Hi sweet girl,
Kindergarten is complete, graduation ceremony was Thursday and yesterday was the last day of the school year.
During the year you had your sixth birthday, and now you frequently ask when will you be seven. Like so many kids before you, myself likely included, the next age seems better, bolder, brighter. You couldn't wait to finish kindergarten and be a BIG FIRST GRADER. As Mommy, I just want to hold onto this precious age of innocent delight and pleasure with uncensored self-expression.
During your graduation ceremony, when it was your turn to receive your certificate and take the microphone, you shared that your favorite part of Kindergarten wasn't the butterflies, or dress-up, or anything reasonably predictable, nope, not you. Your favorite part, you told the audience of nearly a hundred people, your favorite part was clean-up. Clean up!? A few parents asked if I knew this would be your answer, I didn't have words to hide my surprise. This doesn't necessarily transition from school to home, unfortunately, although you do like vacuuming, sometimes.
Then later in the park, during the picnic, your wish for first grade as you released your butterfly that you watched metamorphosis from caterpillar to chrysalis to the winged "Painted Lady," wonderfully named "Banana," was that everyone would do a good job.
Whether these expressions were truly yours, or influenced by what you thought we would want to hear, I'm not sure. I think though, they were yours.
You play with nearly everyone in your class (boys are still pretty stinky), but your BFF's are still, always, the P and the S. Right now S is in England with her family, but we've already sent her a letter. I held you up to the big wall map downstairs and showed you where England is, and how S took a plane that went all the way across the US and then jumped the Pond. Your eyes grew big, somehow comprehending and not the distance. I enjoy thinking of the day you will cross the US, cross the pond, and visit a land so far to find people are the same everywhere and the world is a big, yet small place.
You still love sleeping with Mommy and/or Daddy. Even if you start the night in your own bed, by 4 or 5AM you make the short trek from your room to ours and climb in, snuggling up to me. "Are you my Snuggle Bug?" I ask you sometimes. "Yes!" you say in words, or nods, or smiles.
You are learning so much, from me, from Daddy, from your teacher, whom you adore, and friends. Each of us teaches you a tiny bit, contributing to the whole that is you. From me, you have a love of books, interest in reading. You've come a long way, little one, and can read many words out of many books, especially those by Dr. Seuss. I am so proud, so emotional, feeling your delight when you correctly read a word. We read at bedtime nearly every night, sometimes you read, sometimes I read. I have to thank Borders as well, for starting their book reading game, because it's inspired you to read 10 books mostly by yourself to get the free book from the bookstore. I made you a deal, as you would say, that if you don't like the free book (as they're for a little older age group), I would buy you another book you do like. You just asked me not half an hour ago, looking at the page of books we've read, when, Mommy, when are we going to the bookstore to get your free book? Today, love, you and I are going today.
After we completed reading book 8, in your anticipation of completing you grabbed a short book from your room, and insisted to Daddy and I that you had read it in your room. Nice try, but Daddy and I agreed you had to read it out loud, in front of us. You weren't willing to read it again, but ran up with a crayon to write the title on the page. It took a few days of coaxing to say that book didn't count, love, and by the way, now's a good time to learn that short-cutting doesn't pay. The whole point is to learn how to read, the free book is just a bonus.
From Daddy, you are learning to love sports. Daddy has been coaching the "big kids" at school - the fifth through eighth graders in basketball and futsal (indoor soccer), which inspired your request, I'm sure, for a basketball hoop for your birthday. I'm delighted you are getting this from him, because organized sports aren't something I can give you.
One thing Daddy and I both want for you is a good college. We have slightly different ideas on what "good" is, but after a impassioned debate on the way to Grandma's last weekend, agreed that what we both want is somewhere that is good for you. Daddy would prefer it *not* be his school - SF State. I would be fine with UC Davis. Daddy would prefer a school that is strong academically and competitive within college sports. Although Davis does have sports teams, he's thinking more along the lines of Berkeley or Stanford. I saw dollar signs flash before my eyes and started a 529 for you this week!
What we finally agreed was that we would wait and see what school suited you. We would give you all the information we could to see what setting would suit you. Davis was good for me, but Santa Barbara may have been as well. SF State got Daddy out of So Cal to the bay area, which he has finally come to enjoy after a decade and a half!
Last week, when you said you don't want to go to college, do you have to? You want to stay in this house with Daddy and me forever. (Forever!) I said, wanting to ease this into your head, knowing that force and pressure never inspire. Honey, you can go to college now like you go to Kindergarten. There are good schools close by (Berkeley, and even Stanford is reasonable with a car), and you can go during the day and come home at night. You were pretty relieved, I can imagine that it's a pretty scary thought at six years old to think of leaving us now. This was a good enough answer for you, and I gave you full permission to change your mind.
The balance is shifting, I know, to where you want more time with your friends, and a bit less time with me. But for now, I treasure our Mommy and Ava days, hours, and moments, where sometimes it is making muffins, and sometimes it's that book before bed.
I'm so proud of you, my sweet girl, and as much as you frustrate me some days with the attitude I want to put in a box, I know it's important in becoming uniquely, you.
Do you know I love you?
One million,
plus infinity.
Mommy
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Monday, April 05, 2010
Six
This morning when you woke, you said to me "Mommy, you have to tell me Happy Birthday!"
And so I did, enthusiastically.
What can I tell you about the darling, delightful, happy, charming, sometimes capricious and and seldom petulant, little girl that is you.
Food. You are skeptical of food you haven't tried, and even skeptical of food you used to like. You don't like grilled cheese sandwiches and french fries, perhaps the only one of a million your age. You do like tofu, a decent amount of vegetables, including artichokes, broccoli, carrots, peas, and brussel sprouts. You will sometimes eat chicken, sometimes eggs, which you used to love, and now don't, and seldom any kind of beef, and never bacon. Chocolate is your sweet of choice, but you do ask first and sometimes challenge if you don't like the answer, but I've never seen you sneak candy when you thought I wasn't looking.
School. You love kindergarten. You love, love, love your teacher Miss Brooke, and Daddy and I do as well. We got extremely lucky in your kindergarten teacher, who considers you one of her favorites, even if she can't say that out loud. You are learning to read, and delighted when you can read whole short sentences. Sometimes you guess at words rather than sounding them out. You love math - we play games with adding, and after watching a lot of Schoolhouse Rock we've started playing multiplying games. We're doing a bit of subtraction and no division, as of yet.
Friends. Your two BFF's as of this writing are Perrine and Sufi. You want to write them letters when you're not at school, want play dates on the weekends, these are your friends and you are happy about that. Miss Brooke said you often make up games during recess - once you three were detectives searching for clues.
Last week was your spring break, and I decided to take spring break right along with you. We didn't do much outside the house or the city, except go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium with Daddy and Papa, where you loved all the activities involving pushing buttons. Personally, I liked the seahorses and jelly fish best, but you, it was all about the buttons.
You are still the smallest kid in your class, but your personality is ten feet tall. You are still shy around new people, and Daddy and I are asking that you at least acknowledge the many compliments you get with a "thank you" and greet someone new with "Hi." You're getting there, easing your way into social graces, and I am not going to cajole or force you far beyond your comfort zone.
You like playing with your barbies, but you also love your battery-operated train set. You told Daddy you wanted a basketball net for your birthday, after watching Daddy coach his boys' basketball team, not after watching our bracket fall apart in March Madness.
The other day you asked me how can you become a princess. One of your friends, evidently, wants to be a princess when she grows up. I replied, honestly, that either her mommy and daddy have to be the queen and king, or she has to marry a prince. Then I asked you, what do you want to be when you grow up?
A doctor. You replied. I asked whether you wanted to be a doctor for people or for animals, and you said animals. Okay, works for me, I thought, wondering what it would be next year. I'll have to remember to ask.
All in all, my love, you are the best little girl I could ask for, and I wouldn't trade you for anything. I can't believe it's been six years since you exited my body, and made your grand appearance in the world. I can still remember holding you in the hospital bed, singing "just call me angel, I'm your two AM angel..."
I love you sweetie, I love you one million. And that's a lot.
Mommy
And so I did, enthusiastically.
What can I tell you about the darling, delightful, happy, charming, sometimes capricious and and seldom petulant, little girl that is you.
Food. You are skeptical of food you haven't tried, and even skeptical of food you used to like. You don't like grilled cheese sandwiches and french fries, perhaps the only one of a million your age. You do like tofu, a decent amount of vegetables, including artichokes, broccoli, carrots, peas, and brussel sprouts. You will sometimes eat chicken, sometimes eggs, which you used to love, and now don't, and seldom any kind of beef, and never bacon. Chocolate is your sweet of choice, but you do ask first and sometimes challenge if you don't like the answer, but I've never seen you sneak candy when you thought I wasn't looking.
School. You love kindergarten. You love, love, love your teacher Miss Brooke, and Daddy and I do as well. We got extremely lucky in your kindergarten teacher, who considers you one of her favorites, even if she can't say that out loud. You are learning to read, and delighted when you can read whole short sentences. Sometimes you guess at words rather than sounding them out. You love math - we play games with adding, and after watching a lot of Schoolhouse Rock we've started playing multiplying games. We're doing a bit of subtraction and no division, as of yet.
Friends. Your two BFF's as of this writing are Perrine and Sufi. You want to write them letters when you're not at school, want play dates on the weekends, these are your friends and you are happy about that. Miss Brooke said you often make up games during recess - once you three were detectives searching for clues.
Last week was your spring break, and I decided to take spring break right along with you. We didn't do much outside the house or the city, except go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium with Daddy and Papa, where you loved all the activities involving pushing buttons. Personally, I liked the seahorses and jelly fish best, but you, it was all about the buttons.
You are still the smallest kid in your class, but your personality is ten feet tall. You are still shy around new people, and Daddy and I are asking that you at least acknowledge the many compliments you get with a "thank you" and greet someone new with "Hi." You're getting there, easing your way into social graces, and I am not going to cajole or force you far beyond your comfort zone.
You like playing with your barbies, but you also love your battery-operated train set. You told Daddy you wanted a basketball net for your birthday, after watching Daddy coach his boys' basketball team, not after watching our bracket fall apart in March Madness.
The other day you asked me how can you become a princess. One of your friends, evidently, wants to be a princess when she grows up. I replied, honestly, that either her mommy and daddy have to be the queen and king, or she has to marry a prince. Then I asked you, what do you want to be when you grow up?
A doctor. You replied. I asked whether you wanted to be a doctor for people or for animals, and you said animals. Okay, works for me, I thought, wondering what it would be next year. I'll have to remember to ask.
All in all, my love, you are the best little girl I could ask for, and I wouldn't trade you for anything. I can't believe it's been six years since you exited my body, and made your grand appearance in the world. I can still remember holding you in the hospital bed, singing "just call me angel, I'm your two AM angel..."
I love you sweetie, I love you one million. And that's a lot.
Mommy
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Memories in the heart
Hi little one,
Time for a story.
Seven years ago, in September 2002, I went with Papa to Africa for a month. Part of that trip was a safari across the Serengeti in Botswana. I took so many pictures, that one day I decided I would watch without the camera lens.
I was hiding in my home-made CD mix (before I had an ipod), and as we drove through a particular arid spot, U2's "Beautiful Day" started playing, and as I looked in the distance I saw a progression of twenty or so elephants in the distance.
Everytime this song plays, for a moment I am transported back seven years to warm sun, the slow breeze of driving in an open-sided land rover, watching elephants parade in the distance.
Sometimes the best way to capture memories are in our minds, by memorizing the smell, the feel, and if we're lucky, a piece of music that binds the memory, creating an easily accessible piece of the past.
love,
Mommy
Time for a story.
Seven years ago, in September 2002, I went with Papa to Africa for a month. Part of that trip was a safari across the Serengeti in Botswana. I took so many pictures, that one day I decided I would watch without the camera lens.
I was hiding in my home-made CD mix (before I had an ipod), and as we drove through a particular arid spot, U2's "Beautiful Day" started playing, and as I looked in the distance I saw a progression of twenty or so elephants in the distance.
Everytime this song plays, for a moment I am transported back seven years to warm sun, the slow breeze of driving in an open-sided land rover, watching elephants parade in the distance.
Sometimes the best way to capture memories are in our minds, by memorizing the smell, the feel, and if we're lucky, a piece of music that binds the memory, creating an easily accessible piece of the past.
love,
Mommy
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Highlights
Hi honey,
Last night I was reading a magazine article, and got the idea to ask you what was your favorite thing that happened during the day.
"You mean a Highlight." you corrected me.
I'm game. "Okay, a highlight, what was your highlight?"
"My highlight was when I came home and saw you."
wow.
Later that night, when you easily convinced me to take a bath with you., I asked if you learned about highlights in school.
"Yes," you said, rather vague, "highlights are something that happens during the day."
"Something good, right?"
"Yes, Mommy what was your highlight?"
"Taking a bath with Ava." Your smile was the best response.
There are days when the mommy scale tips in my favor, and makes up for the days when it doesn't. Days when the love is so palpable, so tangible, that the imprint surrounds memories. Those are highlights of life.
I love you,
but you know that,
right?
Mommy
Last night I was reading a magazine article, and got the idea to ask you what was your favorite thing that happened during the day.
"You mean a Highlight." you corrected me.
I'm game. "Okay, a highlight, what was your highlight?"
"My highlight was when I came home and saw you."
wow.
Later that night, when you easily convinced me to take a bath with you., I asked if you learned about highlights in school.
"Yes," you said, rather vague, "highlights are something that happens during the day."
"Something good, right?"
"Yes, Mommy what was your highlight?"
"Taking a bath with Ava." Your smile was the best response.
There are days when the mommy scale tips in my favor, and makes up for the days when it doesn't. Days when the love is so palpable, so tangible, that the imprint surrounds memories. Those are highlights of life.
I love you,
but you know that,
right?
Mommy
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
"I" Messages
Hi my little love,
At school you have learned "I" messages, as a way to express yourself. This morning, you tearfully walked up to me in the kitchen, wrapped in your blanket pajamas with feet, and said:
"Mommy, I have an "I" message for you." Sniff.
"Okay, honey, what is it?"
"I feel sad that you shut the door to the bathroom when I was inside. It scared me."
"Okay, my love, what do you want me to do?" This is part of the "I" message script
"I want you to say sorry."
"I'm so sorry honey, I didn't mean to scare you."
I picked you up in a big hug until the tears were under control. I was so proud of you for using words to express yourself.
love,
always,
Mommy
At school you have learned "I" messages, as a way to express yourself. This morning, you tearfully walked up to me in the kitchen, wrapped in your blanket pajamas with feet, and said:
"Mommy, I have an "I" message for you." Sniff.
"Okay, honey, what is it?"
"I feel sad that you shut the door to the bathroom when I was inside. It scared me."
"Okay, my love, what do you want me to do?" This is part of the "I" message script
"I want you to say sorry."
"I'm so sorry honey, I didn't mean to scare you."
I picked you up in a big hug until the tears were under control. I was so proud of you for using words to express yourself.
love,
always,
Mommy
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Conversations
You: I wish we could have a garage sale.
Me: Really, what would you sell?
You: Everything I don't like.
....
Me, as I pull into the bank parking lot, trying to explain where money comes from:
I'm going to the bank to get money, because I go to work, they put money in the bank for me
You: Because I go to school, there is money in the bank.
No, I didn't correct you. I loved your logic, and someday I'll explain passive and active income, but this was good enough for today.
...
In gymnastics today, you weren't listening to the teacher, and after reminding you, loudly, a couple times, my Angry Mom brain kicked in and grumbled, fortunately silently, that I was going to tell you if you didn't pay attention in gymnastics then we couldn't go anymore.
But fortunately Angry Mom Brain calmed down and at the end of class what I did say was "Honey, I thought you did great today, and noticed you did great especially when you were listening to your teacher. So maybe next time you can listen to your teacher more?"
You nodded.
"And next time at the start of class I can remind you to listen to your teacher."
I don't remember your exact words, but there were no pouts, no tears, no bad feelings, and I was proud of myself for not giving in to idle, angry threats.
It's not easy to be a mom all the time, but I always love being a mom to you.
Me: Really, what would you sell?
You: Everything I don't like.
....
Me, as I pull into the bank parking lot, trying to explain where money comes from:
I'm going to the bank to get money, because I go to work, they put money in the bank for me
You: Because I go to school, there is money in the bank.
No, I didn't correct you. I loved your logic, and someday I'll explain passive and active income, but this was good enough for today.
...
In gymnastics today, you weren't listening to the teacher, and after reminding you, loudly, a couple times, my Angry Mom brain kicked in and grumbled, fortunately silently, that I was going to tell you if you didn't pay attention in gymnastics then we couldn't go anymore.
But fortunately Angry Mom Brain calmed down and at the end of class what I did say was "Honey, I thought you did great today, and noticed you did great especially when you were listening to your teacher. So maybe next time you can listen to your teacher more?"
You nodded.
"And next time at the start of class I can remind you to listen to your teacher."
I don't remember your exact words, but there were no pouts, no tears, no bad feelings, and I was proud of myself for not giving in to idle, angry threats.
It's not easy to be a mom all the time, but I always love being a mom to you.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Kindergarten Day 2
My FB post today (slightly expounded), says it all:
Julie ... is feeling like my my mom license should be suspended after hurrying to leave Ava at Kindergarten after 15 min in the school office sorting out forms with her wanting to show me how she zipped up her own sweatshirt, followed by five minutes of extra hugs in the classroom, because I was going to be late to work and she had that pouty "I'm ...a big girl so I won't cry" face that nearly broke my heart. I miss preschool already. [end of FB post]
All of this was preceded by driving 40 minutes across town to said Kindergarten, where one person honked at me because I didn't side swipe an oncoming car, and I honked at one guy double parked, then felt miniscule when I saw his daughter getting out of the car.
Day 2 was a bit harder than day 1, but you were dressed super-cute with those extra long growing out bangs back in side pony tails, jean skirt with pink leggings.
I was sending you love all day little one, every time I looked at that cute pic from yesterday on my computer background. We'll figure this out, I promise.
love,
Mommy
Julie ... is feeling like my my mom license should be suspended after hurrying to leave Ava at Kindergarten after 15 min in the school office sorting out forms with her wanting to show me how she zipped up her own sweatshirt, followed by five minutes of extra hugs in the classroom, because I was going to be late to work and she had that pouty "I'm ...a big girl so I won't cry" face that nearly broke my heart. I miss preschool already. [end of FB post]
All of this was preceded by driving 40 minutes across town to said Kindergarten, where one person honked at me because I didn't side swipe an oncoming car, and I honked at one guy double parked, then felt miniscule when I saw his daughter getting out of the car.
Day 2 was a bit harder than day 1, but you were dressed super-cute with those extra long growing out bangs back in side pony tails, jean skirt with pink leggings.
I was sending you love all day little one, every time I looked at that cute pic from yesterday on my computer background. We'll figure this out, I promise.
love,
Mommy
Monday, August 31, 2009
Kindergarten
"Mommy, is today a Kindergarten day?" you asked on waking, eyes blinking away sleep.
"I hope so, my love," I responded.
We've had quite an adventure finding you a kindergarten, that all started with the crazy public school lottery system in this beautiful city by the bay. Back in January we submitted our list of 7 schools into the lottery, got one we weren't happy about, didn't register, forgot to sign up for the second lottery, and a couple months later put our names on the "waiting pool" list for one nearby our house. And we waited, and waited, and called periodically with no updates.
Last Monday 8/24 school started for most, but alas, not for us. I sat down with you the Sunday prior when you asked me about Kindergarten, and said as truthfully as possible, that because Mommy and Daddy messed up you didn't have a kindergarten yet.
Last week Daddy went through some Herculean gymnastics to get a school for you, including multiple visits to our waiting pool school, daily visits to the district where he became increasingly upset at the system, until finally on one visit he spoke to a school district manager and out dropped a plum - we may want to check on the two charter schools in the city that are part of the district, but allow us the possibility to transfer to another district school should we choose.
And THAT is how Daddy found Creative Arts Charter School, how he delighted in the music room with a baby grand piano, the cleanliness of the school, and the central location that makes it easy for all involved to help out.
You've been so patient, my love, I am proud beyond measure. This morning as you asked me that first question, I said next, shall we ask the Angels for help? Yes, you nodded.
I whispered then, "Angels, please let us start Kindergarten today."
Bless them, they answered.
love,
always,
Mommy
Monday, August 03, 2009
Choices & Decisions
How to decide between two things, according to you:
Meenie meenie miney mo,
Catch a tiger halla toe
If he hallas letmgo
Meenie meenie miney mo.
Meenie meenie miney mo,
Catch a tiger halla toe
If he hallas letmgo
Meenie meenie miney mo.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Conversations
Conversation #1:
Me: I wish you would trust me, I think you'll like the (Terriaki) chicken
You: What's trust?
Me, pondering: Trust is when I say something and you believe that it's true.
You, pondering.
Conversation #2:
You: Mommy, how many are you?
Me: Forty, well, almost forty in a couple weeks.
You: I wish I was forty.
Me: Why?
You: Then I could be like you.
I love you, sweet girl.
Mommy
Me: I wish you would trust me, I think you'll like the (Terriaki) chicken
You: What's trust?
Me, pondering: Trust is when I say something and you believe that it's true.
You, pondering.
Conversation #2:
You: Mommy, how many are you?
Me: Forty, well, almost forty in a couple weeks.
You: I wish I was forty.
Me: Why?
You: Then I could be like you.
I love you, sweet girl.
Mommy
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The llama in the bolcano and other Ava stories
Yesterday you and I were playing a game with plastic easter eggs. you cracked one open and whooshed as something exploded out of it. My task was to guess what exploded.
a fountain? was my first guess
no
a geyser? second guess
no
what is it? i asked, out of ideas
LLAMA!
Llama?
Yes! The llama that comes out of the bolcano!
I tried to explain that you may mean lava and not llama, but you would hear none of it, and was trying valiantly to muffle laughter.
-------------
A few days ago, on a rare quiet evening you and I were making mixed up chip cookies, when you commented, as nonchalantly commenting on the weather, that you kissed Ben at school today.
I picked up this comment, inspected it mentally, pretending you had just said something as blase as you had broccoli for lunch, and replied, Really? Where did you kiss him?
All over, again so unemotionally attached that you could be commenting on the weather.
Did you kiss him here? I replied, pointing at your nose, or here? Pointing at your stomach.
I kissed him ALL OVER! you said with amusement. Like this, you said, and kissed the air in front of my face a dozen times with your daddy's trademark air kisses. AND THEN I grabbed the back of his shirt and chased him around the playground.
What could I say to that? I just thanked those on duty upstairs that you would tell me this, and hope it's planting good seeds for when you're a teenager.
love,
Mommy
a fountain? was my first guess
no
a geyser? second guess
no
what is it? i asked, out of ideas
LLAMA!
Llama?
Yes! The llama that comes out of the bolcano!
I tried to explain that you may mean lava and not llama, but you would hear none of it, and was trying valiantly to muffle laughter.
-------------
A few days ago, on a rare quiet evening you and I were making mixed up chip cookies, when you commented, as nonchalantly commenting on the weather, that you kissed Ben at school today.
I picked up this comment, inspected it mentally, pretending you had just said something as blase as you had broccoli for lunch, and replied, Really? Where did you kiss him?
All over, again so unemotionally attached that you could be commenting on the weather.
Did you kiss him here? I replied, pointing at your nose, or here? Pointing at your stomach.
I kissed him ALL OVER! you said with amusement. Like this, you said, and kissed the air in front of my face a dozen times with your daddy's trademark air kisses. AND THEN I grabbed the back of his shirt and chased him around the playground.
What could I say to that? I just thanked those on duty upstairs that you would tell me this, and hope it's planting good seeds for when you're a teenager.
love,
Mommy
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Professions
You, as we are watering the vegetable sprouts:
"Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a gardener!"
You, later, as we are making mixed-up chip cookies:
"Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a baker!"
Me:
"A baker and a gardener?"
You:
"Yes! I can be ANYTHING!"
Me:
"Yes you can, my love, yes you can!"
"Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a gardener!"
You, later, as we are making mixed-up chip cookies:
"Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a baker!"
Me:
"A baker and a gardener?"
You:
"Yes! I can be ANYTHING!"
Me:
"Yes you can, my love, yes you can!"
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I'm almost embarassed to write this ...
Me:
Will conejito go with you to school today?
You:
No, conejito is sick.
Me:
Really? What is wrong with little rabbit?
You:
She drank too much of Mommy Rabbit's beer and now her tummy hurts.
Me:
Oh! Let little rabbit she is too young to be drinking beer. She has to be 21 to drink beer.
While I'm thinking, she really did notice that bad-assed hangover I had last week. Ouch!
You:
No she's not. She's two and a half.
Oh man, what do I say to that?
Will conejito go with you to school today?
You:
No, conejito is sick.
Me:
Really? What is wrong with little rabbit?
You:
She drank too much of Mommy Rabbit's beer and now her tummy hurts.
Me:
Oh! Let little rabbit she is too young to be drinking beer. She has to be 21 to drink beer.
While I'm thinking, she really did notice that bad-assed hangover I had last week. Ouch!
You:
No she's not. She's two and a half.
Oh man, what do I say to that?
Monday, April 13, 2009
Five Years
Well, my big little girl, you are now five years old. The shift in your personality over the last couple weeks has been vast and minuscule simultaneously. You need me more and you need me less. I could easily say you are a beautiful dynamic contradiction.
Daddy and I cleaned up the house, the yard, and hosted a party in our honor. Sure, you were the birthday girl, but Daddy and I were also celebrating five years of successful parenting. You are ten feet of personality packed into that tiny little frame, ferociously independent (surprise, surprise), and demanding attention. Really, you're not that demanding, it's more that you want regular attention, which can be a bit challenging these days.
Back to our party ... five of your friends from school came (Daniela, Izel, Kylie, Joseph, Fiona) , along with their parents. Along with those friends, Nana, Papa, Jacque, and a sprinkling of other friends and our neighbors up the street came for a while. The weather was beautiful, bright sunny skies and warm enough for shorts and t-shirts. Daddy and I are not sure which diety you appeased with your birth, but the weather has always been gorgeous the three years we've had parties for you.
Highlight of your party for you ... at one point you decided that you needed to put on a bathing suit, the new little mermaid one from Grandma Bear, and then all of your school friends also had to put on your bathing suits. We didn't realize how many bathing suits you had until that point! We had four little girls running around in states of undress changing into your bathing suits, then you all headed for the trampoline to bounce at the same time!
Highlights of your party, for me ... when I saw people from vastly different parts of my life chatting, immersed in conversation; when people who are normally reserved and cautious around others become bold and vivacious; when Nana and Papa took over the barbecue grill and got all the meat done easily; when everyone came in to eat and Daddy's homemade macaroni and cheese along with my first run of baked beans were the hit of the party; when the other parents commented on the butterfly cookies I'd made as parting gifts instead of gift bags. Perhaps you know by now, but for me, giving away something I've baked is the ultimate delight.
The biggest highlight though, for me, was to see how far you, Daddy, and I have come as a family. The last few months have been bumpy, like rutted muddy road without a 4WD truck bumpy. My job with the food company went away, we parted ways not as amicably as friends but not as hostile as bitter lovers. I took a break, started a new job that is not quite right for a few reasons, and have been on the lookout for a new one which is achingly close and agonizingly distant. Daddy and the food company finally parted last week, after two departures and returns. He had a promising interview last week in an area that he's a rock star, so I'm making my offerings of prayer and devotion to those on duty in the great cloud in the sky that miracles shower us today, like the warm rain of the Hawaiian islands.
Also the realization has hit that you start Kindergarten in the fall. No messing around, no being late to school anymore, a big school with lots of older kids, and my sweet little big girl is going to be more big than little. I think you're more ready than we are. We're going to try the SF Public School system, grateful for the break of paying $1000 a month, and see how it goes. We're also both going to take on full time jobs, and see how that goes as well. The last few years Daddy and I have been working more part time than full time, and now it's time to gather up our resources and get to work.
I'm a little scared, a little nervous, but excitement colors the darkness of fear. This morning I felt overwhelmed, with the massive amount of work ahead of me at my current job but I read the first section of Walking In This World, and the task at the end suggested doing something creative for someone else.
I knew, with that grain of certainty that is so immense that it was time to write to you.
But now, it's time for work.
I love you, one hundred million,
and that's a lot.
Mommy
Daddy and I cleaned up the house, the yard, and hosted a party in our honor. Sure, you were the birthday girl, but Daddy and I were also celebrating five years of successful parenting. You are ten feet of personality packed into that tiny little frame, ferociously independent (surprise, surprise), and demanding attention. Really, you're not that demanding, it's more that you want regular attention, which can be a bit challenging these days.
Back to our party ... five of your friends from school came (Daniela, Izel, Kylie, Joseph, Fiona) , along with their parents. Along with those friends, Nana, Papa, Jacque, and a sprinkling of other friends and our neighbors up the street came for a while. The weather was beautiful, bright sunny skies and warm enough for shorts and t-shirts. Daddy and I are not sure which diety you appeased with your birth, but the weather has always been gorgeous the three years we've had parties for you.
Highlight of your party for you ... at one point you decided that you needed to put on a bathing suit, the new little mermaid one from Grandma Bear, and then all of your school friends also had to put on your bathing suits. We didn't realize how many bathing suits you had until that point! We had four little girls running around in states of undress changing into your bathing suits, then you all headed for the trampoline to bounce at the same time!
Highlights of your party, for me ... when I saw people from vastly different parts of my life chatting, immersed in conversation; when people who are normally reserved and cautious around others become bold and vivacious; when Nana and Papa took over the barbecue grill and got all the meat done easily; when everyone came in to eat and Daddy's homemade macaroni and cheese along with my first run of baked beans were the hit of the party; when the other parents commented on the butterfly cookies I'd made as parting gifts instead of gift bags. Perhaps you know by now, but for me, giving away something I've baked is the ultimate delight.
The biggest highlight though, for me, was to see how far you, Daddy, and I have come as a family. The last few months have been bumpy, like rutted muddy road without a 4WD truck bumpy. My job with the food company went away, we parted ways not as amicably as friends but not as hostile as bitter lovers. I took a break, started a new job that is not quite right for a few reasons, and have been on the lookout for a new one which is achingly close and agonizingly distant. Daddy and the food company finally parted last week, after two departures and returns. He had a promising interview last week in an area that he's a rock star, so I'm making my offerings of prayer and devotion to those on duty in the great cloud in the sky that miracles shower us today, like the warm rain of the Hawaiian islands.
Also the realization has hit that you start Kindergarten in the fall. No messing around, no being late to school anymore, a big school with lots of older kids, and my sweet little big girl is going to be more big than little. I think you're more ready than we are. We're going to try the SF Public School system, grateful for the break of paying $1000 a month, and see how it goes. We're also both going to take on full time jobs, and see how that goes as well. The last few years Daddy and I have been working more part time than full time, and now it's time to gather up our resources and get to work.
I'm a little scared, a little nervous, but excitement colors the darkness of fear. This morning I felt overwhelmed, with the massive amount of work ahead of me at my current job but I read the first section of Walking In This World, and the task at the end suggested doing something creative for someone else.
I knew, with that grain of certainty that is so immense that it was time to write to you.
But now, it's time for work.
I love you, one hundred million,
and that's a lot.
Mommy
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