Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Smokey Goulding (1991-2012)

Dear Scarlett,
On May 11, we said goodbye to our dear cat Smokey. Smokey was a beautiful, 21-year-old Russian Blue with a feisty attitude and a penchant for eating human food. He often stalked around and under your high chair waiting for a stray garbanzo bean or some macaroni and cheese to roll his way. He did not ever wait long.

I first met Smokey in June of 2005 when I started dating Dad. They used to play a game where Dad would bounce Smokey in his arms, and then toss him in the air over the bed. When Smokey landed, he nuzzled right up to Dad to tell him he wanted to keep playing. Now Dad plays a similar game with you, but when you want more, you just yell "More bouncing again right now please!"

While we were living in New York, Smokey was diagnosed with kidney and thyroid diseases, and we had to put him on several medications. Despite this, he usually acted like a kitten, full of energy and very affectionate.

Smokey lived in Chicago, Boston, New York and San Francisco. He was a very worldly cat, whose favorite things included sitting on Dad's lap every evening, galloping down the hall at odd hours, ice cream, and Emma. And then sometimes not Emma. Smokey was a bit of an enigma. His opinion of you can best be described as dubious. As you will recall from earlier letters, you pulled his fur, grabbed him by his back legs, and generally tormented him with all of your "love." But to his credit, he didn't hold this against you much of the time. When you were very small, he would sit with us in the rocking chair while you nursed. And recently, he even started approaching you while you were reading on our bed. But if you turned too quickly or expressed too much interest in him, he was out of there. He just wanted to watch you.

The day we said goodbye to Smokey, we also said goodbye to your baby monitors. You announced that the one in your room was "scary" and that although the other one was "nice," you wanted neither of them around you. I asked you why one was scary and you said "Because it watches you." I can see how that would be somewhat discomforting, so we took the monitors away. But then it turned out you weren't really scared of them, you just wanted to hold them and talk about them all the time. After two weeks of the monitors being your constant companions ("the monitors are your friends" is a sentence that came out of your mouth more than once), I finally had to tell you that we gave them away to a family with a small baby.

Of Smokey, you sometimes say "Smokey went with the doctor. But he's coming back soon." And when I tell you Smokey is not coming back, you say "Oh yeah." And then you ask for your monitors.

The last thing you said to Smokey was "Hey Smokey, you good cat, you." He was a good cat. It's hard to believe he's gone.


Love,
Mom

Monday, May 21, 2012

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

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

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