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
Sunday, October 27, 2013
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.
.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
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.
.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
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
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