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
Monday, August 8, 2011
Scattered
Dear Scarlett,
You are determined to destroy your bedroom, my bedroom, the kitchen, and your general surroundings. I don't think you consider it destruction, though. It appears to be your own brand of organization; I just wish it didn't mean everything we own ended up scattered on the floor. When left to yourself, you can be found pulling all of your books off their shelves, unloading your clothing drawers, and decorating the floor with stuffed animals, balls, and crayons, which you later trip over. In a rare exception, the other day when I walked into your room, I saw that you had pulled yourself into the rocking chair and were casually reclined against the boppie, pretending to talk on my cell phone.
But when you're not making calls, you are a hurricane. Dad, Aunt Lizzie and I all try to maintain some order, but even when we each straighten up your books three times a day, we can't keep up with you. I find spices and cat food cans in my nightstand, stuffed animals in the spice rack. Books and books and more books spilled across the floor, stuffed into couch crevices, and hidden behind your book shelf. It's mayhem.
I got a massage yesterday, which was delightful. As soon as I stepped into the lounge area, with its comfy seats, fireplace and hot mint tea, I felt myself breathing a little more smoothly. And then, as I sat there, an odd thing happened. My mind (which has been jumbled with thoughts of work, upcoming trips, preschool applications, dinners, swim lessons, and unanswered phone calls) began to organize itself. And it looked to me just like the floor of your bedroom, all of the items magically flying up and locking into the right drawers and compartments. Suddenly everything I was trying to balance seemed a little more manageable.
Last week in my sales meetings in New York, one of the publishers was talking about this phenomenon. Taking quiet time to yourself--not listening to music, or reading a book, but really just sitting and being in your own mind--can reorganize your brain. It's literally necessary to help yourself think more clearly and efficiently. I must remember this.
It was satisfying to feel like the toybox of my mind was packed up with the lid closed for a while. It would perhaps be equally satisfying if your room stayed clean for one 20-minute stretch.
Just something to think about,
Mom
You are determined to destroy your bedroom, my bedroom, the kitchen, and your general surroundings. I don't think you consider it destruction, though. It appears to be your own brand of organization; I just wish it didn't mean everything we own ended up scattered on the floor. When left to yourself, you can be found pulling all of your books off their shelves, unloading your clothing drawers, and decorating the floor with stuffed animals, balls, and crayons, which you later trip over. In a rare exception, the other day when I walked into your room, I saw that you had pulled yourself into the rocking chair and were casually reclined against the boppie, pretending to talk on my cell phone.
But when you're not making calls, you are a hurricane. Dad, Aunt Lizzie and I all try to maintain some order, but even when we each straighten up your books three times a day, we can't keep up with you. I find spices and cat food cans in my nightstand, stuffed animals in the spice rack. Books and books and more books spilled across the floor, stuffed into couch crevices, and hidden behind your book shelf. It's mayhem.
I got a massage yesterday, which was delightful. As soon as I stepped into the lounge area, with its comfy seats, fireplace and hot mint tea, I felt myself breathing a little more smoothly. And then, as I sat there, an odd thing happened. My mind (which has been jumbled with thoughts of work, upcoming trips, preschool applications, dinners, swim lessons, and unanswered phone calls) began to organize itself. And it looked to me just like the floor of your bedroom, all of the items magically flying up and locking into the right drawers and compartments. Suddenly everything I was trying to balance seemed a little more manageable.
Last week in my sales meetings in New York, one of the publishers was talking about this phenomenon. Taking quiet time to yourself--not listening to music, or reading a book, but really just sitting and being in your own mind--can reorganize your brain. It's literally necessary to help yourself think more clearly and efficiently. I must remember this.
It was satisfying to feel like the toybox of my mind was packed up with the lid closed for a while. It would perhaps be equally satisfying if your room stayed clean for one 20-minute stretch.
Just something to think about,
Mom
Friday, August 5, 2011
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