Dear Scarlett,
Two nights ago, your father informed me that you were sleeping with your toothbrush. "She wanted to," he explained. I asked why he didn't just take it from you, but he said you grabbed it, rolled over on top of it and fell asleep. "The good news," Dad said, "is that she brushed her teeth first."
You definitely know what you want, that's for sure. Lately, you follow me, Dad and Aunt Lizzie around, chanting "up, up, up, up, up" until we lift you up to hold you. Sometimes you stay that way, playing with our hair and sometimes you start wiggling immediately, wanting to be put down so you can demand to be picked up again.
You are walking all over the place on your own now, which never fails to make us laugh. It's still just so fun to see you toddle into a room. You are 15 months old and you weigh 23 pounds and are 31 inches tall. At your last doctor's appointment, you were not very nice to Dr. Becker and swatted his hands away whenever he came near you. You got two shots and cried like crazy until I pulled out Ask Me, a book for older kids, and showed you your favorite page, a picture of a little curly haired child we call The Sweet Baby.
Lately you have been gathering up your books and taking them to your bean bag chair where you will sit for extended periods of time, just flipping pages and talking to yourself and Aunt Lizzie. You have become slightly obsessed with sheep noises. Today I heard the following conversation in your room.
Aunt Lizzie: What does the duck say? Quack quack.
You: Baaa, baaaa
Aunt Lizzie: Quack quack
You: Baaa, baaa, baaaaaaaaa
This went on for some time, but I don't really know how long, because I had to go back to work. But there will come a day very soon when I don't have to leave you to go down the hall to my office. In fact, my office is about to become just a good old dining room, because I have officially given notice to my company and my last day is approaching. I am so excited that I will be staying home with you!
Here is what happened: Aunt Lizzie got a new, big job and she is starting in August. Dad and I discussed it and we didn't want anyone else to watch you if Lizzie couldn't do it. She has been amazing--a topic for another letter. I am very very happy for her, but sad for you both since I know you'll miss seeing each other every day. It will be quite a change for all of us. I know I'm ready, though. I can't wait to be there with you every day as you continue to learn and grow.
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
9 Things
Dear Scarlett,
There are so many things that I want to tell you right now that I'm going to have to make a list. Lists are very important to me and it's likely that as you grow older you will realize this when you find them lying all around. Like my keys. If you know where those are right now, can you please bring them to me? Or maybe it's not an issue anymore. Maybe now that you're bigger and reading these letters, I've become organized! Also taller! A mom can dream...
So on to the list of things I want to tell you:
1. Despite the unhappy reason for our trips to Chicago, I was really glad that we got a chance to spend so much time with family. We aren't going to Chicago for the holidays this year, and I have been missing everyone there a lot. Pops repainted a Radio Flyer wagon for you and walked you all around town in it. You were pretty well behaved at first, but started getting a little too brave for my liking, kneeling and peering over the edge of the wagon as it bumped its way across cracks in the sidewalks. When you started nibbling on the paint, I called a hiatus to wagon rides. But it was fun while it lasted.
2. You have become obsessed with a series of rather ridiculous books that focus on a single baby as he grows older. You make us read them over and over and over. In fact, you make us read a lot of your books over and over. I don't really mind; I'm so glad you love books. Your other favorite is a book of nursery rhymes. You keep flipping to the page with 1-2 Buckle My Shoe, but you're not so into Hickory Dickory Dock. The other day, in a desperate attempt to read you something--anything--else, I started an article from Atlantic Monthly. You tried to eat the pages.
3. Your newest word is "down." You still tell us often that things are "hot". But by far your favorite and most used word is "no". Isn't it a bit early for that? You tell us no all the time now, sometimes screeching it when we're trying to put your clothes on or change your diaper. Every time you walk down the hall, you stop to point at each of the outlets and say "no".
4. So yeah, I said walking down the hall. And you are, it's true. But you won't do it by yourself--you always have to be holding on to someone's finger. I could probably hold one end of a toothpick and you would walk easily down the hall holding the other end. What am I trying to say here? You know how to walk. Get to it.
5. We have been looking at houses most weekends. We're trying to find a place to live in Marin, and I think we have seen 50 houses in the past 7 months. We've liked two of them. We're kind of picky, your dad and I, and this is a big decision. Sometimes it feels really discouraging, and other times I can separate my desire to find our perfect place and just enjoy traipsing through someone else's home. You especially like the houses with lots of stairs, and this weekend we saw one where there were dogs. You wanted to move in right then. This is why you don't make the decisions.
6. After house hunting, we've been taking you out for dinner. We've tried sushi, mexican, italian, and pizza. Yes, those last two might kind of be the same thing. You liked edamame, but got mad at the seaweed salad. Love avocado and black beans, but wouldn't even try a quesadilla. Ignored your pasta bolognese and ate string cheese. And nibbled on the edge of a piece of pizza, but outright rejected the summer squash on top. You are a really good eater, despite how that sounds. You just need some more practice at restaurant experimentation.
7. Dad has been transferred to the Mountain View office. This means his commute is a lot longer and that he leaves pretty early in the morning. Sometimes he bikes to work, which takes him about three hours. On those days, he leaves really, really early and takes a shuttle home. So you don't see quite as much of him as you used to, but the good thing is that he still almost always gets home while you're still eating dinner. He gives you your bath and puts you to bed. Consequently, you are getting more and more attached to Dad. You get so excited to see him that it makes me smile every time.
8. This means that you know Dad's name. "Where's Dada?" we might ask and you look around and point to Dad. While "where's Mama?" usually results in you patting yourself on the chest. So if he's Dada and you're Mama, what does that make me? The babysitter?
9. I just took a break from this list because you were crying in your crib. It's so unusual for you to do that in the evening after you go down that I walked right in and picked you up. I held you in the rocking chair and sang to you. You played with my hair, then settled down and went to sleep. So I guess maybe you do know I'm your mom.
I love you,
Mom
There are so many things that I want to tell you right now that I'm going to have to make a list. Lists are very important to me and it's likely that as you grow older you will realize this when you find them lying all around. Like my keys. If you know where those are right now, can you please bring them to me? Or maybe it's not an issue anymore. Maybe now that you're bigger and reading these letters, I've become organized! Also taller! A mom can dream...
So on to the list of things I want to tell you:
1. Despite the unhappy reason for our trips to Chicago, I was really glad that we got a chance to spend so much time with family. We aren't going to Chicago for the holidays this year, and I have been missing everyone there a lot. Pops repainted a Radio Flyer wagon for you and walked you all around town in it. You were pretty well behaved at first, but started getting a little too brave for my liking, kneeling and peering over the edge of the wagon as it bumped its way across cracks in the sidewalks. When you started nibbling on the paint, I called a hiatus to wagon rides. But it was fun while it lasted.
2. You have become obsessed with a series of rather ridiculous books that focus on a single baby as he grows older. You make us read them over and over and over. In fact, you make us read a lot of your books over and over. I don't really mind; I'm so glad you love books. Your other favorite is a book of nursery rhymes. You keep flipping to the page with 1-2 Buckle My Shoe, but you're not so into Hickory Dickory Dock. The other day, in a desperate attempt to read you something--anything--else, I started an article from Atlantic Monthly. You tried to eat the pages.
3. Your newest word is "down." You still tell us often that things are "hot". But by far your favorite and most used word is "no". Isn't it a bit early for that? You tell us no all the time now, sometimes screeching it when we're trying to put your clothes on or change your diaper. Every time you walk down the hall, you stop to point at each of the outlets and say "no".
4. So yeah, I said walking down the hall. And you are, it's true. But you won't do it by yourself--you always have to be holding on to someone's finger. I could probably hold one end of a toothpick and you would walk easily down the hall holding the other end. What am I trying to say here? You know how to walk. Get to it.
5. We have been looking at houses most weekends. We're trying to find a place to live in Marin, and I think we have seen 50 houses in the past 7 months. We've liked two of them. We're kind of picky, your dad and I, and this is a big decision. Sometimes it feels really discouraging, and other times I can separate my desire to find our perfect place and just enjoy traipsing through someone else's home. You especially like the houses with lots of stairs, and this weekend we saw one where there were dogs. You wanted to move in right then. This is why you don't make the decisions.
6. After house hunting, we've been taking you out for dinner. We've tried sushi, mexican, italian, and pizza. Yes, those last two might kind of be the same thing. You liked edamame, but got mad at the seaweed salad. Love avocado and black beans, but wouldn't even try a quesadilla. Ignored your pasta bolognese and ate string cheese. And nibbled on the edge of a piece of pizza, but outright rejected the summer squash on top. You are a really good eater, despite how that sounds. You just need some more practice at restaurant experimentation.
7. Dad has been transferred to the Mountain View office. This means his commute is a lot longer and that he leaves pretty early in the morning. Sometimes he bikes to work, which takes him about three hours. On those days, he leaves really, really early and takes a shuttle home. So you don't see quite as much of him as you used to, but the good thing is that he still almost always gets home while you're still eating dinner. He gives you your bath and puts you to bed. Consequently, you are getting more and more attached to Dad. You get so excited to see him that it makes me smile every time.
8. This means that you know Dad's name. "Where's Dada?" we might ask and you look around and point to Dad. While "where's Mama?" usually results in you patting yourself on the chest. So if he's Dada and you're Mama, what does that make me? The babysitter?
9. I just took a break from this list because you were crying in your crib. It's so unusual for you to do that in the evening after you go down that I walked right in and picked you up. I held you in the rocking chair and sang to you. You played with my hair, then settled down and went to sleep. So I guess maybe you do know I'm your mom.
I love you,
Mom
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Papa
Dear Scarlett,
Your great-grandpa, better known as Papa, passed away on Thursday, May 5. I wrote an obituary for him, which contained the kind of things that you can write in a newspaper about someone you loved. But here, I can tell you so much more. I can tell you how Papa used to offer me a quarter to scratch his back (I learned later that inflation meant my younger cousins got a dollar for the same job.) I would sit behind him on the couch in the living room at 140 S Cuyler and scratch his back with the comb he kept in his pocket. He used the comb to tame the hair that rested evenly on either side of his head and nowhere else. For as long as I can remember, Papa had only wisps of hair across the top. Distracted from my mission, I would start combing his two sections of hair, straight up, then together over the top. I would brush them down, long over his ears, and then finally I got them back to a semblance of normalcy. But Papa still had to redo it himself, which I guess is why I never got my quarter.
Papa always served ice cream after dinner. Neapolitan: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, and he would scoop the long way, so that you got each flavor, but sometimes we just asked for one flavor. For me, it was either chocolate or strawberry, vanilla being so...vanilla. Papa dipped his scoop into a glass of warm water and the ice cream practically floated out of the container. He was a professional. Literally. Papa worked at and later owned Kay's Sweet Shop on Pulaski in Chicago. After the neighborhood turned too rough to own a business there, he opened up a Baskin Robbins. I later worked in a different Baskin Robbins, to continue the family tradition, but I just ate a bunch of banana splits, gave out too many free cones, and got tendonitis from scooping. I'm not sure I got the ice cream entrepreneurial genes.
Papa always had a dog. When I was a freshman in high school, one of my friend's families had a litter of puppies, and Nana surprised Papa by getting him one. I remember sitting in the kitchen with the little dog, waiting for Papa to come through the door. He named her Murphy, because he had a crush on Candice Bergen and loved the show Murphy Brown. Papa told me that Murphy was his favorite dog, the best one he ever had.
Almost exactly 4 years ago, I rented some audio equipment from StoryCorps, a company that travels all over the US and records people interviewing each other. I brought it over to Papa's to do an interview with him. It took us a while to get our groove, because Papa kept grabbing the microphone and saying things like "They call me Swing and Sway with Teddy Kay!" When he wouldn't give the microphone back to me, I had to remind him how interviews work.
Then he told me some great stories. Playing saxophone in The Jimmy Dale Band and The Gents, with his older brother Ray; coming home after school to clean the house and get dinner ready before his parents came home--a particularly interesting story, since I never actually saw Papa make dinner in my entire life, although he did grill, and I guess that counts; meeting Nana at Kay's Sweet Shop and their first kiss in the apartment above the shop. He didn't ask for her parents permission before he proposed to her. He told me "I think they knew we were for each other." They were married for 63 years.
About Nana, he said "She was a beauty. She reminded me of Linda Darnell, the movie actress."
About parenthood, he said "I thought we would have three." They had eight.
About me, he said "Get some grandchildren going."
It took me a little longer, but eventually Dad and I got married, and we did get you going. And in enough time for Papa to meet you. He came to San Francisco to hold you when you were 3 weeks old, traveled to Lake Archibald with you, and spent your first Christmas with you. His hearing was pretty bad, but I think he may even have heard you say "woof woof." And for a man who loved dogs as much as Papa did, that must have been music to his ears.
Love,
Mom
Your great-grandpa, better known as Papa, passed away on Thursday, May 5. I wrote an obituary for him, which contained the kind of things that you can write in a newspaper about someone you loved. But here, I can tell you so much more. I can tell you how Papa used to offer me a quarter to scratch his back (I learned later that inflation meant my younger cousins got a dollar for the same job.) I would sit behind him on the couch in the living room at 140 S Cuyler and scratch his back with the comb he kept in his pocket. He used the comb to tame the hair that rested evenly on either side of his head and nowhere else. For as long as I can remember, Papa had only wisps of hair across the top. Distracted from my mission, I would start combing his two sections of hair, straight up, then together over the top. I would brush them down, long over his ears, and then finally I got them back to a semblance of normalcy. But Papa still had to redo it himself, which I guess is why I never got my quarter.
Papa always served ice cream after dinner. Neapolitan: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, and he would scoop the long way, so that you got each flavor, but sometimes we just asked for one flavor. For me, it was either chocolate or strawberry, vanilla being so...vanilla. Papa dipped his scoop into a glass of warm water and the ice cream practically floated out of the container. He was a professional. Literally. Papa worked at and later owned Kay's Sweet Shop on Pulaski in Chicago. After the neighborhood turned too rough to own a business there, he opened up a Baskin Robbins. I later worked in a different Baskin Robbins, to continue the family tradition, but I just ate a bunch of banana splits, gave out too many free cones, and got tendonitis from scooping. I'm not sure I got the ice cream entrepreneurial genes.
Papa always had a dog. When I was a freshman in high school, one of my friend's families had a litter of puppies, and Nana surprised Papa by getting him one. I remember sitting in the kitchen with the little dog, waiting for Papa to come through the door. He named her Murphy, because he had a crush on Candice Bergen and loved the show Murphy Brown. Papa told me that Murphy was his favorite dog, the best one he ever had.
Almost exactly 4 years ago, I rented some audio equipment from StoryCorps, a company that travels all over the US and records people interviewing each other. I brought it over to Papa's to do an interview with him. It took us a while to get our groove, because Papa kept grabbing the microphone and saying things like "They call me Swing and Sway with Teddy Kay!" When he wouldn't give the microphone back to me, I had to remind him how interviews work.
Then he told me some great stories. Playing saxophone in The Jimmy Dale Band and The Gents, with his older brother Ray; coming home after school to clean the house and get dinner ready before his parents came home--a particularly interesting story, since I never actually saw Papa make dinner in my entire life, although he did grill, and I guess that counts; meeting Nana at Kay's Sweet Shop and their first kiss in the apartment above the shop. He didn't ask for her parents permission before he proposed to her. He told me "I think they knew we were for each other." They were married for 63 years.
About Nana, he said "She was a beauty. She reminded me of Linda Darnell, the movie actress."
About parenthood, he said "I thought we would have three." They had eight.
About me, he said "Get some grandchildren going."
It took me a little longer, but eventually Dad and I got married, and we did get you going. And in enough time for Papa to meet you. He came to San Francisco to hold you when you were 3 weeks old, traveled to Lake Archibald with you, and spent your first Christmas with you. His hearing was pretty bad, but I think he may even have heard you say "woof woof." And for a man who loved dogs as much as Papa did, that must have been music to his ears.
Love,
Mom
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