweater. She has a scratch mark on her forehead, and two bite marks in the shape of tiny horseshoes on her arm. She is wearing glasses that have baby fingerprint smudges on them. This is your mother, a person who is confused about how she has come to be a woman in her 30s when she stops to think about it, because she still has graspable memories of Capture the Flag and performing emergency operations on ants with pine needles (of this she is not so proud.) She can remember a time when she decided she would name her 4 children Opal, Ruby, Emerald and Diamond and when she thought that there were only 5 possible occupations in life: author, teacher, lawyer, doctor, actor. She wanted to be an author.
The reason your mother looks like she had a fight with a small, angry animal is because she brought you to bed with her at 4:45am. You were doing the "sad cry" and she just couldn't bear it anymore, even though you probably only did it for less than 2 minutes before switching to an annoyed whine that is easier to ignore. After you nursed for a while, you decided to start biting and thrashing around, and your mom was too, too tired to do anything but lie there and hope you fell asleep. Which eventually you did.
Do you want to know more about her? I can tell you that she sometimes shares too much information. For example, she is currently treating a nasty case of athlete's foot that she likely picked up at either the nail salon or the yoga studio. See? She has a job that was not one of the original five, and on most days she likes it very much. She has been knitting you the same pink scarf since before you were born.
It's not the most glamorous picture, I agree, but it describes me today. You should also know that I actually wash my glasses every day, though it doesn't seem to make much difference. I probably need a new yoga mat. I normally don't let people bite me.
And I love you.
Mom
Let me paint you a picture: It is 7am. A 32-year-old woman takes a cup of tea and walks down a long hallway in her pajama bottoms and a sweater. She has a scratch mark on her forehead, and two bite marks in the shape of tiny horseshoes on her arm. She is wearing glasses that have baby fingerprint smudges on them. This is your mother, a person who is confused about how she has come to be a woman in her 30s when she stops to think about it, because she still has graspable memories of Capture the Flag and performing emergency operations on ants with pine needles (of this she is not so proud.) She can remember a time when she decided she would name her 4 children Opal, Ruby, Emerald and Diamond and when she thought that there were only 5 possible occupations in life: author, teacher, lawyer, doctor, actor. She wanted to be an author.
The reason your mother looks like she had a fight with a small, angry animal is because she brought you to bed with her at 4:45am. You were doing the "sad cry" and she just couldn't bear it anymore, even though you probably only did it for less than 2 minutes before switching to an annoyed whine that is easier to ignore. After you nursed for a while, you decided to start biting and thrashing around, and your mom was too, too tired to do anything but lie there and hope you fell asleep. Which eventually you did.
Do you want to know more about her? I can tell you that she sometimes shares too much information. For example, she is currently treating a nasty case of athlete's foot that she likely picked up at either the nail salon or the yoga studio. See? She has a job that was not one of the original five, and on most days she likes it very much. She has been knitting you the same pink scarf since before you were born.
It's not the most glamorous picture, I agree, but it describes me today. You should also know that I actually wash my glasses every day, though it doesn't seem to make much difference. I probably need a new yoga mat. I normally don't let people bite me.
And I love you.
Mom
Monday, January 3, 2011
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