Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Loud people
Dear Scarlett,
Today for lunch you tried a sweet basil and roasted garlic chicken sausage. You ate it with toothpicks, and I think I'll call it a semi-successful experience, because even though you didn't actually ingest any of the sausage, you did put each piece in your mouth at least once before spitting it onto the floor, where it was subsequently eaten by Smokey. Smokey, let me remind you, has kidney and thyroid disease and is not supposed to eat a lot of protein. So there you have it. My child-rearing skills and my cat-maintaining skills are in conflict and my reaction is just to be happy that someone ate the sausage. At one point when I told you that I wished you would put the sausage into your tummy, you aimed the toothpicks at your stomach.
As is typical these days, you talked throughout the entire meal. "Hello!" you yelled at the food. "Hugs," you told it. "Dada, home. Shishy, poops," you explained. Yesterday during nap, I heard you in your crib repeating the word "focus" for what seemed like a very long time. You did not nap at all.
We went to the East Bay this weekend to spend time with some friends and their young daughter. You had a great time at their house, dancing and playing with unfamiliar toys. But by the time we got to dinner, you had had enough. You yelled and fidgeted, cried and tossed food. Dad and I rushed through our meal. We enjoyed the company, but not your antics. It was pretty unusual behavior for you, so on our way home, I asked you if something was hurting you, thinking maybe your teeth were turning you into a dinner monster. Here's how that conversation went:
Me: Honey, is something hurting you? Do you have an ouchie?
You: Knees. [Your knees are a little skinned from a few recent tumbles.]
Me: Hmmmm. Yes, you have ouchies on your knees. Do you have ouchies anywhere else? Are your ears ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Are your teeth ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Is anything ouchie?
You: People.
Me: People are ouchie?
You: Loud.
Dad: You're just like your father, Scout.
I would like to point out that you were by far the loudest person in the restaurant, but I get it. Sometimes being around people is just too much. It can really be preferable to lie in one's crib, performing a monologue, which is what you're doing right now. Enjoy.
I love you,
Mom
Today for lunch you tried a sweet basil and roasted garlic chicken sausage. You ate it with toothpicks, and I think I'll call it a semi-successful experience, because even though you didn't actually ingest any of the sausage, you did put each piece in your mouth at least once before spitting it onto the floor, where it was subsequently eaten by Smokey. Smokey, let me remind you, has kidney and thyroid disease and is not supposed to eat a lot of protein. So there you have it. My child-rearing skills and my cat-maintaining skills are in conflict and my reaction is just to be happy that someone ate the sausage. At one point when I told you that I wished you would put the sausage into your tummy, you aimed the toothpicks at your stomach.
As is typical these days, you talked throughout the entire meal. "Hello!" you yelled at the food. "Hugs," you told it. "Dada, home. Shishy, poops," you explained. Yesterday during nap, I heard you in your crib repeating the word "focus" for what seemed like a very long time. You did not nap at all.
We went to the East Bay this weekend to spend time with some friends and their young daughter. You had a great time at their house, dancing and playing with unfamiliar toys. But by the time we got to dinner, you had had enough. You yelled and fidgeted, cried and tossed food. Dad and I rushed through our meal. We enjoyed the company, but not your antics. It was pretty unusual behavior for you, so on our way home, I asked you if something was hurting you, thinking maybe your teeth were turning you into a dinner monster. Here's how that conversation went:
Me: Honey, is something hurting you? Do you have an ouchie?
You: Knees. [Your knees are a little skinned from a few recent tumbles.]
Me: Hmmmm. Yes, you have ouchies on your knees. Do you have ouchies anywhere else? Are your ears ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Are your teeth ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Is anything ouchie?
You: People.
Me: People are ouchie?
You: Loud.
Dad: You're just like your father, Scout.
I would like to point out that you were by far the loudest person in the restaurant, but I get it. Sometimes being around people is just too much. It can really be preferable to lie in one's crib, performing a monologue, which is what you're doing right now. Enjoy.
I love you,
Mom
Friday, November 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
My Big Girl
Dear Scarlett,
It is past time for me to stop referring to you as "the baby." As you will readily tell me, you are now a big girl. You want to do everything on your own, announcing "SELF" and brushing our hands away when we try to help you. "Do you want help?" I'll ask, to which you respond "Oh, no no" without making eye contact. I know, I can be so annoying sometimes when you just want to put your sweater on your legs and head out for a walk.
We spent a weekend in Indiana at Uncle John and Aunt Jamie's house, followed by a week with Nonnie and Pops in Oak Park. I don't know exactly how it happened, but you suddenly know most of your primary colors (plus pink) and numbers up to ten. I guess I need to give credit where credit is due to my school teacher parents. Pops has been working on numbers with you since you were two weeks old. You have always seemed to enjoy hearing him count.
You love to sing and are now the unofficial president of the Raffi fan club. "Raffi?" you say in the morning when you wake up. "Raffi?" you say 100 times a day after that. We own two Raffi CDs and I now hear them in my head all the time. Or wait, maybe it's not just in my head. They basically play on repeat 12 hours a day in the car, the kitchen, and your bedroom. Nonnie and Pops and I were sitting on the couch one night last week and I started to sing Sodeo. "Ugh," Nonnie said. "Why would you do that?"
Today was a really good day. You and I went to music class, visited Dad at work, tasted cheese at the Ferry Building and took a long walk along the Bay. We sat together watching the water, the Bay Bridge, the birds. You were pretty excited about the birds and did not like it when they flew away. I tried to explain that it's just what birds do, they fly, but you wanted to keep them there. So I suggested you sing to them and you chose that perennial favorite, Raffi's Going to the Zoo. "Zoo, zoo, zoo," you serenaded the birds. Some still flew away, but I think it was just to tell their friends about the free entertainment.
Sometime in October you started reading your books with us, which basically means that you have memorized them and say the words before we do. I first noticed this with the rhyming book Pops made you for your first birthday. Your mind (the minds of all toddlers really) is so amazing to me. You are taking in so much, making all of these connections, and beginning to really participate and converse with us. A typical discussion might go something like this:
Me: Time to get in your stroller.
You: Oh, no no.
Me: You don't want to ride in your stroller? What do you want to do?
You: Walk.
Me: Ok, but please take that sweater off your legs.
Love,
Mom
It is past time for me to stop referring to you as "the baby." As you will readily tell me, you are now a big girl. You want to do everything on your own, announcing "SELF" and brushing our hands away when we try to help you. "Do you want help?" I'll ask, to which you respond "Oh, no no" without making eye contact. I know, I can be so annoying sometimes when you just want to put your sweater on your legs and head out for a walk.
We spent a weekend in Indiana at Uncle John and Aunt Jamie's house, followed by a week with Nonnie and Pops in Oak Park. I don't know exactly how it happened, but you suddenly know most of your primary colors (plus pink) and numbers up to ten. I guess I need to give credit where credit is due to my school teacher parents. Pops has been working on numbers with you since you were two weeks old. You have always seemed to enjoy hearing him count.
You love to sing and are now the unofficial president of the Raffi fan club. "Raffi?" you say in the morning when you wake up. "Raffi?" you say 100 times a day after that. We own two Raffi CDs and I now hear them in my head all the time. Or wait, maybe it's not just in my head. They basically play on repeat 12 hours a day in the car, the kitchen, and your bedroom. Nonnie and Pops and I were sitting on the couch one night last week and I started to sing Sodeo. "Ugh," Nonnie said. "Why would you do that?"
Today was a really good day. You and I went to music class, visited Dad at work, tasted cheese at the Ferry Building and took a long walk along the Bay. We sat together watching the water, the Bay Bridge, the birds. You were pretty excited about the birds and did not like it when they flew away. I tried to explain that it's just what birds do, they fly, but you wanted to keep them there. So I suggested you sing to them and you chose that perennial favorite, Raffi's Going to the Zoo. "Zoo, zoo, zoo," you serenaded the birds. Some still flew away, but I think it was just to tell their friends about the free entertainment.
Sometime in October you started reading your books with us, which basically means that you have memorized them and say the words before we do. I first noticed this with the rhyming book Pops made you for your first birthday. Your mind (the minds of all toddlers really) is so amazing to me. You are taking in so much, making all of these connections, and beginning to really participate and converse with us. A typical discussion might go something like this:
Me: Time to get in your stroller.
You: Oh, no no.
Me: You don't want to ride in your stroller? What do you want to do?
You: Walk.
Me: Ok, but please take that sweater off your legs.
Love,
Mom
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Halloween 2011
Dear Scarlett,
You tried your first piece of Halloween candy today. It was a mini Milky Way bar--I bought the bag to give out candy to trick or treaters, except no one rang our bell. Or maybe they rang our bell while we were out trick or treating, I can't be sure. Either way, we ended up with a full bowl of Milky Way bars and Starburst packs, and you have enjoyed emptying the bowl all over the floor and then, well, sitting in the bowl.
But earlier today, you managed to open one of the Milky Way bars, and you brought it to me. I told you it was edible and you seemed to believe me, but after one bite, you ripped it into pieces and placed it all on the kitchen counter (you're very tall.) I was sort of impressed that you didn't want to eat the chocolate. Later in the day, however, you opened another piece, again brought it to me, and we shared it. You got so excited that you jumped on the bed for 5 minutes. And then you threw up. It's 10pm and I'm still waiting for the sheets to dry. Yes, my fault.
You love to jump on the bed. Every night after dinner, you run into my room (also Dad's room) and yell "BED!" We let you up there until you decide it's ok to pet the cats with your feet. It's not ok. That's called kicking. But when you're behaving, you will stand in the middle of the bed and say "Three, two, three" and then flop backwards, leading with your head. This is sufficiently frightening to me that I usually stay in the kitchen during these exercises. Lucky for you, Dad thinks it's highly entertaining.
You're getting very good at counting. If I say one, you'll say two. Then I say three, and you usually say "FLOP!" So we'll keep working on numbers.
In other news, Dad bought a bike with a seat for you, and you are now obsessed. When you wake up, you either demand to go on the bike, or you demand to put on your ladybug Halloween costume. Or you demand to listen to music. "MYSTIC!" You're very demanding. I think I need to hide the ladybug now that Halloween is over. You wore it 4 different days last week (once with starfish glasses.) You also found time to don your bumblebee costume from Aunt Bev at least three times. It was a good week.
Love,
Mom
You tried your first piece of Halloween candy today. It was a mini Milky Way bar--I bought the bag to give out candy to trick or treaters, except no one rang our bell. Or maybe they rang our bell while we were out trick or treating, I can't be sure. Either way, we ended up with a full bowl of Milky Way bars and Starburst packs, and you have enjoyed emptying the bowl all over the floor and then, well, sitting in the bowl.
But earlier today, you managed to open one of the Milky Way bars, and you brought it to me. I told you it was edible and you seemed to believe me, but after one bite, you ripped it into pieces and placed it all on the kitchen counter (you're very tall.) I was sort of impressed that you didn't want to eat the chocolate. Later in the day, however, you opened another piece, again brought it to me, and we shared it. You got so excited that you jumped on the bed for 5 minutes. And then you threw up. It's 10pm and I'm still waiting for the sheets to dry. Yes, my fault.
You love to jump on the bed. Every night after dinner, you run into my room (also Dad's room) and yell "BED!" We let you up there until you decide it's ok to pet the cats with your feet. It's not ok. That's called kicking. But when you're behaving, you will stand in the middle of the bed and say "Three, two, three" and then flop backwards, leading with your head. This is sufficiently frightening to me that I usually stay in the kitchen during these exercises. Lucky for you, Dad thinks it's highly entertaining.
You're getting very good at counting. If I say one, you'll say two. Then I say three, and you usually say "FLOP!" So we'll keep working on numbers.
In other news, Dad bought a bike with a seat for you, and you are now obsessed. When you wake up, you either demand to go on the bike, or you demand to put on your ladybug Halloween costume. Or you demand to listen to music. "MYSTIC!" You're very demanding. I think I need to hide the ladybug now that Halloween is over. You wore it 4 different days last week (once with starfish glasses.) You also found time to don your bumblebee costume from Aunt Bev at least three times. It was a good week.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Minister's Daughter
Dear Scarlett,
Gay marriage became legal in New York on July 24, 2011. It was big news--and great news. This weekend, our friends Lem and Derek, who have been together for 10 years, made their relationship official in a beautiful wedding ceremony, which Dad and I attended. Well, I attended. Dad had a slightly larger role. A few days before the wedding, Dad and I received an email from Derek. The friend who was going to officiate the wedding had a family emergency, and Derek was asking if Dad would marry them. It was such an unbelievable honor.
Of course Dad said yes right away, and then we set out to get him ordained as a minister. A surprisingly simple process, but with that kind of timing, we did have to get some paperwork overnighted to New York so that it would be there when he arrived, and he then had to spend some time at the City Clerk's office in order to register as a Minister in New York. Dad said the City Clerk's office was one of the happiest places he's ever been, full of people getting married or getting their marriage licenses, and all so excited about what the future held for them.
Dad worked hard writing the ceremony for the wedding, putting down his thoughts about what marriage means to him. He told Lem and Derek and 120 wedding guests that the most successful relationships he's been around have a few things in common:
1. That they always look "easy"
2. That he enjoys being around both people because they truly respect each other
3. That both people are better as a result of the relationship
4. That both partners credit the other for their success
5. That you end up hoping that your own relationship is as healthy and balanced as theirs--the respect, appreciation and love for one another is obvious.
He then shared some really lovely things that Lem and Derek had said about each other, before leading them through their vows and pronouncing them husband and husband. It was an incredible ceremony and I was so proud of Dad. Afterwards, we got him a well-deserved glass of champagne, and spent the rest of the night laughing, talking and celebrating.
You stayed home in San Francisco with Nonnie, Nana and Aunt Lizzie (with what sounds like regular appearances from Uncle Rob). I'm told you ate well, slept well, and danced in a drum circle at Golden Gate Park, shaking a little pair of maracas that one of the musicians handed you. I missed you, but it was a very quick trip--not even 48 hours.
Now Nonnie is trying to get you to refer to Dad as "Reverend Daddy." Lem calls him "Preacher." Others call him "Father Rob." I just call him the Minister--which means I am now a Minister's wife and you are a Minister's daughter. Let's keep this in mind when we're out in public, shall we?
Love,
Mom
Gay marriage became legal in New York on July 24, 2011. It was big news--and great news. This weekend, our friends Lem and Derek, who have been together for 10 years, made their relationship official in a beautiful wedding ceremony, which Dad and I attended. Well, I attended. Dad had a slightly larger role. A few days before the wedding, Dad and I received an email from Derek. The friend who was going to officiate the wedding had a family emergency, and Derek was asking if Dad would marry them. It was such an unbelievable honor.
Of course Dad said yes right away, and then we set out to get him ordained as a minister. A surprisingly simple process, but with that kind of timing, we did have to get some paperwork overnighted to New York so that it would be there when he arrived, and he then had to spend some time at the City Clerk's office in order to register as a Minister in New York. Dad said the City Clerk's office was one of the happiest places he's ever been, full of people getting married or getting their marriage licenses, and all so excited about what the future held for them.
Dad worked hard writing the ceremony for the wedding, putting down his thoughts about what marriage means to him. He told Lem and Derek and 120 wedding guests that the most successful relationships he's been around have a few things in common:
1. That they always look "easy"
2. That he enjoys being around both people because they truly respect each other
3. That both people are better as a result of the relationship
4. That both partners credit the other for their success
5. That you end up hoping that your own relationship is as healthy and balanced as theirs--the respect, appreciation and love for one another is obvious.
He then shared some really lovely things that Lem and Derek had said about each other, before leading them through their vows and pronouncing them husband and husband. It was an incredible ceremony and I was so proud of Dad. Afterwards, we got him a well-deserved glass of champagne, and spent the rest of the night laughing, talking and celebrating.
You stayed home in San Francisco with Nonnie, Nana and Aunt Lizzie (with what sounds like regular appearances from Uncle Rob). I'm told you ate well, slept well, and danced in a drum circle at Golden Gate Park, shaking a little pair of maracas that one of the musicians handed you. I missed you, but it was a very quick trip--not even 48 hours.
Now Nonnie is trying to get you to refer to Dad as "Reverend Daddy." Lem calls him "Preacher." Others call him "Father Rob." I just call him the Minister--which means I am now a Minister's wife and you are a Minister's daughter. Let's keep this in mind when we're out in public, shall we?
Love,
Mom
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Rest Period
Dear Scarlett,
When I decided to quit my job and stay home with you full-time, I wondered if I would blog more or less often. The verdict is in, and I definitely blog less. Forgive me for saying this, but when you go down for a nap and I have some time to myself, I can think of other ways to spend it. We are together almost all the time now, which is incredible. I get to see all of your milestones (and experience all of your moods.) Yesterday during a video chat with Nonnie, you said her name correctly for the first time. Prior to that, you've been saying "Nana" and driving her nuts. You got a new bib with an owl on it and you want to wear it all the time, even in the bath. When I tried to take it off of you after dinner last night, you screamed. Right now you're napping with it. Although a quick glance at the monitor confirms that neither you nor your owl bib are sleeping.
We've had a rough week and a half because you've been sick with an ear infection. And just like last time, you were resistant to your medication and it took us some time to figure that out. So now you're on a new antibiotic and you are finally sleeping at night, which means Dad and I are finally sleeping at night. Did I mention it's been rough? I have actually felt my brain cells fogging up this week as they search for the right words in conversations. I went to a much-needed yoga class last night, and although my balance was off, I think my head cleared a little.
The teacher told us to leave the day behind, shut out all thoughts of the night ahead, and just try to be in the moment. And I was surprised to find that when I closed my eyes and concentrated only on my internal state and my breathing, that you were there with me. It sounds ridiculous now that I've written it down, but it's true. I was there, inside myself, and you were there, too. I know you so well. When you say "fwubuh" I know it means "spider" and "flower." Apparently you see similarities between the two. I know that "duggah' means you want your kitten blanket from Grandma, and that when you are fussy and irritable, I can sing one song to you--any song--but after that I cannot switch songs. And there are things I know about you that I can't even explain in words. I wonder if I'll always feel like you're a part of me, or if that will change as you grow older and it's not as easy to figure you out.
I just turned up the monitor and it sounds like a flock of birds is in your bedroom with you. You are a noisy little thing, just singing and talking to yourself. You literally have not stopped speaking for an entire hour. Here is what you are saying now: "Stout. Oh, Stout. Stoutie!" Stout is what you call yourself, so I am sitting here highly entertained. I do value time to myself, and this is why I can't spend every day writing about you and listening to you while you nap. But today, it happens to be exactly what I want to do.
Love,
Mom
When I decided to quit my job and stay home with you full-time, I wondered if I would blog more or less often. The verdict is in, and I definitely blog less. Forgive me for saying this, but when you go down for a nap and I have some time to myself, I can think of other ways to spend it. We are together almost all the time now, which is incredible. I get to see all of your milestones (and experience all of your moods.) Yesterday during a video chat with Nonnie, you said her name correctly for the first time. Prior to that, you've been saying "Nana" and driving her nuts. You got a new bib with an owl on it and you want to wear it all the time, even in the bath. When I tried to take it off of you after dinner last night, you screamed. Right now you're napping with it. Although a quick glance at the monitor confirms that neither you nor your owl bib are sleeping.
We've had a rough week and a half because you've been sick with an ear infection. And just like last time, you were resistant to your medication and it took us some time to figure that out. So now you're on a new antibiotic and you are finally sleeping at night, which means Dad and I are finally sleeping at night. Did I mention it's been rough? I have actually felt my brain cells fogging up this week as they search for the right words in conversations. I went to a much-needed yoga class last night, and although my balance was off, I think my head cleared a little.
The teacher told us to leave the day behind, shut out all thoughts of the night ahead, and just try to be in the moment. And I was surprised to find that when I closed my eyes and concentrated only on my internal state and my breathing, that you were there with me. It sounds ridiculous now that I've written it down, but it's true. I was there, inside myself, and you were there, too. I know you so well. When you say "fwubuh" I know it means "spider" and "flower." Apparently you see similarities between the two. I know that "duggah' means you want your kitten blanket from Grandma, and that when you are fussy and irritable, I can sing one song to you--any song--but after that I cannot switch songs. And there are things I know about you that I can't even explain in words. I wonder if I'll always feel like you're a part of me, or if that will change as you grow older and it's not as easy to figure you out.
I just turned up the monitor and it sounds like a flock of birds is in your bedroom with you. You are a noisy little thing, just singing and talking to yourself. You literally have not stopped speaking for an entire hour. Here is what you are saying now: "Stout. Oh, Stout. Stoutie!" Stout is what you call yourself, so I am sitting here highly entertained. I do value time to myself, and this is why I can't spend every day writing about you and listening to you while you nap. But today, it happens to be exactly what I want to do.
Love,
Mom
Friday, October 7, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Dear Scarlett,
This is a statement I overheard when Dad was giving you a bath the other night.
Dad: That is a no-no Scout. That's no-no number FIVE tonight.
Dad had been home for roughly 16 minutes. I know that no-no numbers one and two involved you pulling Smokey's tail and laughing at him. I'm not sure what the others were and I don't know exactly what you were doing in the bathtub, but I can say I'm not surprised you were misbehaving. Lately it seems like Dad and I have to admonish you a lot. I don't like telling you no or stop or yuck or please don't do that again. But your favorite games these days involve shutting doors, touching the cat food, putting your hands in garbage, and turning the stove dials. I suspect you are testing us. I'm not sure we're passing.
We're still having a lot of fun with you. It's just apparent that you are no longer a baby and you're beginning to navigate the world in a different way. I love your curiosity and your fearlessness. You will go right up to strangers and say hi, you are incredibly outgoing and funny in music class, and you have become a huge fan of swimming underwater. If there is something to climb on, you will climb it. If there is water nearby, you will rush towards it. Although if there is a leaf or something else defiling that water, you will point at it, yelling "Uh oh." I had to talk to you the other day about how sometimes there are things floating on the water in the San Francisco Bay and we can't really clean them all up.
Yesterday you and I had a french lesson at home. Our teacher Julia came over while I was getting your lunch ready. You refused to sit near her, and when she and I were speaking you whined and clutched at my clothes. You would only sit in your high chair if I sat right next to you, and when I got up to fetch something for you, you yelled at me to "SIT!" I guess we have found something you're a little bit scared of: French. Julia disarmed you slightly by singing Tete, Epaules, Genous et Pieds and at the end of the lesson, you told her "merci."
You have become obsessed with the monitor above your crib and want to talk about it all the time. I'm not sure why--one day, you pulled the cord and the whole thing fell down, and ever since that happened, you constantly look at it and say either "Uh oh," "NOOOOOO" or "Hiiiiiii! Mwah!" It's a little weird, I must admit. You tell me it has "eyes" and a "mouth." I tell you that you're right, since it watches you and tells me what you're doing.
I never really bothered to count your words, because you repeat everything we say. But recent additions to your vocabulary include "yoga," "doggie" and various forms of the word "poop": poopie, poopsie, poopoo. It was only a matter of time, I guess. You like to dress yourself, although this often means that you're wearing Dad's shoes and my tank top (sleeve over your head.) You tried tilapia this week and ate it right up (hidden in your macaroni and cheese, but still...) You love lima beans. You can sit for long periods of time doing puzzles and building things. You have covered our house in stickers "stook-ah." And you will still only nap for about an hour which means I've spent enough time blogging and need to go do something else. Quickly.
I love you,
Mom
This is a statement I overheard when Dad was giving you a bath the other night.
Dad: That is a no-no Scout. That's no-no number FIVE tonight.
Dad had been home for roughly 16 minutes. I know that no-no numbers one and two involved you pulling Smokey's tail and laughing at him. I'm not sure what the others were and I don't know exactly what you were doing in the bathtub, but I can say I'm not surprised you were misbehaving. Lately it seems like Dad and I have to admonish you a lot. I don't like telling you no or stop or yuck or please don't do that again. But your favorite games these days involve shutting doors, touching the cat food, putting your hands in garbage, and turning the stove dials. I suspect you are testing us. I'm not sure we're passing.
We're still having a lot of fun with you. It's just apparent that you are no longer a baby and you're beginning to navigate the world in a different way. I love your curiosity and your fearlessness. You will go right up to strangers and say hi, you are incredibly outgoing and funny in music class, and you have become a huge fan of swimming underwater. If there is something to climb on, you will climb it. If there is water nearby, you will rush towards it. Although if there is a leaf or something else defiling that water, you will point at it, yelling "Uh oh." I had to talk to you the other day about how sometimes there are things floating on the water in the San Francisco Bay and we can't really clean them all up.
Yesterday you and I had a french lesson at home. Our teacher Julia came over while I was getting your lunch ready. You refused to sit near her, and when she and I were speaking you whined and clutched at my clothes. You would only sit in your high chair if I sat right next to you, and when I got up to fetch something for you, you yelled at me to "SIT!" I guess we have found something you're a little bit scared of: French. Julia disarmed you slightly by singing Tete, Epaules, Genous et Pieds and at the end of the lesson, you told her "merci."
You have become obsessed with the monitor above your crib and want to talk about it all the time. I'm not sure why--one day, you pulled the cord and the whole thing fell down, and ever since that happened, you constantly look at it and say either "Uh oh," "NOOOOOO" or "Hiiiiiii! Mwah!" It's a little weird, I must admit. You tell me it has "eyes" and a "mouth." I tell you that you're right, since it watches you and tells me what you're doing.
I never really bothered to count your words, because you repeat everything we say. But recent additions to your vocabulary include "yoga," "doggie" and various forms of the word "poop": poopie, poopsie, poopoo. It was only a matter of time, I guess. You like to dress yourself, although this often means that you're wearing Dad's shoes and my tank top (sleeve over your head.) You tried tilapia this week and ate it right up (hidden in your macaroni and cheese, but still...) You love lima beans. You can sit for long periods of time doing puzzles and building things. You have covered our house in stickers "stook-ah." And you will still only nap for about an hour which means I've spent enough time blogging and need to go do something else. Quickly.
I love you,
Mom
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
A Proposal
Dear Scarlett,
Dad and I have been married for 3 years today. Last year on our anniversary, I told you about how we met, so this year, I thought I would tell you about how Dad proposed to me.
Let me back up slightly to say that in 2007 we went to something like 7 weddings. The majority were in New York, but there was one in Boston, so we packed our car and drove up a day early to see our friends George, Donna, Lael and Avery who live in Sherburne, MA. I believe we were still in New York, but way too far from home to turn back, when Dad realized he had forgotten his suit. This was a big problem, as it is generally frowned upon to wear jeans and a hoodie to a wedding, even if the hoodie is a very nice hoodie made of some extremely soft material. Have I mentioned that your Dad is more interested in clothing than I am?
Anyway, Dad could maybe have borrowed a suit from George, but there were some sizing issues, so he went to an Ermengildo Zegna store in Boston and bought a new suit, which he was not super happy about. We had a great time at the wedding and our summer continued. On August 17, we were headed to another wedding in Chicago. I came home from work to find Dad lying on his back across the bed. He looked like he was deep in thought, or just exhausted. I had already packed and our car was waiting downstairs, but I was reluctant to have a repeat of the Boston situation, so I started listing everything I would need for the wedding, to make sure I had packed it. "Ok, I have my dress, my shoes, my earrings, my purse (etc)....what else do I need for the wedding?"
"How about this for the wedding?" Dad said, popping out of our bedroom with a box in his hand. In that box was a ring, and that ring is still one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. An emerald cut, solitaire diamond on a platinum band, all words that I never knew meant anything to me until the ring was displayed in front of me, being offered. Dad didn't actually say any other words, of the "will you marry me?" variety, but I got the point. I put the ring on, we jumped in the car and went to the airport. I stared at it the whole time. We called no one. We were going to be staying at Nonnie and Pops' house that night and we wanted to surprise them with our news when we arrived.
Except we didn't arrive. After hours of delays at the airport, and one rather disgusting dinner of chicken tenders, our flight was cancelled and we were forced to return home. Instead of seeing the family, and going to our friends Dan and Pui's wedding, we had a small party on our roof with New York friends, bottles of champagne and much oohing and aahing over my ring. Which just goes to show that Dad and I can celebrate anywhere, at any time. As long as there's champagne.
We're spending this weekend in Napa to celebrate our three years together, and you are staying home with Nonnie. I think this anniversary will be a wonderful one for all of us, and I am so lucky to have your amazing Dad in my life. We've been together for six years, married for three, and we have a beautiful daughter. What more could anyone ask for? Champagne, I guess.
We love you,
Mom
Dad and I have been married for 3 years today. Last year on our anniversary, I told you about how we met, so this year, I thought I would tell you about how Dad proposed to me.
Let me back up slightly to say that in 2007 we went to something like 7 weddings. The majority were in New York, but there was one in Boston, so we packed our car and drove up a day early to see our friends George, Donna, Lael and Avery who live in Sherburne, MA. I believe we were still in New York, but way too far from home to turn back, when Dad realized he had forgotten his suit. This was a big problem, as it is generally frowned upon to wear jeans and a hoodie to a wedding, even if the hoodie is a very nice hoodie made of some extremely soft material. Have I mentioned that your Dad is more interested in clothing than I am?
Anyway, Dad could maybe have borrowed a suit from George, but there were some sizing issues, so he went to an Ermengildo Zegna store in Boston and bought a new suit, which he was not super happy about. We had a great time at the wedding and our summer continued. On August 17, we were headed to another wedding in Chicago. I came home from work to find Dad lying on his back across the bed. He looked like he was deep in thought, or just exhausted. I had already packed and our car was waiting downstairs, but I was reluctant to have a repeat of the Boston situation, so I started listing everything I would need for the wedding, to make sure I had packed it. "Ok, I have my dress, my shoes, my earrings, my purse (etc)....what else do I need for the wedding?"
"How about this for the wedding?" Dad said, popping out of our bedroom with a box in his hand. In that box was a ring, and that ring is still one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. An emerald cut, solitaire diamond on a platinum band, all words that I never knew meant anything to me until the ring was displayed in front of me, being offered. Dad didn't actually say any other words, of the "will you marry me?" variety, but I got the point. I put the ring on, we jumped in the car and went to the airport. I stared at it the whole time. We called no one. We were going to be staying at Nonnie and Pops' house that night and we wanted to surprise them with our news when we arrived.
Except we didn't arrive. After hours of delays at the airport, and one rather disgusting dinner of chicken tenders, our flight was cancelled and we were forced to return home. Instead of seeing the family, and going to our friends Dan and Pui's wedding, we had a small party on our roof with New York friends, bottles of champagne and much oohing and aahing over my ring. Which just goes to show that Dad and I can celebrate anywhere, at any time. As long as there's champagne.
We're spending this weekend in Napa to celebrate our three years together, and you are staying home with Nonnie. I think this anniversary will be a wonderful one for all of us, and I am so lucky to have your amazing Dad in my life. We've been together for six years, married for three, and we have a beautiful daughter. What more could anyone ask for? Champagne, I guess.
We love you,
Mom
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Da-Well
Dear Scarlett,
This morning at breakfast you were asking for your cousin Danielle. "Da-well? Da-well?" you kept repeating. I had to tell you that Da-well was on a plane, after spending a week with us in San Francisco and earning your unwavering devotion. It was a great week, full of food, wine, football, redwoods, farmers' markets, Napa, the aquarium, and several playground trips. We know Da-well had a good time because she has blisters on her feet.
I am also missing your cousin, and the extra pair of eyes and hands she provided. You have been naughty and full of energy this morning. Every time I looked away from you, you were either in the cat food or tormenting Emma. We took a quick trip to UPS today, and instead of walking next to me like I asked you to, you ran into a Pottery Barn and I had to follow you while holding our enormous coffee machine that was getting returned. Getting you in your stroller and car seat has been a serious workout, and you threw your cereal on the floor at breakfast. Now, after an hour of jabbering in your crib, I think you might finally be asleep. Hallelujah.
I assume when you wake up, you will want to talk more about where Da-well has gone. You are lucky to have such a wonderful cousin. She was loving and patient with you all week. She read you stories, watched you at home while I grocery shopped, and diligently made sure that you did not fall down any stairs, eat any stickers, or lose your stuffed animals on our many walks.
Danielle has a dog named Lola, and you must have internalized this information because although Lola did not come on the trip, you still yelled her name every day. "Wo-WA! "Wo-WA!" You also took a nap hiatus this week, and I think it's because your vocabulary is absolutely exploding. You are, however, still working on your pronunciation. While you can say "bubbles", you do not seem to be able to say "bye" and instead tell everyone to "die" when they leave.
I took you to a French lesson in the park this week. It was my lesson, but I wanted you to be there to hear the language I am hoping you will eventually learn. Except that every time I speak French to you at home, you look at me and say, "No."
Since you are so amusing, I've caved in and started a Twitter page where I am recording the things you do and say. It's a little hard to explain your antics in 140 characters, but we're going to give it a try.
Love,
Mom
This morning at breakfast you were asking for your cousin Danielle. "Da-well? Da-well?" you kept repeating. I had to tell you that Da-well was on a plane, after spending a week with us in San Francisco and earning your unwavering devotion. It was a great week, full of food, wine, football, redwoods, farmers' markets, Napa, the aquarium, and several playground trips. We know Da-well had a good time because she has blisters on her feet.
I am also missing your cousin, and the extra pair of eyes and hands she provided. You have been naughty and full of energy this morning. Every time I looked away from you, you were either in the cat food or tormenting Emma. We took a quick trip to UPS today, and instead of walking next to me like I asked you to, you ran into a Pottery Barn and I had to follow you while holding our enormous coffee machine that was getting returned. Getting you in your stroller and car seat has been a serious workout, and you threw your cereal on the floor at breakfast. Now, after an hour of jabbering in your crib, I think you might finally be asleep. Hallelujah.
I assume when you wake up, you will want to talk more about where Da-well has gone. You are lucky to have such a wonderful cousin. She was loving and patient with you all week. She read you stories, watched you at home while I grocery shopped, and diligently made sure that you did not fall down any stairs, eat any stickers, or lose your stuffed animals on our many walks.
Danielle has a dog named Lola, and you must have internalized this information because although Lola did not come on the trip, you still yelled her name every day. "Wo-WA! "Wo-WA!" You also took a nap hiatus this week, and I think it's because your vocabulary is absolutely exploding. You are, however, still working on your pronunciation. While you can say "bubbles", you do not seem to be able to say "bye" and instead tell everyone to "die" when they leave.
I took you to a French lesson in the park this week. It was my lesson, but I wanted you to be there to hear the language I am hoping you will eventually learn. Except that every time I speak French to you at home, you look at me and say, "No."
Since you are so amusing, I've caved in and started a Twitter page where I am recording the things you do and say. It's a little hard to explain your antics in 140 characters, but we're going to give it a try.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Full-Time Mom
Dear Scarlett,
We are on Day 4 of me being your full-time-stay-at-home mom, although we try very hard not to stay at home. This week we've gone swimming and shopping (new leg warmers for you), ridden a carousel, listened to stories at the library, and visited the ducks and squirrels at Stow Lake. It turns out you haven't seen a lot of squirrels in your life, because you think they say "meow."
It's been a bit of a rough time since we returned from vacation; you were jetlagged and teething. I can't wait until this teething thing is over. Dad and I worried over you every night last week, giving you medicine and holding you while you cried. A couple of times, I tried to bring you back to bed with us, but forget it. Our bed is like a playground to you. As soon as you got in, all memory of pain disappeared, and you just wanted to sing and hang from the headboard. Dad and I were totally exhausted and one morning at breakfast as we just sort of stared at each other, he said, "So. This is what vacation feels like now."
You are finally feeling better and sleep is getting back on track. This has turned you into a much nicer baby, the one who wants to kiss everything. One morning at breakfast, you fed yourself oatmeal with a spoon. You do this frequently, but never quite as slowly as that day. You spooned the oats up individually, and then started kissing the raisins before eating them. It was a long meal. Today when I was holding you before naptime, you kept interrupting my song to kiss me. If you like a book, you will kiss it. If you like a stuffed animal, you will kiss it. If another child tries to hug or kiss you, you announce "NICE."
Dad bought you this absolutely awful Purdue Pete doll when we went to West Lafayette, Indiana to visit his former university. Purdue Pete yells "You're a Boilermaker!" and then plays the Purdue fight song. You can't seem to get the button to work on your own, so you constantly hand him over after each 5-second song and make us do it. Then you kiss Pete ("MWAH!") and dance until he's done.
We've started swim classes again, and you suddenly love them. You've turned into a complete water baby, after time in the lakes of Wisconsin and Indiana. A couple of nights ago, I heard you around 11pm shuffling in your crib. "Wawa?" you asked a few times. I thought you might be thirsty, but you quieted down quickly, so now I think you were just dreaming of the lakes.
It's probably wrong that one of my favorite things lately involves you falling. But whenever you trip or stumble, you stand up indignantly, shake your finger at the floor, and say "NoNoNO!"
The one thing I might change if I had the ability is your nap schedule. You're doing about 40 minutes a day. I have friends whose kids nap for 3 hours. 3 hours! Imagine what I could get done. It turns out 40 minutes wasn't even enough time to clean up the kitchen and write this blog post.
So I'll end here and go get you.
Love,
Mom
We are on Day 4 of me being your full-time-stay-at-home mom, although we try very hard not to stay at home. This week we've gone swimming and shopping (new leg warmers for you), ridden a carousel, listened to stories at the library, and visited the ducks and squirrels at Stow Lake. It turns out you haven't seen a lot of squirrels in your life, because you think they say "meow."
It's been a bit of a rough time since we returned from vacation; you were jetlagged and teething. I can't wait until this teething thing is over. Dad and I worried over you every night last week, giving you medicine and holding you while you cried. A couple of times, I tried to bring you back to bed with us, but forget it. Our bed is like a playground to you. As soon as you got in, all memory of pain disappeared, and you just wanted to sing and hang from the headboard. Dad and I were totally exhausted and one morning at breakfast as we just sort of stared at each other, he said, "So. This is what vacation feels like now."
You are finally feeling better and sleep is getting back on track. This has turned you into a much nicer baby, the one who wants to kiss everything. One morning at breakfast, you fed yourself oatmeal with a spoon. You do this frequently, but never quite as slowly as that day. You spooned the oats up individually, and then started kissing the raisins before eating them. It was a long meal. Today when I was holding you before naptime, you kept interrupting my song to kiss me. If you like a book, you will kiss it. If you like a stuffed animal, you will kiss it. If another child tries to hug or kiss you, you announce "NICE."
Dad bought you this absolutely awful Purdue Pete doll when we went to West Lafayette, Indiana to visit his former university. Purdue Pete yells "You're a Boilermaker!" and then plays the Purdue fight song. You can't seem to get the button to work on your own, so you constantly hand him over after each 5-second song and make us do it. Then you kiss Pete ("MWAH!") and dance until he's done.
We've started swim classes again, and you suddenly love them. You've turned into a complete water baby, after time in the lakes of Wisconsin and Indiana. A couple of nights ago, I heard you around 11pm shuffling in your crib. "Wawa?" you asked a few times. I thought you might be thirsty, but you quieted down quickly, so now I think you were just dreaming of the lakes.
It's probably wrong that one of my favorite things lately involves you falling. But whenever you trip or stumble, you stand up indignantly, shake your finger at the floor, and say "NoNoNO!"
The one thing I might change if I had the ability is your nap schedule. You're doing about 40 minutes a day. I have friends whose kids nap for 3 hours. 3 hours! Imagine what I could get done. It turns out 40 minutes wasn't even enough time to clean up the kitchen and write this blog post.
So I'll end here and go get you.
Love,
Mom
Monday, August 29, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
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