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.
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
Thursday, August 29, 2013
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
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