Dear Scarlett,
You are emptying a bag of crackers onto the living room rug, which has just been vacuumed. When all of the crackers are on the floor and have been sufficiently spread around, I start to clean them up so we can go to the grocery store. At first, I tell you to help, but then I decide that the most I can hope for is that you will stop stepping on the crackers and mashing them into the rug even further.
After several attempts to get you to stop, I say, "Do not step on the crackers. If you step on them one more time, you're going to your room."
You smirk at me and take a giant step into the biggest pile.
"Get out," I tell you. "Go to your room. Right now."
You run off gleefully, shouting, "I'm going to have a time out!!"
Dad and I are in the process of rethinking your punishments, since time out doesn't seem to be having the desired effect. I'll let you know what we come up with.
On the plus side, you crack me up every day. Yesterday you asked a 10-year-old if she wanted to "hang out" at the aquarium. This was after introducing yourself by saying "Hey, this is Scarlett."
In tumbling class this week, when the rest of us were stretching in a circle, you got right into the center and started singing a song Nonnie taught you. "My poor hand is shaking, I cannot make it stop!" you chanted.
In swim class, you wriggle away from me as soon as you can and swim all by yourself. You can get across the pool now, coming up for air whenever you want, and often yelling something in the seconds before you go back under. "I'm having!" you yelled when we were at a pool in Palo Alto with Nonnie last weekend. And then, "Fun!" the next time you surfaced.
It pains me that I don't write you more letters, because every day there is something to record. But I am busy living life with you, rather than writing it down. I try to keep notes, and some of the things you say are so unforgettable, but I still know that I'm missing things. It's ok, I think. I want to just enjoy this time with you: the way you sometimes come up and kiss my leg in the kitchen, or lean against me and say "HUG." The way you ask me to hold your hand, which is really more of a demand, "Mommy will hold your hand," but it makes me smile. The way that you kiss Dad on both of his cheeks every morning before asking "How was your day, Daddy?"
You are a feisty, independent little girl, and unbelievably sweet. Your naughty behavior, which includes enjoying your time outs, is simply another way to mess with us, something you and probably every other toddler in the world have mastered. But I know that when you run away from me and I say "Ok, I'm leaving, see you later," you will immediately run back towards me yelling, "I want to go with you!"
Same here.
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Smokey Goulding (1991-2012)
Dear Scarlett,
On May 11, we said goodbye to our dear cat Smokey. Smokey was a beautiful, 21-year-old Russian Blue with a feisty attitude and a penchant for eating human food. He often stalked around and under your high chair waiting for a stray garbanzo bean or some macaroni and cheese to roll his way. He did not ever wait long.
I first met Smokey in June of 2005 when I started dating Dad. They used to play a game where Dad would bounce Smokey in his arms, and then toss him in the air over the bed. When Smokey landed, he nuzzled right up to Dad to tell him he wanted to keep playing. Now Dad plays a similar game with you, but when you want more, you just yell "More bouncing again right now please!"
While we were living in New York, Smokey was diagnosed with kidney and thyroid diseases, and we had to put him on several medications. Despite this, he usually acted like a kitten, full of energy and very affectionate.
Smokey lived in Chicago, Boston, New York and San Francisco. He was a very worldly cat, whose favorite things included sitting on Dad's lap every evening, galloping down the hall at odd hours, ice cream, and Emma. And then sometimes not Emma. Smokey was a bit of an enigma. His opinion of you can best be described as dubious. As you will recall from earlier letters, you pulled his fur, grabbed him by his back legs, and generally tormented him with all of your "love." But to his credit, he didn't hold this against you much of the time. When you were very small, he would sit with us in the rocking chair while you nursed. And recently, he even started approaching you while you were reading on our bed. But if you turned too quickly or expressed too much interest in him, he was out of there. He just wanted to watch you.
The day we said goodbye to Smokey, we also said goodbye to your baby monitors. You announced that the one in your room was "scary" and that although the other one was "nice," you wanted neither of them around you. I asked you why one was scary and you said "Because it watches you." I can see how that would be somewhat discomforting, so we took the monitors away. But then it turned out you weren't really scared of them, you just wanted to hold them and talk about them all the time. After two weeks of the monitors being your constant companions ("the monitors are your friends" is a sentence that came out of your mouth more than once), I finally had to tell you that we gave them away to a family with a small baby.
Of Smokey, you sometimes say "Smokey went with the doctor. But he's coming back soon." And when I tell you Smokey is not coming back, you say "Oh yeah." And then you ask for your monitors.
The last thing you said to Smokey was "Hey Smokey, you good cat, you." He was a good cat. It's hard to believe he's gone.
Love,
Mom
On May 11, we said goodbye to our dear cat Smokey. Smokey was a beautiful, 21-year-old Russian Blue with a feisty attitude and a penchant for eating human food. He often stalked around and under your high chair waiting for a stray garbanzo bean or some macaroni and cheese to roll his way. He did not ever wait long.
I first met Smokey in June of 2005 when I started dating Dad. They used to play a game where Dad would bounce Smokey in his arms, and then toss him in the air over the bed. When Smokey landed, he nuzzled right up to Dad to tell him he wanted to keep playing. Now Dad plays a similar game with you, but when you want more, you just yell "More bouncing again right now please!"
While we were living in New York, Smokey was diagnosed with kidney and thyroid diseases, and we had to put him on several medications. Despite this, he usually acted like a kitten, full of energy and very affectionate.
Smokey lived in Chicago, Boston, New York and San Francisco. He was a very worldly cat, whose favorite things included sitting on Dad's lap every evening, galloping down the hall at odd hours, ice cream, and Emma. And then sometimes not Emma. Smokey was a bit of an enigma. His opinion of you can best be described as dubious. As you will recall from earlier letters, you pulled his fur, grabbed him by his back legs, and generally tormented him with all of your "love." But to his credit, he didn't hold this against you much of the time. When you were very small, he would sit with us in the rocking chair while you nursed. And recently, he even started approaching you while you were reading on our bed. But if you turned too quickly or expressed too much interest in him, he was out of there. He just wanted to watch you.
The day we said goodbye to Smokey, we also said goodbye to your baby monitors. You announced that the one in your room was "scary" and that although the other one was "nice," you wanted neither of them around you. I asked you why one was scary and you said "Because it watches you." I can see how that would be somewhat discomforting, so we took the monitors away. But then it turned out you weren't really scared of them, you just wanted to hold them and talk about them all the time. After two weeks of the monitors being your constant companions ("the monitors are your friends" is a sentence that came out of your mouth more than once), I finally had to tell you that we gave them away to a family with a small baby.
Of Smokey, you sometimes say "Smokey went with the doctor. But he's coming back soon." And when I tell you Smokey is not coming back, you say "Oh yeah." And then you ask for your monitors.
The last thing you said to Smokey was "Hey Smokey, you good cat, you." He was a good cat. It's hard to believe he's gone.
Love,
Mom
Monday, May 21, 2012
A letter from Scarlett, as dictated to Mommy
Dear Nonnie,
Hi. I want to say hi to Nonnie. Hi Nonnie! It's your birthday! Hi Nonnie! Nonnie's not home yet. I want to watch Snowflake. I love you. NO! I want to watch Snowflake! I'm dancing. I gonna play at Recess, Nonnie. Happy Birthday Nonnie!
This is a picture of Scout. And that's a doggie.
Love,
Scarlett
Hi. I want to say hi to Nonnie. Hi Nonnie! It's your birthday! Hi Nonnie! Nonnie's not home yet. I want to watch Snowflake. I love you. NO! I want to watch Snowflake! I'm dancing. I gonna play at Recess, Nonnie. Happy Birthday Nonnie!
Love,
Scarlett
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
My Girl
Dear Scarlett,
At the beginning of this year, I resolved to write you two letters a month. I think by this measure I'm not totally failing, but I do worry that it's not often enough to track all of your hilarious doings and sayings. You make me laugh every day. You also make me crazy every day. I probably deserve it. I don't think I was a particularly easy child.
But in many ways you are an easy child. You are cuddly, and quick to be soothed. You barely ever cry, unless you are fake crying and you get yourself worked up into a real cry. You only need band-aids for aesthetic purposes (this is not to say you don't have bumps and bruises, just that you don't care about them.) Lately, you even let me wear my hair up on occasion. Especially in the kitchen, where we've been discussing hygiene. "We don't want to get food in the hair," you'll say. Close enough.
We have been playing around with different voices. "I want a chocolate cookie," you'll sing in a falsetto. Then you'll say the same thing in your "low voice," which sounds exactly like the creepy kid from The Shining. Red Rum. Look it up.
I've signed you up for tumbling this summer, and you, Dad and I are going to take an Italian class together in July. We're trying to get you ready for your Italian immersion preschool, which starts in August. I think the Italian will likely come in handy more than the tumbling, but you never know. Being able to tuck and roll is a good skill to have when you're trying to steal someone else's snack. Please don't get kicked out of preschool.
You are infatuated with balloons. Nothing makes you happier. "I need a balloon right now, please!" you have been known to yell from your crib. Today we went to get you three new balloons, because we've been talking about doing it for days. When I told you we were going, your entire body started twitching. "Are you excited?" I asked. "YES!" you screamed. You picked three Mylar balloons. Elmo, an orange star, and a ladybug. You named the star Twinkle Twinkle and the ladybug Tigger. When we got home, Twinkle Twinkle made an escape attempt and actually got a block away before getting tangled in a bush, where we captured it. I ran back to our car, yelling "I got Twinkle Twinkle!" Then we high-fived.
I think we can do anything.
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Love,
Mom
At the beginning of this year, I resolved to write you two letters a month. I think by this measure I'm not totally failing, but I do worry that it's not often enough to track all of your hilarious doings and sayings. You make me laugh every day. You also make me crazy every day. I probably deserve it. I don't think I was a particularly easy child.
But in many ways you are an easy child. You are cuddly, and quick to be soothed. You barely ever cry, unless you are fake crying and you get yourself worked up into a real cry. You only need band-aids for aesthetic purposes (this is not to say you don't have bumps and bruises, just that you don't care about them.) Lately, you even let me wear my hair up on occasion. Especially in the kitchen, where we've been discussing hygiene. "We don't want to get food in the hair," you'll say. Close enough.
We have been playing around with different voices. "I want a chocolate cookie," you'll sing in a falsetto. Then you'll say the same thing in your "low voice," which sounds exactly like the creepy kid from The Shining. Red Rum. Look it up.
I've signed you up for tumbling this summer, and you, Dad and I are going to take an Italian class together in July. We're trying to get you ready for your Italian immersion preschool, which starts in August. I think the Italian will likely come in handy more than the tumbling, but you never know. Being able to tuck and roll is a good skill to have when you're trying to steal someone else's snack. Please don't get kicked out of preschool.
You are infatuated with balloons. Nothing makes you happier. "I need a balloon right now, please!" you have been known to yell from your crib. Today we went to get you three new balloons, because we've been talking about doing it for days. When I told you we were going, your entire body started twitching. "Are you excited?" I asked. "YES!" you screamed. You picked three Mylar balloons. Elmo, an orange star, and a ladybug. You named the star Twinkle Twinkle and the ladybug Tigger. When we got home, Twinkle Twinkle made an escape attempt and actually got a block away before getting tangled in a bush, where we captured it. I ran back to our car, yelling "I got Twinkle Twinkle!" Then we high-fived.
I think we can do anything.
.JPG)
Monday, April 23, 2012
Toddlering
Dear Scarlett,
You are in bed, Dad is at work, and I am sitting amidst a pile of papers in the dining room streaming Jack White's new album. I'm ostensibly getting organized, but what is really happening is that I'm slowly shaking off the day. It was not our best. For the past two days you've had a really hard time listening and following instructions. I realize you're two. But you've actually been much better at this in the recent past. Today you ran away from me numerous times in public places, once directly towards a parking lot, where a total stranger had to stop you. You broke a glass, you knocked everything off the coffee table, you refused to get into your car seat, you poured your snack all over the floor. I will admit, I was very angry with you. And with myself, because I need to be more prepared for this behavior, and more able to deal with it patiently. Today is also a day (not the first) that I seriously considered getting you a child leash. Ugh, just seeing those words is horrible. But watching you nearly run into a crowded parking lot was definitely more horrible. In the car on the way home, you said "When Mommy calls you, you have to stop." But I think you're just paying lip service to that concept.
So it was a rough day, but we've also had a lot of successes lately that I want to write about. You got your green ribbon in swim class for swimming all on your own, including kicking and paddling. You are potty trained, and it was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be. You are funny and conversational, though still bossy. When you want me or Dad to do something now, you just inform us that we will do it. "Mommy will sit down," you'll say, gesturing to the spot where I'm supposed to be. When I tell you to ask politely, you'll throw in a cursory "please" with a look on your face that I expect to see a lot more of when you're 15.
On Tuesday morning of last week, you woke up to find that Pops had arrived for a visit. You were so excited, you couldn't stand still for the rest of the week. We rode the cable car, went to the aquarium, watched Uncle Rob's softball game, and danced at the Farmer's Market. Pops even got to see you receive your swimming ribbon. Now that I think about it, maybe all of your naughtiness is a response to Pop's departure. I miss him, too.
But I am optimistic that things will improve. After all, tomorrow is another day.
Love,
Mom
You are in bed, Dad is at work, and I am sitting amidst a pile of papers in the dining room streaming Jack White's new album. I'm ostensibly getting organized, but what is really happening is that I'm slowly shaking off the day. It was not our best. For the past two days you've had a really hard time listening and following instructions. I realize you're two. But you've actually been much better at this in the recent past. Today you ran away from me numerous times in public places, once directly towards a parking lot, where a total stranger had to stop you. You broke a glass, you knocked everything off the coffee table, you refused to get into your car seat, you poured your snack all over the floor. I will admit, I was very angry with you. And with myself, because I need to be more prepared for this behavior, and more able to deal with it patiently. Today is also a day (not the first) that I seriously considered getting you a child leash. Ugh, just seeing those words is horrible. But watching you nearly run into a crowded parking lot was definitely more horrible. In the car on the way home, you said "When Mommy calls you, you have to stop." But I think you're just paying lip service to that concept.
So it was a rough day, but we've also had a lot of successes lately that I want to write about. You got your green ribbon in swim class for swimming all on your own, including kicking and paddling. You are potty trained, and it was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be. You are funny and conversational, though still bossy. When you want me or Dad to do something now, you just inform us that we will do it. "Mommy will sit down," you'll say, gesturing to the spot where I'm supposed to be. When I tell you to ask politely, you'll throw in a cursory "please" with a look on your face that I expect to see a lot more of when you're 15.
On Tuesday morning of last week, you woke up to find that Pops had arrived for a visit. You were so excited, you couldn't stand still for the rest of the week. We rode the cable car, went to the aquarium, watched Uncle Rob's softball game, and danced at the Farmer's Market. Pops even got to see you receive your swimming ribbon. Now that I think about it, maybe all of your naughtiness is a response to Pop's departure. I miss him, too.
But I am optimistic that things will improve. After all, tomorrow is another day.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
A Visit to Chicago
Dear Scarlett,
We just returned from a week-long trip to Chicago. Aside from the airplane rides, we had a terrific time, but with the airplane rides, it was like a little slice of hell. On our way there, you demanded to get out of your seat the entire time, refused to nap, and spent the descent screaming at the top of your lungs (probably because your ears hurt and you refused to drink or eat anything I was offering you. Luckily, I finally found a one-year-old lollipop in the bottom of my bag and that kept you quiet for the last minute before touchdown, until you wanted another one.) I was sweating, putting my hand over your mouth, singing to you, telling you stories, trying to shove yogurt bites into your mouth, and doing everything I could to avoid eye contact with the other passengers.
On the way back to San Francisco, you threw your tantrum before we even boarded the plane. I had to carry you kicking and screaming down the aisle, while all people around us secretly hoped that we would not be sitting anywhere near them. As an aside, I could write an entire paragraph on United Airlines refusal to pre-board families, but by the time you're reading this, that airline won't exist anymore, so really, what's the point? Once the flight started, you were actually pretty good, because I let you have three lollipops and play with my iPad. But you still didn't nap.
In between flights, we stayed with Nonnie and Pops, who threw you a birthday party and doted on you every moment. On the two days when you woke up at 4:45 for no apparent reason, Pops got up and played with you so I could go back to bed. Nonnie showed you a video of an owl and a star dancing to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and it became your new obsession. You made several jokes, including adding "Uncle" to the beginning of everyone's name: Uncle Pops, Uncle Shishie, Uncle Layla, Uncle Banana, Uncle Mommy's Jacket...and laughed uncontrollably. You made a brief appearance at Shishie's baby shower and dropped a cracker into each of her gift bags. When you spilled your whole fruit salad in the present pile, we decided it was time for you to leave.
Nonnie watched you one night so Pops and I could go see The Hunger Games and have dinner at Uncle Paul's bar. That was an awesome night, and I realized it is really great and important to behave like an adult every now and then, even when that means going to see a PG-13 movie and eating macaroni and cheese and tater tots. We also had several play dates with your buddies Grace, Noah, Timmy, Tommy and Ava, and I am now kicking myself for forgetting to get pictures of that good-looking group.
When we got back to our house, you kissed me and danced in the kitchen. I know you had a great trip, but it is good to be home, to have all of our stuff, to be with Dad. This morning when you woke up, you immediately asked if you could go see him in bed. This afternoon you asked if he could come over. I can't wait to see your face when he gets home tonight.
Also of note: today was your 2-year doctor appointment. You are 30 pounds and 35.5 inches tall. The doctor estimates that you will be 5'9" or 5'10" when you are all grown. I'm so jealous. Maybe you can carry me around for a change once that happens.
Love,
Mom
We just returned from a week-long trip to Chicago. Aside from the airplane rides, we had a terrific time, but with the airplane rides, it was like a little slice of hell. On our way there, you demanded to get out of your seat the entire time, refused to nap, and spent the descent screaming at the top of your lungs (probably because your ears hurt and you refused to drink or eat anything I was offering you. Luckily, I finally found a one-year-old lollipop in the bottom of my bag and that kept you quiet for the last minute before touchdown, until you wanted another one.) I was sweating, putting my hand over your mouth, singing to you, telling you stories, trying to shove yogurt bites into your mouth, and doing everything I could to avoid eye contact with the other passengers.
On the way back to San Francisco, you threw your tantrum before we even boarded the plane. I had to carry you kicking and screaming down the aisle, while all people around us secretly hoped that we would not be sitting anywhere near them. As an aside, I could write an entire paragraph on United Airlines refusal to pre-board families, but by the time you're reading this, that airline won't exist anymore, so really, what's the point? Once the flight started, you were actually pretty good, because I let you have three lollipops and play with my iPad. But you still didn't nap.
In between flights, we stayed with Nonnie and Pops, who threw you a birthday party and doted on you every moment. On the two days when you woke up at 4:45 for no apparent reason, Pops got up and played with you so I could go back to bed. Nonnie showed you a video of an owl and a star dancing to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and it became your new obsession. You made several jokes, including adding "Uncle" to the beginning of everyone's name: Uncle Pops, Uncle Shishie, Uncle Layla, Uncle Banana, Uncle Mommy's Jacket...and laughed uncontrollably. You made a brief appearance at Shishie's baby shower and dropped a cracker into each of her gift bags. When you spilled your whole fruit salad in the present pile, we decided it was time for you to leave.
Nonnie watched you one night so Pops and I could go see The Hunger Games and have dinner at Uncle Paul's bar. That was an awesome night, and I realized it is really great and important to behave like an adult every now and then, even when that means going to see a PG-13 movie and eating macaroni and cheese and tater tots. We also had several play dates with your buddies Grace, Noah, Timmy, Tommy and Ava, and I am now kicking myself for forgetting to get pictures of that good-looking group.
When we got back to our house, you kissed me and danced in the kitchen. I know you had a great trip, but it is good to be home, to have all of our stuff, to be with Dad. This morning when you woke up, you immediately asked if you could go see him in bed. This afternoon you asked if he could come over. I can't wait to see your face when he gets home tonight.
Also of note: today was your 2-year doctor appointment. You are 30 pounds and 35.5 inches tall. The doctor estimates that you will be 5'9" or 5'10" when you are all grown. I'm so jealous. Maybe you can carry me around for a change once that happens.
Love,
Mom
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