Dear Scarlett,
On Sunday, the New York Times published an essay that I wrote about what it's like to be your Mom and to have ALS. For about two days, I felt like I was going to throw up whenever I thought about sharing our experience so widely. Every time there was a new comment on the piece, I got nervous. Would they be kind? Would they understand?
I'm happy to say that the comments turned out to be very interesting and respectful. I'm feeling much calmer about the whole thing, and I'm glad that I was able to further my--our--goal of raising awareness about ALS. And, as always, it's fun to write about you.
We've been having a lot of fun this month. You decorated gingerbread houses with some friends from school, which really means that you ate a bunch of candy that was intended for the house, and then went on an insane spree of dumping out all of your toy bins and running up and down the hall like a wild animal, only to collapse in a heap when it was time to clean up.
We joined another friend from school and her mom for a dance performance of The Velveteen Rabbit. You loved the first act, but by the second act, you decided you would rather roll on the floor behind our seats than pay attention to the stage. Is there a theme here? It's possible you're too young for some of these activities. But I still had a good time.
Your entire preschool class seems to be overly focused on superheroes this year. Dad and I are trying to get you to stop pointing at us and yelling "BAD GUY!" when you don't get what you want. You also informed me the other day for no reason that you were going to punch me in the face. I sent you to your room, and you marched off, announcing that I was no longer your friend AND I wasn't getting any Christmas presents. Later, we snuggled on the couch and read books.
You are very into Italian music and cartoons lately. Pimpa is a new favorite, and you love to sing and dance to Gira Gira Tondo. Today Aunt Shishie went with you to school for Grandparents and Special Friends Day. She got to do an art project with you, and when it was time to go, you didn't want her to leave. So she told you that you could have a sleepover at her house this week. Way to work the angle, sweetheart. I guess Shishie is the good guy today.
Love you,
Mom
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Friday, December 6, 2013
Monday, November 25, 2013
Uncle Ha Ha
Dear Scarlett,
Your Uncle John, Dad's older brother, passed away yesterday. He was diagnosed with lymphoma a mere 2 months ago, and he had a very rare and aggressive form that acted fast. Uncle John was a strong, healthy guy, someone with seemingly unlimited energy and a constant supply of laughter. You called him Uncle Ha Ha, which began after one of his trips to San Francisco with Aunt Jamie. You and Uncle Ha Ha laughed all the time together. You made him so happy.
Uncle John knew a lot of things. He was a tool and die maker at General Motors, working in both Indiana and Michigan at different times. When Dad and I lived in Manhattan, our oven stopped working, which we only noticed once a very cold dinner had been sitting in there "cooking" for about 30 minutes. Dad called Uncle John, and after hearing a two sentence-description of the problem, Uncle John told us exactly how to fix it. This involved sticking toothpicks into tiny holes at the back of the oven. It worked right away.
When Dad was little, he shared a room with Uncle John. John was 16. Dad was 6. Dad claims that it was this early exposure to very loud Led Zeppelin that both formed him musically and wrecked his hearing. John didn't go directly to college, and it wasn't until his 40s that he went back and got his degree. I remember that Dad was so impressed and proud of him.
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Uncle John had two daughters, your dear cousins Jessica and Danielle, and one grandson, Eathan. He and Aunt Jamie were together for more than 10 years, and married for 3. They were a wonderful couple, so well matched, and it was always clear how much they enjoyed their life together. They raised swans in their backyard, in a beautiful, big pond across from a nature reserve. Visiting them was always fun and relaxing, and we would take long walks along nearby trails when you were little. John was an expert at making bonfires. We would sit and roast marshmallows by the pond at night, and he would introduce some crazy new drink (Sambuca and espresso beans, once) that he had either created or discovered.
He and Aunt Jamie had a bird named Cookie, who drank coffee and wine, and ate human food, and hearing Uncle John talk to that bird always made me laugh. You still talk about Cookie Bird.
Your Uncle John was the perfect big brother for me. He welcomed me into the family long before Dad and I got married. He drove me crazy sometimes, as a good big brother should, and we argued about silly little things. But he was also attentive, inclusive and loving. When I got sick, John brought me strength and positivity. I tried to help him in the same way when he got sick.
My friend Ellie said that it's hard to know if a short battle with cancer is a good thing or a bad thing, and I think that's really true. I wouldn't have wanted Uncle John to be in pain any longer, but it is hard to imagine the world without him. I will miss his laugh, miss yelling at him to recycle all those wine bottles we used to go through, and miss the more recent conversations we had about what it is like to suddenly be sick when you used to be so healthy. They weren't depressing talks--we were able, I think, to encourage each other, to get some strength from our similar situations.
I will miss your Uncle Johnny so much. And I wish you'd gotten more time with him, too.
Love,
Mom
Your Uncle John, Dad's older brother, passed away yesterday. He was diagnosed with lymphoma a mere 2 months ago, and he had a very rare and aggressive form that acted fast. Uncle John was a strong, healthy guy, someone with seemingly unlimited energy and a constant supply of laughter. You called him Uncle Ha Ha, which began after one of his trips to San Francisco with Aunt Jamie. You and Uncle Ha Ha laughed all the time together. You made him so happy.
Uncle John knew a lot of things. He was a tool and die maker at General Motors, working in both Indiana and Michigan at different times. When Dad and I lived in Manhattan, our oven stopped working, which we only noticed once a very cold dinner had been sitting in there "cooking" for about 30 minutes. Dad called Uncle John, and after hearing a two sentence-description of the problem, Uncle John told us exactly how to fix it. This involved sticking toothpicks into tiny holes at the back of the oven. It worked right away.
When Dad was little, he shared a room with Uncle John. John was 16. Dad was 6. Dad claims that it was this early exposure to very loud Led Zeppelin that both formed him musically and wrecked his hearing. John didn't go directly to college, and it wasn't until his 40s that he went back and got his degree. I remember that Dad was so impressed and proud of him.
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Uncle John had two daughters, your dear cousins Jessica and Danielle, and one grandson, Eathan. He and Aunt Jamie were together for more than 10 years, and married for 3. They were a wonderful couple, so well matched, and it was always clear how much they enjoyed their life together. They raised swans in their backyard, in a beautiful, big pond across from a nature reserve. Visiting them was always fun and relaxing, and we would take long walks along nearby trails when you were little. John was an expert at making bonfires. We would sit and roast marshmallows by the pond at night, and he would introduce some crazy new drink (Sambuca and espresso beans, once) that he had either created or discovered.
Your Uncle John was the perfect big brother for me. He welcomed me into the family long before Dad and I got married. He drove me crazy sometimes, as a good big brother should, and we argued about silly little things. But he was also attentive, inclusive and loving. When I got sick, John brought me strength and positivity. I tried to help him in the same way when he got sick.
My friend Ellie said that it's hard to know if a short battle with cancer is a good thing or a bad thing, and I think that's really true. I wouldn't have wanted Uncle John to be in pain any longer, but it is hard to imagine the world without him. I will miss his laugh, miss yelling at him to recycle all those wine bottles we used to go through, and miss the more recent conversations we had about what it is like to suddenly be sick when you used to be so healthy. They weren't depressing talks--we were able, I think, to encourage each other, to get some strength from our similar situations.
I will miss your Uncle Johnny so much. And I wish you'd gotten more time with him, too.
Love,
Mom
Saturday, November 16, 2013
A Story You Told Me
Dear Scarlett,
A boy walks into a bike store and asks the doctor for a bike for his little sister.
"How old is she?" asks the bike doctor.
"Three," says the boy.
"And how old are you?" asks the bike doctor.
"I'm four," says the boy.
The doctor asks the boy what his sister's name is and the answer is "Despicable Me." The boy's name, it turns out, is "Strawberry Watermelon Pumpkin Apple Brownie Surprise."
"That sounds delicious," says the doctor.
He sells the boy a bike in his sister's favorite colors (red and pink) and a matching helmet. This costs $100 and the boy leaves with his change. But he quickly comes back to tell the bike doctor that his belly hurts.
"Why?" asks the doctor.
The little boy explains that his three-year-old baby sister is coming out of his belly, and she will be ready for her new bike. Out she pops and they take off riding.
The End.
Love,
Mom
A boy walks into a bike store and asks the doctor for a bike for his little sister.
"How old is she?" asks the bike doctor.
"Three," says the boy.
"And how old are you?" asks the bike doctor.
"I'm four," says the boy.
The doctor asks the boy what his sister's name is and the answer is "Despicable Me." The boy's name, it turns out, is "Strawberry Watermelon Pumpkin Apple Brownie Surprise."
"That sounds delicious," says the doctor.
He sells the boy a bike in his sister's favorite colors (red and pink) and a matching helmet. This costs $100 and the boy leaves with his change. But he quickly comes back to tell the bike doctor that his belly hurts.
"Why?" asks the doctor.
The little boy explains that his three-year-old baby sister is coming out of his belly, and she will be ready for her new bike. Out she pops and they take off riding.
The End.
Love,
Mom
Sunday, November 10, 2013
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Sunday, October 27, 2013
Decorating
Dear Scarlett,
I was on the phone with our contractor last week when you slipped out of the living room. It took me a few minutes to realize you had gone into my room and shut the door. Not allowed, since whenever you're in there, you manage to find and unwrap all of Dad's biking snacks. So I called to you that the door had to be open, and you complied. I spent another ten minutes on the phone, and walked into the bedroom to see what you were doing. "What are you doing?" I asked, and before I even saw you, I heard you say, "I'm painting my nails."
This was not good news.
I went further into the room and saw that you were naked, covered head to toe (and fingers) in nail polish: a smear on your forehead, a bunch on your stomach, and streaks up and down your legs.
[Side note: You are watching me write this letter, and you just asked me if it could be about a duck.]
Anyway, I then surveyed the floor, which was covered in medicine. Unopened Dayquil tabs lay everywhere, and you held up a bottle of Liquid Children's Tylenol and said, "I was trying to drink this, but I couldn't open it."
More bad news.
I scrubbed your body with nail polish remover, noting peripherally that there was nail polish on the walls, rug and Dad's chair. I lectured you about the dangers of EVERYTHING YOU HAD BEEN DOING.
So now the attractive, but taboo materials have been moved--the main problem being that our bathrooms don't have any storage space that is out of your reach--and you are no longer allowed in our room alone at all.
By the way, all of Dad's biking snacks were also opened and lying on the floor. I will now only take phone calls if I can keep my eyes on you the entire time. I know I learned my lesson. But based on how hard you were laughing as I cleaned you up, I'm not sure you did.
Love,
Mom
I was on the phone with our contractor last week when you slipped out of the living room. It took me a few minutes to realize you had gone into my room and shut the door. Not allowed, since whenever you're in there, you manage to find and unwrap all of Dad's biking snacks. So I called to you that the door had to be open, and you complied. I spent another ten minutes on the phone, and walked into the bedroom to see what you were doing. "What are you doing?" I asked, and before I even saw you, I heard you say, "I'm painting my nails."
This was not good news.
I went further into the room and saw that you were naked, covered head to toe (and fingers) in nail polish: a smear on your forehead, a bunch on your stomach, and streaks up and down your legs.
[Side note: You are watching me write this letter, and you just asked me if it could be about a duck.]
Anyway, I then surveyed the floor, which was covered in medicine. Unopened Dayquil tabs lay everywhere, and you held up a bottle of Liquid Children's Tylenol and said, "I was trying to drink this, but I couldn't open it."
More bad news.
I scrubbed your body with nail polish remover, noting peripherally that there was nail polish on the walls, rug and Dad's chair. I lectured you about the dangers of EVERYTHING YOU HAD BEEN DOING.
So now the attractive, but taboo materials have been moved--the main problem being that our bathrooms don't have any storage space that is out of your reach--and you are no longer allowed in our room alone at all.
By the way, all of Dad's biking snacks were also opened and lying on the floor. I will now only take phone calls if I can keep my eyes on you the entire time. I know I learned my lesson. But based on how hard you were laughing as I cleaned you up, I'm not sure you did.
Love,
Mom
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Quotes
Dear Scarlett,
I love how much you love books. Even as a tiny baby, you had clear preferences, as evidenced by the way your eyes followed certain stories, and even certain pages within those stories. As you got older, you would crawl over to the shelf to grab your favorites and bring them back to me.
I've known for a while how books have helped shape your language acquisition, but it never fails to amuse me. Here are some of the ways that you have inserted your books and characters into our daily life.
-----------------
Dad was working late one night, and we thought you wouldn't see him until morning. But I was putting you to bed when we heard his key in the door.
You popped straight up, and said "Is it possible?? Have my dreams come true?" [The Pigeon Wants a Puppy by Mo Willems]
-----------------
The other day I told you that you were beautiful.
"No, I'm not," you argued.
"Yes, you are," I replied.
"No, I'm not," you said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I have knobbly knees and turned-out toes." [The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson]
You were getting dressed. "What are you going to wear?" I asked.
"You must not look at me," you announced. [Frog and Toad are Friends by Arnold Lobel]
-----------------
For no reason at all:
I love how much you love books. Even as a tiny baby, you had clear preferences, as evidenced by the way your eyes followed certain stories, and even certain pages within those stories. As you got older, you would crawl over to the shelf to grab your favorites and bring them back to me.
I've known for a while how books have helped shape your language acquisition, but it never fails to amuse me. Here are some of the ways that you have inserted your books and characters into our daily life.
-----------------
Dad was working late one night, and we thought you wouldn't see him until morning. But I was putting you to bed when we heard his key in the door.
You popped straight up, and said "Is it possible?? Have my dreams come true?" [The Pigeon Wants a Puppy by Mo Willems]
-----------------
The other day I told you that you were beautiful.
"No, I'm not," you argued.
"Yes, you are," I replied.
"No, I'm not," you said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I have knobbly knees and turned-out toes." [The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson]
-----------------
You were getting dressed. "What are you going to wear?" I asked.
"You must not look at me," you announced. [Frog and Toad are Friends by Arnold Lobel]
-----------------
For no reason at all:
"Hey you, want to fight?" [The Grouchy Ladybug by Eric Carle. Thanks a lot, Eric Carle.]
"Tormented a little mouse!" [Bad Kitty by Nick Bruel]
"For pete's sake, give her some carrots!!" [Diary of a Wombat by Jackie French]
-----------------
There's more, of course. I feel like half the stuff that comes out of your mouth is from a book. And that's not a bad way to live your life.
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
GECKO!
Dear Scarlett,
When I was in grade school, I decorated my locker and my room with photos ripped from magazines. Most of the kids (or maybe just the girls?) did this. It was a way to reflect the people we were becoming, the things we liked, and our desire to go public with our every thought and feeling. In a way, it was a localized, 80s version of Facebook. My choices were River Phoenix, Corey Haim, and Johnny Depp. Later, there was the cast of Beverly Hills 90210. At one point, I started incorporating Jack Handey quotes. I'm going to stop talking about myself now.
Here's why I'm telling you this. You, too, are in the process of developing your tastes, your likes and dislikes, your, shall we say, obsessions. And there is one little guy who wins out above all else in your heart. When you see him on tv, you shriek. On a billboard, you point and scream. And when you found him in a magazine the other day, well, there was nothing else to do but sticker him to your wall.
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Yes, it's the Geico gecko. When you were very small, you used to point at him on billboards and yell "A SEAL!" You were gently corrected, and the fascination began. And I suppose, if I'm being honest, that it's not just your fascination. I now know which streets to turn on so that we can see the Geico billboards on our various routes through the city. I bought you a stuffed gecko. We kneel on the futon and watch the Geico banner flying over AT&T park on game days. Geico is the car insurance Dad and I use.
So, your wall is decorated, and not just with your photo of the gecko. You've also taken many, many opportunities to draw on it with any writing utensil you can find. Every day, I tell you it's not ok to color on the walls and every day, I swear I see new evidence that you've done just that. Dad and I are not super happy about this, given the fact that we're in this apartment temporarily and will have to pay to have the walls painted. When we move into the new house, I really hope you don't draw on the walls, because I'll tell you exactly who will turn a different color: Dad.
You started soccer yesterday, and it was not quite what I expected. You vaguely listened to the instructions about dribbling inside the square and only using your feet, and then you proceeded to dribble your ball straight out of the square and pick it up with your hands. Maybe if your coach was a gecko, you would pay more attention.
But you certainly looked the part. Here you are with our fantastic new assistant, Rochelle. She's been with us for about 2 weeks, since Uncle Mike returned to Vegas.
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This post was not actually brought to you by Geico.
Love,
Mom
When I was in grade school, I decorated my locker and my room with photos ripped from magazines. Most of the kids (or maybe just the girls?) did this. It was a way to reflect the people we were becoming, the things we liked, and our desire to go public with our every thought and feeling. In a way, it was a localized, 80s version of Facebook. My choices were River Phoenix, Corey Haim, and Johnny Depp. Later, there was the cast of Beverly Hills 90210. At one point, I started incorporating Jack Handey quotes. I'm going to stop talking about myself now.
Here's why I'm telling you this. You, too, are in the process of developing your tastes, your likes and dislikes, your, shall we say, obsessions. And there is one little guy who wins out above all else in your heart. When you see him on tv, you shriek. On a billboard, you point and scream. And when you found him in a magazine the other day, well, there was nothing else to do but sticker him to your wall.
.JPG)
Yes, it's the Geico gecko. When you were very small, you used to point at him on billboards and yell "A SEAL!" You were gently corrected, and the fascination began. And I suppose, if I'm being honest, that it's not just your fascination. I now know which streets to turn on so that we can see the Geico billboards on our various routes through the city. I bought you a stuffed gecko. We kneel on the futon and watch the Geico banner flying over AT&T park on game days. Geico is the car insurance Dad and I use.
So, your wall is decorated, and not just with your photo of the gecko. You've also taken many, many opportunities to draw on it with any writing utensil you can find. Every day, I tell you it's not ok to color on the walls and every day, I swear I see new evidence that you've done just that. Dad and I are not super happy about this, given the fact that we're in this apartment temporarily and will have to pay to have the walls painted. When we move into the new house, I really hope you don't draw on the walls, because I'll tell you exactly who will turn a different color: Dad.
You started soccer yesterday, and it was not quite what I expected. You vaguely listened to the instructions about dribbling inside the square and only using your feet, and then you proceeded to dribble your ball straight out of the square and pick it up with your hands. Maybe if your coach was a gecko, you would pay more attention.
But you certainly looked the part. Here you are with our fantastic new assistant, Rochelle. She's been with us for about 2 weeks, since Uncle Mike returned to Vegas.
.JPG)
This post was not actually brought to you by Geico.
Love,
Mom
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Where You Are
Dear Scarlett,
You are asleep. Dad is in Kansas City for two nights, and I spent several minutes scrolling through the list of On Demand TV shows and movies before deciding I'd rather write to you. Today we spent a very long time looking at Halloween costumes online. On our way to your friend Audrey's birthday party a week and a half ago, we passed a pumpkin patch. It was the same place we went last year where you rode a pony for the first time, ate pumpkin pie, and went on a hay ride and a train ride. As soon as we passed it, I felt like the holidays were getting close. I know, it's only August, and it's definitely my fault that we're already looking at Halloween costumes.
Our site of choice is Wishcraft, and you've so far picked out a ladybug, something called Skeletina, a blue-wigged pop star, a hippie chick, and a disco doll. It's a good thing we have some time to decide, although I think you might be under the impression that you are getting all of these costumes.
Today at swim class, you got a sticker for doing 5 up-faces across the pool without fins. You are becoming an excellent swimmer and it's a lot of fun to watch you. I'm really looking forward to your soccer practices next month to see how you take to that sport. You're already dressed for it, thanks to a shopping spree by Dad at a local sporting goods store.
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I think Dad is really excited for you to get more into sports (and we'll see if you do, but I'm hopeful, as well.) He wants a buddy to watch college football with. He bought you a bat and a wiffle ball, too, so you guys can play together. What fun. So far, you just carry the bat around like it's some kind of ineffectual umbrella, but we'll get there.
You're having a hard time staying in your bed recently. You will come out at least 2 and sometimes 5 times to tell us "I don't know where I am," with a twisted little grin on your face, because of course you know very well where you are. Every time, we walk you back to bed and tuck you in, and then we sit waiting for your little feet to come padding out again. Tonight you only came out twice, and I was sitting in silence until a fireworks show started over the Giants stadium. I pressed my face up to our big living room window so that I could watch it. And part of me kind of wished you would get up, so that you could see it, too.
Love,
Mom
You are asleep. Dad is in Kansas City for two nights, and I spent several minutes scrolling through the list of On Demand TV shows and movies before deciding I'd rather write to you. Today we spent a very long time looking at Halloween costumes online. On our way to your friend Audrey's birthday party a week and a half ago, we passed a pumpkin patch. It was the same place we went last year where you rode a pony for the first time, ate pumpkin pie, and went on a hay ride and a train ride. As soon as we passed it, I felt like the holidays were getting close. I know, it's only August, and it's definitely my fault that we're already looking at Halloween costumes.
Our site of choice is Wishcraft, and you've so far picked out a ladybug, something called Skeletina, a blue-wigged pop star, a hippie chick, and a disco doll. It's a good thing we have some time to decide, although I think you might be under the impression that you are getting all of these costumes.
Today at swim class, you got a sticker for doing 5 up-faces across the pool without fins. You are becoming an excellent swimmer and it's a lot of fun to watch you. I'm really looking forward to your soccer practices next month to see how you take to that sport. You're already dressed for it, thanks to a shopping spree by Dad at a local sporting goods store.
.JPG)
I think Dad is really excited for you to get more into sports (and we'll see if you do, but I'm hopeful, as well.) He wants a buddy to watch college football with. He bought you a bat and a wiffle ball, too, so you guys can play together. What fun. So far, you just carry the bat around like it's some kind of ineffectual umbrella, but we'll get there.
You're having a hard time staying in your bed recently. You will come out at least 2 and sometimes 5 times to tell us "I don't know where I am," with a twisted little grin on your face, because of course you know very well where you are. Every time, we walk you back to bed and tuck you in, and then we sit waiting for your little feet to come padding out again. Tonight you only came out twice, and I was sitting in silence until a fireworks show started over the Giants stadium. I pressed my face up to our big living room window so that I could watch it. And part of me kind of wished you would get up, so that you could see it, too.
Love,
Mom
Monday, August 12, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Summer Days
Dear Scarlett,
It's August. 2013. I remember when I was a kid, it felt like summers lasted forever. Everything seemed to go more slowly then. Now I feel like I'm on some high speed train heading quickly for next year and beyond. Part of that has to do with being much busier than I was as a kid. I think a typical summer day back then involved a trip to the pool, Capture the Flag with my neighborhood friends, some lying around on the floor complaining about the heat, watermelon slices, and evenings on the porch marveling at how light and how hot it stayed, even past bedtime.
The agenda these days, while certainly not as crazy as it was when I was employed (and I don't mean by you), is pretty packed. I have volunteered to chair your school fundraiser, which takes place next March, but the work has begun. Dad and I are deep into project managing the house renovation. And I'm starting a website and blog to raise money and awareness for ALS. More on that when it launches. We're also working on fundraising for the Ride to Defeat ALS in Napa next month, and it's been going really well. The support from our friends and family, even those I haven't seen in years, has been phenomenal.
Your agenda is busy, too. Yesterday you had a swim lesson, summer camp, dentist appointment, and play date, after which you helped me make dinner. You're becoming quite the cook, and have begun to be more experimental with the foods you'll eat. We've started to have dinner together as a family, since you're now staying up a bit later. I love sitting with you and hearing some thoughts on your day, though Dad and I often learn more when we're not asking. Just before you drift off to sleep, you might tell me something about the day at camp. Recently you announced that all your friends had gotten married. You love to get married, which to you, just means putting on a ring. "I'm married to you, Mommy!" you'll exclaim. One day, Shishie pulled our her jewelry box and all three of us got married. Pretty exciting stuff.
On afternoons when we don't have plans, I love to hear you in your room acting out little scenes with your dolls and Legos, and just generally being creative. This usually lasts for a good 45 minutes before you're asking to listen to Big Audio Dynamite II on Rhapsody.
I wonder how the passage of time feels to you. It seems that you mostly live in the moment, focusing only on the things that are happening "right now." Do your days feel long? Is the summer passing languidly, like mine used to? Dad and I are trying not to over schedule you, but there are so many activities you seem interested in. You're taking dance and swim, and in the fall you'll be starting soccer. This weekend, you told me you'd like to start learning piano. You've said you miss tumbling. We certainly can't do it all (wouldn't that cut into your iPad time?) but we'll figure out a good balance, I'm sure.
Love,
Mom
It's August. 2013. I remember when I was a kid, it felt like summers lasted forever. Everything seemed to go more slowly then. Now I feel like I'm on some high speed train heading quickly for next year and beyond. Part of that has to do with being much busier than I was as a kid. I think a typical summer day back then involved a trip to the pool, Capture the Flag with my neighborhood friends, some lying around on the floor complaining about the heat, watermelon slices, and evenings on the porch marveling at how light and how hot it stayed, even past bedtime.
The agenda these days, while certainly not as crazy as it was when I was employed (and I don't mean by you), is pretty packed. I have volunteered to chair your school fundraiser, which takes place next March, but the work has begun. Dad and I are deep into project managing the house renovation. And I'm starting a website and blog to raise money and awareness for ALS. More on that when it launches. We're also working on fundraising for the Ride to Defeat ALS in Napa next month, and it's been going really well. The support from our friends and family, even those I haven't seen in years, has been phenomenal.
Your agenda is busy, too. Yesterday you had a swim lesson, summer camp, dentist appointment, and play date, after which you helped me make dinner. You're becoming quite the cook, and have begun to be more experimental with the foods you'll eat. We've started to have dinner together as a family, since you're now staying up a bit later. I love sitting with you and hearing some thoughts on your day, though Dad and I often learn more when we're not asking. Just before you drift off to sleep, you might tell me something about the day at camp. Recently you announced that all your friends had gotten married. You love to get married, which to you, just means putting on a ring. "I'm married to you, Mommy!" you'll exclaim. One day, Shishie pulled our her jewelry box and all three of us got married. Pretty exciting stuff.
On afternoons when we don't have plans, I love to hear you in your room acting out little scenes with your dolls and Legos, and just generally being creative. This usually lasts for a good 45 minutes before you're asking to listen to Big Audio Dynamite II on Rhapsody.
I wonder how the passage of time feels to you. It seems that you mostly live in the moment, focusing only on the things that are happening "right now." Do your days feel long? Is the summer passing languidly, like mine used to? Dad and I are trying not to over schedule you, but there are so many activities you seem interested in. You're taking dance and swim, and in the fall you'll be starting soccer. This weekend, you told me you'd like to start learning piano. You've said you miss tumbling. We certainly can't do it all (wouldn't that cut into your iPad time?) but we'll figure out a good balance, I'm sure.
Love,
Mom
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Happy Birthday, Jack!
Dear Jack,
Happy first birthday!! I can't believe it was a year ago that I watched your sweet, wide-eyes taking in the world for the first time. A year ago that you and Scout first met, and she held you with a look of awe on her face. A year ago that your amazing parents became a mom and a dad.
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My dear nephew, I just want you to know how incredibly loved you are. I honestly can't remember life without you. It seems I've known you much longer than a year. You are a very wise little person, I think. From the start, you've quietly observed things around you, preferring to process them internally before deciding to break into a smile or a laugh. I don't often see you cry; you exude a sense of calm that brings to mind a fat little zen man. You are adventurous, and will eat anything. You love to move around.
Scout takes toys from you a lot, and you are starting to stick up for yourself with a howl or a grab. "Oh, oh, oh!" she'll say. "Baby Jack is freaking out a little bit." Give him his toy back, we say. Soon you'll be walking, and the two of you will be even more of a force.
Someday you might have your own brother or sister, but right now it is just you and Scout, and you are kind of like siblings. I love this. I count on this, in fact. She is teaching you things, and you are teaching her things, too. How to take care of someone. How to share. How to adjust the volume of one's voice in certain circumstances.
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At age one, you are a kisser, and will kiss us over and over again. All we have to do is ask. You are especially snuggly with your Mom. The two of you have the same eyes, and it's fun to see you watch each other. Your new game is that she pretends she's sleeping and you kiss her to wake her up. You're just such a wonderful little boy, Jack. Easygoing, and yet definitely your own person. In this, you remind me of your Dad. I think you will be musically talented, like he is.
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You are also a clapper, a waver, and a babbler. You love to copy what people are doing, and will clap your hands and put them on your head to mimic Scout. Some of your nicknames are Quackers, Quackers T. Galoshes, Jackie Bear, and Jackie Robinson. We mostly refer to you as Baby Jack, and the joke is that you're going to be Baby Jack well into your teens. But I don't know about that. I can already see the little boy that you're becoming, and though I can still find the baby in your face, I know it's just a matter of time before you're talking and running around and being a kid.
I love you as if you were my very own baby, and I know that this is how your Mom feels about Scout. We are truly lucky that we live close to each other, and spend so much time together. I'm so happy, beautiful boy, to have you in our family.
Happy birthday!
Love,
Aunt Sarah
Happy first birthday!! I can't believe it was a year ago that I watched your sweet, wide-eyes taking in the world for the first time. A year ago that you and Scout first met, and she held you with a look of awe on her face. A year ago that your amazing parents became a mom and a dad.
.JPG)
My dear nephew, I just want you to know how incredibly loved you are. I honestly can't remember life without you. It seems I've known you much longer than a year. You are a very wise little person, I think. From the start, you've quietly observed things around you, preferring to process them internally before deciding to break into a smile or a laugh. I don't often see you cry; you exude a sense of calm that brings to mind a fat little zen man. You are adventurous, and will eat anything. You love to move around.
Someday you might have your own brother or sister, but right now it is just you and Scout, and you are kind of like siblings. I love this. I count on this, in fact. She is teaching you things, and you are teaching her things, too. How to take care of someone. How to share. How to adjust the volume of one's voice in certain circumstances.
.JPG)
At age one, you are a kisser, and will kiss us over and over again. All we have to do is ask. You are especially snuggly with your Mom. The two of you have the same eyes, and it's fun to see you watch each other. Your new game is that she pretends she's sleeping and you kiss her to wake her up. You're just such a wonderful little boy, Jack. Easygoing, and yet definitely your own person. In this, you remind me of your Dad. I think you will be musically talented, like he is.
.JPG)
You are also a clapper, a waver, and a babbler. You love to copy what people are doing, and will clap your hands and put them on your head to mimic Scout. Some of your nicknames are Quackers, Quackers T. Galoshes, Jackie Bear, and Jackie Robinson. We mostly refer to you as Baby Jack, and the joke is that you're going to be Baby Jack well into your teens. But I don't know about that. I can already see the little boy that you're becoming, and though I can still find the baby in your face, I know it's just a matter of time before you're talking and running around and being a kid.
I love you as if you were my very own baby, and I know that this is how your Mom feels about Scout. We are truly lucky that we live close to each other, and spend so much time together. I'm so happy, beautiful boy, to have you in our family.
Happy birthday!
Love,
Aunt Sarah
Monday, July 22, 2013
Summer Camp
Dear Scarlett,
Today is your first day of summer camp. It's an easy transition, because it's at school, a place you adore. This week you will focus on art. Or is it music? All I know is that I have to pack you a lunch all week, but next week I can send you without one, because the focus will be on cooking. You'll be making pasta and sauces in the kitchen with Virna (the cook) and 18 other kids. You couldn't pay me to run that show.
You were very excited to go to camp this morning, and searched in your closet for something "fancy" to wear, ending up in a navy blue tank top, gray and pink polka dot sweater, sassy (this means embroidered) jeans, a large peace sign silver necklace, and a blue and white scarf. Why oh why did I not get a picture of this? Oh, I know. Because you were so obsessed with listening to your new favorite song "Scotty Doesn't Know" (note: TOTALLY inappropriate for children), that the whole ensemble only came together moments before we needed to leave. Luckily, you go to Italian school, so even though we were late, we were still among the first to arrive.
You're a little confused about what it means to go to summer camp and then to start a new year of school next month. "Is me four?" you keep asking. Not yet, we tell you.
Uncle Mike got back to San Francisco yesterday, so he and I dropped you off and then tried in vain to get your attention to say goodbye. You had found your friend Leon and a train set, and off you went happily into your day.
My day was a little less blissful. I'm mired in house renovation details, and a to-do list that doesn't seem to get any smaller. But I'm glad Uncle Mike is back to help us, and you were thrilled to see him. You wanted to show him every corner of our new apartment (this did not take long), and you even requested that he put you to bed. Who can blame you if you forget about both of us in favor of your preschool buddies?
When we picked you up from camp, you climbed into the car, shaking sand all over the seats, and announced, "I turned four at school today." You're getting so big.
Love,
Mom
Today is your first day of summer camp. It's an easy transition, because it's at school, a place you adore. This week you will focus on art. Or is it music? All I know is that I have to pack you a lunch all week, but next week I can send you without one, because the focus will be on cooking. You'll be making pasta and sauces in the kitchen with Virna (the cook) and 18 other kids. You couldn't pay me to run that show.
You were very excited to go to camp this morning, and searched in your closet for something "fancy" to wear, ending up in a navy blue tank top, gray and pink polka dot sweater, sassy (this means embroidered) jeans, a large peace sign silver necklace, and a blue and white scarf. Why oh why did I not get a picture of this? Oh, I know. Because you were so obsessed with listening to your new favorite song "Scotty Doesn't Know" (note: TOTALLY inappropriate for children), that the whole ensemble only came together moments before we needed to leave. Luckily, you go to Italian school, so even though we were late, we were still among the first to arrive.
You're a little confused about what it means to go to summer camp and then to start a new year of school next month. "Is me four?" you keep asking. Not yet, we tell you.
Uncle Mike got back to San Francisco yesterday, so he and I dropped you off and then tried in vain to get your attention to say goodbye. You had found your friend Leon and a train set, and off you went happily into your day.
My day was a little less blissful. I'm mired in house renovation details, and a to-do list that doesn't seem to get any smaller. But I'm glad Uncle Mike is back to help us, and you were thrilled to see him. You wanted to show him every corner of our new apartment (this did not take long), and you even requested that he put you to bed. Who can blame you if you forget about both of us in favor of your preschool buddies?
When we picked you up from camp, you climbed into the car, shaking sand all over the seats, and announced, "I turned four at school today." You're getting so big.
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Morning Playlist
Dear Scarlett,
Here is your playlist from this morning, which you danced to in your underwear:
The Ramones, I Wanna Be Sedated--three times
Beck, Devil's Haircut--three times ("Can I listen to my favorite song of Beck? One more time?")
Sum 41, Fat Lip--once, because it's awful, and I have to draw the line somewhere
Sweet, Ballroom Blitz--four times, because I was too distracted making this list to limit you to three times
Mother Hips, Life in the City
Meiko, Boys with Girlfriends
Brett Dennen, Comeback Kid--once, oddly. Perhaps you're getting sick of this one? Please?
The Dandy Warhols, We Used to Be Friends--you started this one numerous times, because you love the beginning, and then didn't listen all the way through
Spoon, That's the Way We Get By
Coldplay, Lost--over and over and over and over and who is in charge here?
You're using iTunes, in all of its outdatedness. I mainly listen to music on Rhapsody now, so the stuff on my iPad is just old. But you know your way around iTunes so well, and we allow you to use the iPad a lot for your dancing needs. I feel a little ambivalent about this, because I was always really aware of how much time you spent playing games on the device, and didn't permit much. But now that you're just picking a song and getting up to dance, we're pretty liberal about it.
This morning, you climbed into bed with me and Dad at 5am, and passed back out after telling me to "please put my arm around me." You mostly have pronouns down at this point, but not always. When we woke up at 7am, I was still exhausted. I love sleeping with you, but I'm not going to call it a restful experience.
Now you've gone off to the California Academy of Sciences with your fabulous babysitter, Maggie. You are meeting Annabelle and her nanny for a day of fish, butterflies, and penguins.
And a break from the iPad.
Love,
Mom
Here is your playlist from this morning, which you danced to in your underwear:
The Ramones, I Wanna Be Sedated--three times
Beck, Devil's Haircut--three times ("Can I listen to my favorite song of Beck? One more time?")
Sum 41, Fat Lip--once, because it's awful, and I have to draw the line somewhere
Sweet, Ballroom Blitz--four times, because I was too distracted making this list to limit you to three times
Mother Hips, Life in the City
Meiko, Boys with Girlfriends
Brett Dennen, Comeback Kid--once, oddly. Perhaps you're getting sick of this one? Please?
The Dandy Warhols, We Used to Be Friends--you started this one numerous times, because you love the beginning, and then didn't listen all the way through
Spoon, That's the Way We Get By
Coldplay, Lost--over and over and over and over and who is in charge here?
You're using iTunes, in all of its outdatedness. I mainly listen to music on Rhapsody now, so the stuff on my iPad is just old. But you know your way around iTunes so well, and we allow you to use the iPad a lot for your dancing needs. I feel a little ambivalent about this, because I was always really aware of how much time you spent playing games on the device, and didn't permit much. But now that you're just picking a song and getting up to dance, we're pretty liberal about it.
This morning, you climbed into bed with me and Dad at 5am, and passed back out after telling me to "please put my arm around me." You mostly have pronouns down at this point, but not always. When we woke up at 7am, I was still exhausted. I love sleeping with you, but I'm not going to call it a restful experience.
Now you've gone off to the California Academy of Sciences with your fabulous babysitter, Maggie. You are meeting Annabelle and her nanny for a day of fish, butterflies, and penguins.
And a break from the iPad.
Love,
Mom
Monday, July 8, 2013
The Walker
Dear Scarlett,
My walker arrived today. It's purple, the color you chose over red and blue. "What is it?!" you screamed with excitement. I will admit to being less excited, but maybe not by much. While the idea of a walker is...the word that comes to mind is TERRIBLE...I can't ignore the fact that I need it. It's getting very tough for me to get around, even with ankle braces and a cane. So, enter the purple walker. We took it out today to run errands with Aunt Shishie, and it definitely made things easier. Mainly, it allows me to walk without hanging on to someone, and I'll take my moments of independence where I can get them.
Last night you and I had a brief talk about my abilities. I was trying to explain to you how much I want to go swimming with you, to chase you, to race and run and swing you around. I want you to know that when I sit to the side while Dad and Shishie and Uncle Rob do those things with you, it's not because I don't want to play with you. I think you understood, and I tried to keep things light. We do a lot of things together: reading, listening to music, cooking and snuggling. I still do your hair, although that is only fun when you're not flailing around as though the comb is made of swamp fire. I know I should be grateful every single time I get to squeeze you, but sometimes I just feel so cheated out of those other moments I badly want to be a part of.
Dad took last week off of work, and we had such a good time. The two of you biked to the Exploratorium and had lunch at the Ferry Building. We all went to your swim class, and had dinner together every night. This weekend to celebrate the Fourth of July, we went to Carmel with Shishie, Rob and Baby Jack. We stayed at the Carmel Valley Ranch, where we've been a few times before, and it was basically a big pool fest. One night we roasted marshmallows and made S'mores, another night you danced wildly to a bluegrass band. The lead singer called out to you, "Young lady in the polka dot dress, you are hired!" In the mornings, you ran out of our room to see Baby Jack, and the two of you played and rolled around. As usual, you dressed up in every single article of clothing that Shishie packed for him. It was a great trip.
It's important for me to write these things down, because remembering all of the good times we still have every day helps me to balance out the harder times. It's not easy, but you make it fun. Dad makes it fun. Our whole family and all of my crazy, wonderful friends make it fun. I am grateful for that.
Also, I'm glad you chose purple. Good color for a walker.
Love,
Mom
My walker arrived today. It's purple, the color you chose over red and blue. "What is it?!" you screamed with excitement. I will admit to being less excited, but maybe not by much. While the idea of a walker is...the word that comes to mind is TERRIBLE...I can't ignore the fact that I need it. It's getting very tough for me to get around, even with ankle braces and a cane. So, enter the purple walker. We took it out today to run errands with Aunt Shishie, and it definitely made things easier. Mainly, it allows me to walk without hanging on to someone, and I'll take my moments of independence where I can get them.
Last night you and I had a brief talk about my abilities. I was trying to explain to you how much I want to go swimming with you, to chase you, to race and run and swing you around. I want you to know that when I sit to the side while Dad and Shishie and Uncle Rob do those things with you, it's not because I don't want to play with you. I think you understood, and I tried to keep things light. We do a lot of things together: reading, listening to music, cooking and snuggling. I still do your hair, although that is only fun when you're not flailing around as though the comb is made of swamp fire. I know I should be grateful every single time I get to squeeze you, but sometimes I just feel so cheated out of those other moments I badly want to be a part of.
Dad took last week off of work, and we had such a good time. The two of you biked to the Exploratorium and had lunch at the Ferry Building. We all went to your swim class, and had dinner together every night. This weekend to celebrate the Fourth of July, we went to Carmel with Shishie, Rob and Baby Jack. We stayed at the Carmel Valley Ranch, where we've been a few times before, and it was basically a big pool fest. One night we roasted marshmallows and made S'mores, another night you danced wildly to a bluegrass band. The lead singer called out to you, "Young lady in the polka dot dress, you are hired!" In the mornings, you ran out of our room to see Baby Jack, and the two of you played and rolled around. As usual, you dressed up in every single article of clothing that Shishie packed for him. It was a great trip.
It's important for me to write these things down, because remembering all of the good times we still have every day helps me to balance out the harder times. It's not easy, but you make it fun. Dad makes it fun. Our whole family and all of my crazy, wonderful friends make it fun. I am grateful for that.
Also, I'm glad you chose purple. Good color for a walker.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Mia bella figlia
Dear Scarlett,
You are out with Nonnie, Aunt Cathy, and Baby Jack. I am using this delightful quiet time to get things done. There is still laundry to fold, Italian homework to finish, and, oh, I don't know, an entire house to organize before moving day. But I'd rather write to you.
You have been learning Italian for about 10 months at school, and we practice at home, too. My Italian is extremely basic, but we read books together and look up words we don't know. Your favorite words are animal names, like pippistrello (bat) and scoiattolo (squirrel.) Your interest in the language varies. Sometimes you are so excited to look up words. "How do you say brick in Italian?" "How do you say stop sign in Italian?" Other days you scream at me when I dare to use my limited skills to ask you what you ate at school.
Then last week we had a serious breakthrough. One of your teachers informed me that you were speaking Italian in class. Apparently, you were building an art garden with a group of your friends, and having a conversation about funghi (mushrooms.) "Funghi, funghi everywhere!" you proclaimed.
I'm not sure how impressive that actually is, but your teacher was so excited. "She's trying!" she smiled at me. And since then, you really are. Dad will ask you what you did one day. "Niente," you'll respond. It's not true, but it's in Italian! I heard you in your room the other day yelling "Stamattina! Stamattina!" (it means "this morning") at the top of your lungs. Actually, the whole neighborhood probably heard you. And it was afternoon, but so what?
You even go so far as to use entire phrases. "Ancora una volta one more time!" you'll say when you want something to happen again. That one is always in both Italian and English. It's so fun to hear you speaking another language. I'm taking lessons once a week, and I really look forward to the time when we can have an entire conversation about Dad right in front of him and he won't know what we're saying!
Another June highlight is the fact that we are moving to a new apartment (with an elevator) while our new house is renovated. We got the keys today, and both you and I saw the place for the first time. It's lovely, and--in real estate speak--cozy. It's in a sunny neighborhood, we'll be a 5-minute drive from your preschool, and AT&T Park is right outside our door. I think it will be a fun place to spend 6 months. You must be so confused about what is going on with our living arrangements. We're still in our old place, we keep taking you to the new house, where you "check on the flowers", and now we've introduced you to this random new apartment. As of today, you literally have three bedrooms you can call your own.
Quello che una vita interessante!
Love,
Mom
You are out with Nonnie, Aunt Cathy, and Baby Jack. I am using this delightful quiet time to get things done. There is still laundry to fold, Italian homework to finish, and, oh, I don't know, an entire house to organize before moving day. But I'd rather write to you.
You have been learning Italian for about 10 months at school, and we practice at home, too. My Italian is extremely basic, but we read books together and look up words we don't know. Your favorite words are animal names, like pippistrello (bat) and scoiattolo (squirrel.) Your interest in the language varies. Sometimes you are so excited to look up words. "How do you say brick in Italian?" "How do you say stop sign in Italian?" Other days you scream at me when I dare to use my limited skills to ask you what you ate at school.
Then last week we had a serious breakthrough. One of your teachers informed me that you were speaking Italian in class. Apparently, you were building an art garden with a group of your friends, and having a conversation about funghi (mushrooms.) "Funghi, funghi everywhere!" you proclaimed.
I'm not sure how impressive that actually is, but your teacher was so excited. "She's trying!" she smiled at me. And since then, you really are. Dad will ask you what you did one day. "Niente," you'll respond. It's not true, but it's in Italian! I heard you in your room the other day yelling "Stamattina! Stamattina!" (it means "this morning") at the top of your lungs. Actually, the whole neighborhood probably heard you. And it was afternoon, but so what?
You even go so far as to use entire phrases. "Ancora una volta one more time!" you'll say when you want something to happen again. That one is always in both Italian and English. It's so fun to hear you speaking another language. I'm taking lessons once a week, and I really look forward to the time when we can have an entire conversation about Dad right in front of him and he won't know what we're saying!
Another June highlight is the fact that we are moving to a new apartment (with an elevator) while our new house is renovated. We got the keys today, and both you and I saw the place for the first time. It's lovely, and--in real estate speak--cozy. It's in a sunny neighborhood, we'll be a 5-minute drive from your preschool, and AT&T Park is right outside our door. I think it will be a fun place to spend 6 months. You must be so confused about what is going on with our living arrangements. We're still in our old place, we keep taking you to the new house, where you "check on the flowers", and now we've introduced you to this random new apartment. As of today, you literally have three bedrooms you can call your own.
Quello che una vita interessante!
Love,
Mom
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Dancing Girl
Dear Scarlett,
As I write this, you are spinning around in the living room to Paul Simon's Graceland. This is solidly one of your favorite albums. We're listening to it on Rhapsody, one of our new afternoon activities. Some days we listen to Elizabeth Mitchell, who came recommended by Amanda and was an instant hit. Other days it's The White Stripes or Brett Dennen. Today we tried G. Love. "Is he saying baby has sauce? I don't like this one." Then I tried to expand your Paul Simon repertoire with a little Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard. Nixed. But you were into 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.
We spent the weekend in Arizona to celebrate your cousin Grant's high school graduation, and at the big Saturday night party, you played DJ for a bit, requesting Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen and The Ghost Inside by The Broken Bells. Arizona was awesome, full of hours in the pool and lots of time spent with family, especially your number one pick for the weekend, your 19-year-old cousin Jade.
We've been traveling a lot lately. Aunt Shishie and Uncle Rob's wedding was this month in Chicago. It was an incredible event, held at the coolest wedding venue I've ever seen, Salvage One. The short description is that it's a furniture store in the West Loop, but the reality is so much better than that.
After the 175 guests had filed into their seats, Uncle Rob walked down the aisle holding Baby Jack. You, as Flower Girl, followed with a small bouquet of pink carnations. I couldn't believe what a great job you did, heading down the aisle all alone. Once you got to the front, instead of sitting down, you decided to dance. The song was Wildflowers by Tom Petty, played by a few members of the ridiculously talented wedding band.
Uncle Rob told you to just keep dancing as the rest of the wedding party took their places. Then it was time for Nonnie and Pops to escort Shishie down the aisle. I have never seen her look more beautiful, and she looks pretty good most of the time. Uncle Rob's college roommate and good friend, Daniel, married them. He started the wedding off by yelling "Let's make some noise!!" So that's the kind of wedding it was. I can't wait to see the video. That night, back in our hotel room with Nonnie and Pops and the newlyweds, we went over every detail, so hesitant to let the amazing evening come to an end. One of my favorite parts was when Uncle Rob stood up to speak and announced that he couldn't put his feelings for Liz into words. The band started to play, and I thought his speech was over, but then he launched into a Sam Cooke song, Nothing Can Change this Love. HIGH. LIGHT.
It's not always music and parties these days. There are house renovations to deal with, summer plans to make. But for now, let's just keep dancing.
Love,
Mom
As I write this, you are spinning around in the living room to Paul Simon's Graceland. This is solidly one of your favorite albums. We're listening to it on Rhapsody, one of our new afternoon activities. Some days we listen to Elizabeth Mitchell, who came recommended by Amanda and was an instant hit. Other days it's The White Stripes or Brett Dennen. Today we tried G. Love. "Is he saying baby has sauce? I don't like this one." Then I tried to expand your Paul Simon repertoire with a little Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard. Nixed. But you were into 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.
We spent the weekend in Arizona to celebrate your cousin Grant's high school graduation, and at the big Saturday night party, you played DJ for a bit, requesting Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen and The Ghost Inside by The Broken Bells. Arizona was awesome, full of hours in the pool and lots of time spent with family, especially your number one pick for the weekend, your 19-year-old cousin Jade.
We've been traveling a lot lately. Aunt Shishie and Uncle Rob's wedding was this month in Chicago. It was an incredible event, held at the coolest wedding venue I've ever seen, Salvage One. The short description is that it's a furniture store in the West Loop, but the reality is so much better than that.
After the 175 guests had filed into their seats, Uncle Rob walked down the aisle holding Baby Jack. You, as Flower Girl, followed with a small bouquet of pink carnations. I couldn't believe what a great job you did, heading down the aisle all alone. Once you got to the front, instead of sitting down, you decided to dance. The song was Wildflowers by Tom Petty, played by a few members of the ridiculously talented wedding band.
Uncle Rob told you to just keep dancing as the rest of the wedding party took their places. Then it was time for Nonnie and Pops to escort Shishie down the aisle. I have never seen her look more beautiful, and she looks pretty good most of the time. Uncle Rob's college roommate and good friend, Daniel, married them. He started the wedding off by yelling "Let's make some noise!!" So that's the kind of wedding it was. I can't wait to see the video. That night, back in our hotel room with Nonnie and Pops and the newlyweds, we went over every detail, so hesitant to let the amazing evening come to an end. One of my favorite parts was when Uncle Rob stood up to speak and announced that he couldn't put his feelings for Liz into words. The band started to play, and I thought his speech was over, but then he launched into a Sam Cooke song, Nothing Can Change this Love. HIGH. LIGHT.
Love,
Mom
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