To my fabulous kid,
Although your teachers could not come right out and say it, my motherly instincts are telling me they have joined the Ava Fan Club.
I swear I think they had to look long and hard to find things that could remotely be construed as constructive criticism.
Here's what they said, paraphrased:
+ You are an enormous bundle of energy in a tiny frame. I shared with them my Aladdin analogy:
"Enormous colossal power; itty-bitty lamp." They agreed and wrote that down to remember.
+ You're great at starting a task and focusing on it through completion.
+ Your math skills are great, not only do you grasp concepts quickly and correctly, you adapt one concept to another example.
+ You ask really good, thought-provoking questions in class and have become less shy about speaking up.
+ You help other kids. You were paired up with another girl for Writer's Workshop and helped her come up with a story to write.
+ You're not worried or obsessed with if you're liked by the other kids, and consequently, play with whoever wants to play, or just play by yourself. Case in point - at recess you started hula-hooping by yourself. Another girl joined you after a while. A couple weeks pass and now all of the third grade girls (5 of you) have formed with your asst. teacher a "Hula Hoop Club" that is girls-only, except once a month boys can join.
+ You're creative, inventive, eager, and enthusiastic.
+ Here's the fun constructive bits. Sometimes you get so convinced that you are right, that you have a hard time letting go to see the correct method. Daddy and I suggested that your teachers try negotiating with you, showing you their way along side yours and compare. They liked that, I'm grateful to say. They also said that sometimes you are so motivated to do a science experiment that you aren't willing to outline your method for scientific testing. Daddy and I got the message - slow down! So we are taking that to heart and we're going to try slowing down too.
+ Reading. Here's the funny part. What they said is that the books you like to read (Ivy & Bean & the Fairies Series) is actually one step below your actual reading level. You also "read" the books quickly, but miss many details by going too fast. There's that slow down theme again! I read a lot, and I read fast, and I thought about how many details I miss because I want to get to the action. I'm learning to read slower as I'm writing my book because thinking of the right adjective for a sentence gives me appreciation for the painstaking effort of other authors finding the write adjective or verb.
We're so thrilled you love school again, love reading again, and have no reluctance getting out the door in the morning. Sure, the public school price tag was nice, and even the parochial school price tag was less than our independent school now, but stoking the fire of your desire to learn for likely the rest of your life will be a gift, I'm sure, that yields dividends greater than my shares of Apple stock.
I love you. You make me proud, every single day.
Mommy
Friday, October 26, 2012
Thursday, April 05, 2012
Eight
Oh my sweet girl, my precocious, temperamental, wonderful, emotional, everything girl. You are eight today.
If I can take a swim in nostalgia for a moment, eight years ago today I was resting in a hospital room, which unlike my birthing room, did not have bridge to bridge views of San Francisco, but it did, however, have you, swaddled in a hospital blanket, wearing a precious pink, white, and blue striped cap, sleeping next to me in a hospital crib. Or maybe you were laying with me. Hard to remember 8 years ago what happened at 8:05PM.
Over the past eight years I have fragments of memories, delicious moments in time some for their delight, some for their weight. My memory thrives on the photographs I've taken, many in your first couple years, fewer as the years go on. Then there is the tangible evidence, like the two holes above the door way to the bedrooms, where Daddy once drilled support for your bouncer. You loved that thing! I remember some of your words for their uniqueness, like Bodelee for blueberry, badeedalee for strawberry. I think your first word was Mama, but I don't remember the first time you said it. Now you have so much to say, sometimes thoughts and ideas so poignant I wish I'd wrote them down, but it's usually while I'm driving.
I remember your monkey scoot, when I worried briefly you'd have a speech impediment if you didn't crawl - but then you did, briefly, before walking, those steps I remember well because I captured them on video. So often I'll see kids at that barely walking stage with this wild look on their face, as if to say "Look what these can do!" Now, you ride a razor scooter as if you were born to it; but not a bike without training wheels, there's a price we pay for hills in the city!
I don't remember when I stopped being the one you always ran to who could solve all problems, to the one you get mad at so easily (along with Daddy), when you run from us into your room, and yell with wet eyes, "Go Away!" The transition from ally to intermittent enemy is heart breaking.
The rate you're learning is astounding, leaping into cursive writing, multiplication, and with just a bit of studying getting 20/20 correct on weekly spelling tests. I'm a bit sad that reading got demoted from pleasure to chore, perhaps with the requisite weekly reading log (aka 1 page book report). Sometimes though, on the nights you lay down with me first, you'll ask me to read my book to you, which is often a YA fantasy. I read until my mouth is parched and I'm tired, or you're asleep.
You still like school, but you don't love school, the way you loved your last school. I hope it's just your age, as there's more work to do and focus and concentration required. It's so hard sometimes as a parent to trust I've made the right choices for you, but to Daddy and I, it's not safe at your old school yet.
For these few days though, you're at Disneyland with our friends and their daughter; not your first trip away from us, but your first that didn't include family. We measured you on your growth chart behind the door: 44 1/2 inches, tall enough for nearly all the rides. I remember going to the amusement park in Vallejo with you, where you met the requirement only for the kids rides. Or even on our last trip to Disneyland, on your 4th birthday, we were limited to Dumbo, Teacups, and Mr. Toad. Now I can only imagine what you're riding.
Along with your birthday, Daddy and I are pondering what new responsibilities you may be ready for to balance your growth and sometimes sullen attitude. It's such a fragile line to walk between giving in to your requests and forcing our decisions on you, but Daddy and I both believe we're not doing you any favors if we do everything you want.
Mostly though, the house is quiet tonight with you and Daddy gone. Almost lonely quiet.
I love you, big girl, you are my favorite second grader in this universe, and all of the others that exist.
Mommy
p.s. within a month of your birthday, you abandoned your bike's training wheels!
Over the past eight years I have fragments of memories, delicious moments in time some for their delight, some for their weight. My memory thrives on the photographs I've taken, many in your first couple years, fewer as the years go on. Then there is the tangible evidence, like the two holes above the door way to the bedrooms, where Daddy once drilled support for your bouncer. You loved that thing! I remember some of your words for their uniqueness, like Bodelee for blueberry, badeedalee for strawberry. I think your first word was Mama, but I don't remember the first time you said it. Now you have so much to say, sometimes thoughts and ideas so poignant I wish I'd wrote them down, but it's usually while I'm driving.
I remember your monkey scoot, when I worried briefly you'd have a speech impediment if you didn't crawl - but then you did, briefly, before walking, those steps I remember well because I captured them on video. So often I'll see kids at that barely walking stage with this wild look on their face, as if to say "Look what these can do!" Now, you ride a razor scooter as if you were born to it; but not a bike without training wheels, there's a price we pay for hills in the city!
I don't remember when I stopped being the one you always ran to who could solve all problems, to the one you get mad at so easily (along with Daddy), when you run from us into your room, and yell with wet eyes, "Go Away!" The transition from ally to intermittent enemy is heart breaking.
The rate you're learning is astounding, leaping into cursive writing, multiplication, and with just a bit of studying getting 20/20 correct on weekly spelling tests. I'm a bit sad that reading got demoted from pleasure to chore, perhaps with the requisite weekly reading log (aka 1 page book report). Sometimes though, on the nights you lay down with me first, you'll ask me to read my book to you, which is often a YA fantasy. I read until my mouth is parched and I'm tired, or you're asleep.
You still like school, but you don't love school, the way you loved your last school. I hope it's just your age, as there's more work to do and focus and concentration required. It's so hard sometimes as a parent to trust I've made the right choices for you, but to Daddy and I, it's not safe at your old school yet.
For these few days though, you're at Disneyland with our friends and their daughter; not your first trip away from us, but your first that didn't include family. We measured you on your growth chart behind the door: 44 1/2 inches, tall enough for nearly all the rides. I remember going to the amusement park in Vallejo with you, where you met the requirement only for the kids rides. Or even on our last trip to Disneyland, on your 4th birthday, we were limited to Dumbo, Teacups, and Mr. Toad. Now I can only imagine what you're riding.
Along with your birthday, Daddy and I are pondering what new responsibilities you may be ready for to balance your growth and sometimes sullen attitude. It's such a fragile line to walk between giving in to your requests and forcing our decisions on you, but Daddy and I both believe we're not doing you any favors if we do everything you want.
Mostly though, the house is quiet tonight with you and Daddy gone. Almost lonely quiet.
I love you, big girl, you are my favorite second grader in this universe, and all of the others that exist.
Mommy
p.s. within a month of your birthday, you abandoned your bike's training wheels!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Christian-ish, Christian-lite
Hi sweet girl,
Since I last wrote, the world has shifted, rotated, and shifted again resulting in:
I love you sweet girl, you always make me proud.
Mommy
Since I last wrote, the world has shifted, rotated, and shifted again resulting in:
- A new school for you (public charter to private Catholic)
- A new job for me (from consulting the past year to full time for one great place)
- Daddy's 40th birthday is tomorrow
- Well, that's about it, but perhaps it's enough.
First, in January, we changed your school. We loved the families and community at previous school, your teacher was wonderful, but ... of course there's a "but," right? We hit our tolerance level for chaos in December when the residential buildings adjacent to the school caught on fire, buildings that happened to be built in the early 1900s, when, as you may/may not know, asbestos was applied liberally during construction. Daddy wasn't convinced the grounds would be clean enough, and although I thought he was blowing the problem out of proportion at first, I later came to agree. Add to that retrofit construction, a parent-run board, a 30-40 minute commute to your school (one way!), and we hit our boiling point.
We showed up at your old school on the first day after winter break, skeptical, and although the inside had been cleaned, the playground was dusted with ashes. Tests were done, asbestos wasn't found in the air, but Daddy said "not good enough" and back home we went, for two. long. looooonnnngggg. weeks of independent study. After the first week, more tests were run at the school, we went back to visit, but still no, we weren't convinced, and began the search for a new school. Public? We pondered. We could chance an opening at a public school, but the lottery system tweaks public school normalcy, and there wasn't anywhere we thought ideal. One we liked, but had a start time of 7:30. We're early risers, but not that early, and that had a 20 minute commute, at least.
We thought of places where you had friends, and eventually agreed, although I swore I'd never want you in a private school, to go visit the school where you already knew 4 or 5 kids. Private. Catholic. School.
We did like it, even the uniforms, the smallness (<300 K-8), the organization. We were surprised we liked it. We came at PE time (another plus, a real, live PE teacher twice a week!), and as soon as they could, three of your friends ran up and hugged you. The classroom layout was typical for my generation - rows of short desks, storage area under the seat. The desks were likely built in the 1960s - when metal and wood were standard materials. At the charter, you didn't have desks, you had seating around tables and "morning meetings" in a circle, sitting with your legs crossed.
It wasn't an easy choice, especially when it came time to fill out the application and I had to write in what religion you, Daddy, and I are.
I haven't tried to summarize my religion in a long time. I don't claim residency in any one religion, but pick and choose my favorite entree's from the smorgasbord. I've kept one foot in the faith healing tradition I gleaned from Christian Science as a child, but liberally apply nutrition and listening to my body (i.e. if I have a headache, I may ask for help from the Divine, but also drink a lot of water, rest in darkness, and take ibuprofen as a last resort). I've also kept the belief in a kind, loving, wonderful Mother/Father God, also thanks to CS.
But I've also practiced yoga for over a dozen years now, and have said often that I find the divine in a yoga class, when all voices are joined in "Om" - the single syllable encompassing all that exists. I find my faith in my breathing, in meditation, and to quote Anne Lamott (hopefully correctly), my favorite prayers are "please help" and "thank you."
When I feel like a problem is bigger than me, my prayers go out to "Those On Duty," meaning any Divine being listening and waiting for my call. Is it irreverent to think there's a call bank up in the sky, with Angels and other dieties poised to answer my silent call? Or is it faith? Sometimes my prayers go loud and emotional, right to God-with-a-capital-G.
And there's Jesus. Yes, I think Jesus is a child of God, but I also think I am. The miracles he did were miraculous, but I've studied enough yogis to know he's not the first. Maybe he's on that call bank sometimes too, and for that I'm grateful.
So I stared at that box, where I had to summarize my religion. I asked Daddy, who gave his standard answer "I am God." I wanted to put something that gave us a decent chance of acceptance, without compromising my all-encompassing beliefs. Christian-ish? Christian-light? I seriously pondered these answers, but finally seceded with a simple "Christian," because trying to put my real answer, as you can see above, won't fit on a line half the length of an 8 1/2 by 11 size page.
We haven't felt the weight, so much, of the Catholicism in your school. You and I, minus Daddy (who was skiing) went to mass at the adjacent church a few weeks back, and after the sit down, stand up, kneel, repeat "Y" after the priest says "X" -- which I didn't know, obviously, you asked me, with more patience than I thought possible, "Mommy, how long do we have to do this?"
"I don't know..." I said, with a glimmer of amusement. I looked up at that big sculpture of Jesus half-dead on the cross, and thought, Really? This is supposed to inspire me? I was reminded of something I read, pardon me for forgetting the source (maybe Chopra?), of wondering why Jesus was portrayed often at his death. Why not sitting peacefully, communing with the Divine? I looked up at him on the cross and felt sad, but perhaps that's the point. I thought, unless Ava really wants to, I don't have a big desire to return. I can love God, Jesus, and everyone else on the rotation as I'm walking the dog through soaring Eucalyptus and evergreen trees in the park, breathing in the smell of fertile, rich earth.
More recently, Daddy and I were shocked as you started reciting a prayer, likely the one you were agonizing about failing to remember for school earlier in the week, the words almost joyfully flowing from your mouth about asking God's forgiveness for your sins, for choosing to do wrong, failing to do good, failing to love God, who you should love most . Daddy and I looked at each other, and I know I was thinking "Holy Shit!" I think it's the prayer for first communion, which if you want to do, it's up to you, in like another 6 years. Mostly Daddy and I were concerned that if you repeated this prayer over and over, you would come to believe you had done something wrong, which in my Smorgasbord Faith, you haven't.
After the shock wore off, and I listened to my meditation the next morning, where the topic was the mantra "Satcitananda" (Short version: sat=truth, cit=knowledge, ananda=bliss), knowing I didn't want to raise a fuss in our chosen Catholic school, but also wanted to imbue your prayer with my truth, that you haven't sinned, and you do love God enough, and you are the perfect, beautiful child of God. In the middle of this meditation, repeating "satcitananda" I thought - that's it!
So you and I chatted. I gave you my view - that just because you are reciting a prayer, does not mean it is the truth, but, I suggested, I want you to think of something that has meaning to you, to add at the end. You can say it silently in your mind, or out loud, whatever you choose.
I suggested, wearing my biases on my sleeve, "namaste" -- or later, even "I love you, God, thank you for loving me." But today you told me what you decided on.
Om.
For now, that's perfect. As you get older, I'll introduce you into other religions, to infuse Catholicism with Hindu, Buddhist, and Judaism, and yes, likely Christian Science with a side of nutrition.I love you sweet girl, you always make me proud.
Mommy
Saturday, December 10, 2011
One Sticker
Hi sweet girl,
Someday you may remember this story, when perchance reading this blog, or maybe when you have a son or daughter someday.
Today we were driving to Target, early, to beat the Holiday Chaos Shopping, and as we turned the corner near the parking lot, you asked me to roll down your window and then roll it back up. I looked back and saw you toss something very small out the window.
"Did you just litter?" I asked, borderline angry.
Your sheepish, rather surprised look was the answer.
"What did you throw out the window?" I asked a couple times, but you didn't answer. The shock of what you did started to register, in a flushed face that looked near tears.
I said a couple other things that I don't remember now, probably about a thousand dollar fine for littering, slathered with guilt, as to why littering is bad. Then I stopped, and I put the question to you. "Tell me, Ava, three reasons why litter is bad."
You gave me a couple good answers - it makes the Earth look bad. It hurts the Earth. It could hurt dogs who could eat the litter.
I parked the car and we sat for a second. You admitted it was a sticker you threw out the window. I said, calmly at this point, "Here's the thing. You think it doesn't matter about one little sticker, right? But here's the thing. You start with one small sticker. Someone else sees that sticker, and tosses their gum wrapper, because there is already a sticker. Then someone else sees the sticker and the gum wrapper, and tosses their fast food wrapper or coffee cup, because there is already litter. Suddenly that one sticker has attracted more and more litter, and the street looks horrible.
"That's why Daddy is cleaning the streets around our neighborhood. Daddy is doing such a great job of cleaning up, putting out trash cans, and our whole neighborhood looks better. There is less graffiti, less dumping of old mattresses and broken furniture. It all starts with cleaning up litter ... which all starts with one gum wrapper or one sticker or one coffee cup that someone drops on the ground and is too lazy to pick up.
"Pinky promise me," I asked you, "that you'll never litter again."
And you did, both of us smiling as we shook pinky fingers.
Someday you may remember this story, when perchance reading this blog, or maybe when you have a son or daughter someday.
Today we were driving to Target, early, to beat the Holiday Chaos Shopping, and as we turned the corner near the parking lot, you asked me to roll down your window and then roll it back up. I looked back and saw you toss something very small out the window.
"Did you just litter?" I asked, borderline angry.
Your sheepish, rather surprised look was the answer.
"What did you throw out the window?" I asked a couple times, but you didn't answer. The shock of what you did started to register, in a flushed face that looked near tears.
I said a couple other things that I don't remember now, probably about a thousand dollar fine for littering, slathered with guilt, as to why littering is bad. Then I stopped, and I put the question to you. "Tell me, Ava, three reasons why litter is bad."
You gave me a couple good answers - it makes the Earth look bad. It hurts the Earth. It could hurt dogs who could eat the litter.
I parked the car and we sat for a second. You admitted it was a sticker you threw out the window. I said, calmly at this point, "Here's the thing. You think it doesn't matter about one little sticker, right? But here's the thing. You start with one small sticker. Someone else sees that sticker, and tosses their gum wrapper, because there is already a sticker. Then someone else sees the sticker and the gum wrapper, and tosses their fast food wrapper or coffee cup, because there is already litter. Suddenly that one sticker has attracted more and more litter, and the street looks horrible.
"That's why Daddy is cleaning the streets around our neighborhood. Daddy is doing such a great job of cleaning up, putting out trash cans, and our whole neighborhood looks better. There is less graffiti, less dumping of old mattresses and broken furniture. It all starts with cleaning up litter ... which all starts with one gum wrapper or one sticker or one coffee cup that someone drops on the ground and is too lazy to pick up.
"Pinky promise me," I asked you, "that you'll never litter again."
And you did, both of us smiling as we shook pinky fingers.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Almost 7
Hi my sweetie,
The house is empty tonight - you and Daddy are still in Tahoe, likely resting or playing after skiing today. You asked Daddy to call me this morning, on your way to Sierra, and after asking me where the water pack is, you said someone wanted to say "Hi" to me. Turned out it was Rocco, your Zhu Zhu pet that looks like a raccoon wanted to chirp 'hello' and a bit later, goodbye.
You are such a big girl, such an amazing kid. We had our regularly semi-annual parent-teacher conference with Brooke, your first grade teacher a couple weeks back, and she was positively glowing about you. Your reading level is equivalent to a beginning third grader, your math skills have become strong and confident over the past couple months, and overall you are one incredible kid. I think your teacher was proud, but probably not as proud as Daddy and me.
Then there's skiing. This week you skied your 16th, 17th, and possibly 18th days of the year, and you are barreling down the mountain like a maniac. A reasonably in control maniac, albeit. You're sort of working on turns, but your confidence is good, and you follow Daddy or I with no problem, and I don't have to slow down for you, much! Today in fact, Daddy said you were going off small jumps and following him through trees ... watch out, here comes Ava!
You had your regular visit to the "tooth doctor" last week, where we saw that you have six grown up teeth (bottom two front, and front and back molars), with four more teeth on their way. You're so good at the dentist, and you like the special toothbrush that polishes your teeth because it tickles. This time as your prize you got a red thin "fortune fish" that tells if you're in love, jealous, fickle, and the like. Once it said you were in love, so I questioned who you were in love with ... you adamantly deny you're in love with any boy in your class. So we agreed, you and I, that we're both in love with Daddy.
You are talkative, animated, and incredibly imaginative. You're excited that the cherry tree out back is blossoming, as it does every year around your birthday. A few years back Daddy threatened to cut down that tree, as it was pruned badly by previous owners, but I refused. Even if it's not perfectly shaped, it's beautiful, and you appreciate it as much as I do, like a present to celebrate your birth.
We've come a long way - you, Daddy, and me. Seven years the three of us have been a family, time that has bonded us further, strengthening communication. Sometimes you ask me if we can have a baby, you think you'd like a baby sister, but no, it's not going to happen. Our tripod family is perfect, to me anyway. For you, we'll make do with your fourteen first cousins, and dozens of friends.
We still have Mommy and Ava days, the two of us. Sometimes we run errands, and sometimes we plan something different. I hope we can always have a slice of time that is just for us where we talk about everything and nothing.
You still call the remote control to the TV the "me-rote," which is so cute so I don't correct you. You're less cautious around adults you know, but still don't like talking to new people. You started in a weekly French class, and we have a new ritual of getting a 'croissant au chocolate' and steamed milk from the French bakery the morning after, before heading to school. You think it's funny that kids and adults see the paper cup and ask if you're drinking coffee.
You are an absolute monkey on the playground, swinging between metal rings, and climbing with absolute confidence. You stretch my limits of comfort to see you.
We're not sure yet, what we're doing for your birthday. You want a sleepover with girls from your class, which I'm limiting to three plus you, but then we're also talking about a big party, like we do on alternate years, where Daddy and I celebrate that we've made it this long as parents, and you are turning out okay.
Recently I sang to you the song I altered and sang in the hospital, at three in the morning, when you were wide awake with those luscious dark eyes, "just call me angel, I'm your three AM angel, just pat my back so I can burp, Mommy..." And now you request it, my song to you, at one day old, where I knew you had my heart and my love, completely. I think you know it too, especially now when I make up new words.
But most of all, I love you, constantly. You will always be my three AM angel, and I will rub your back so you can sleep.
Love,
Forever,
Mommy
The house is empty tonight - you and Daddy are still in Tahoe, likely resting or playing after skiing today. You asked Daddy to call me this morning, on your way to Sierra, and after asking me where the water pack is, you said someone wanted to say "Hi" to me. Turned out it was Rocco, your Zhu Zhu pet that looks like a raccoon wanted to chirp 'hello' and a bit later, goodbye.
You are such a big girl, such an amazing kid. We had our regularly semi-annual parent-teacher conference with Brooke, your first grade teacher a couple weeks back, and she was positively glowing about you. Your reading level is equivalent to a beginning third grader, your math skills have become strong and confident over the past couple months, and overall you are one incredible kid. I think your teacher was proud, but probably not as proud as Daddy and me.
Then there's skiing. This week you skied your 16th, 17th, and possibly 18th days of the year, and you are barreling down the mountain like a maniac. A reasonably in control maniac, albeit. You're sort of working on turns, but your confidence is good, and you follow Daddy or I with no problem, and I don't have to slow down for you, much! Today in fact, Daddy said you were going off small jumps and following him through trees ... watch out, here comes Ava!
You had your regular visit to the "tooth doctor" last week, where we saw that you have six grown up teeth (bottom two front, and front and back molars), with four more teeth on their way. You're so good at the dentist, and you like the special toothbrush that polishes your teeth because it tickles. This time as your prize you got a red thin "fortune fish" that tells if you're in love, jealous, fickle, and the like. Once it said you were in love, so I questioned who you were in love with ... you adamantly deny you're in love with any boy in your class. So we agreed, you and I, that we're both in love with Daddy.
You are talkative, animated, and incredibly imaginative. You're excited that the cherry tree out back is blossoming, as it does every year around your birthday. A few years back Daddy threatened to cut down that tree, as it was pruned badly by previous owners, but I refused. Even if it's not perfectly shaped, it's beautiful, and you appreciate it as much as I do, like a present to celebrate your birth.
We've come a long way - you, Daddy, and me. Seven years the three of us have been a family, time that has bonded us further, strengthening communication. Sometimes you ask me if we can have a baby, you think you'd like a baby sister, but no, it's not going to happen. Our tripod family is perfect, to me anyway. For you, we'll make do with your fourteen first cousins, and dozens of friends.
We still have Mommy and Ava days, the two of us. Sometimes we run errands, and sometimes we plan something different. I hope we can always have a slice of time that is just for us where we talk about everything and nothing.
You still call the remote control to the TV the "me-rote," which is so cute so I don't correct you. You're less cautious around adults you know, but still don't like talking to new people. You started in a weekly French class, and we have a new ritual of getting a 'croissant au chocolate' and steamed milk from the French bakery the morning after, before heading to school. You think it's funny that kids and adults see the paper cup and ask if you're drinking coffee.
You are an absolute monkey on the playground, swinging between metal rings, and climbing with absolute confidence. You stretch my limits of comfort to see you.
We're not sure yet, what we're doing for your birthday. You want a sleepover with girls from your class, which I'm limiting to three plus you, but then we're also talking about a big party, like we do on alternate years, where Daddy and I celebrate that we've made it this long as parents, and you are turning out okay.
Recently I sang to you the song I altered and sang in the hospital, at three in the morning, when you were wide awake with those luscious dark eyes, "just call me angel, I'm your three AM angel, just pat my back so I can burp, Mommy..." And now you request it, my song to you, at one day old, where I knew you had my heart and my love, completely. I think you know it too, especially now when I make up new words.
But most of all, I love you, constantly. You will always be my three AM angel, and I will rub your back so you can sleep.
Love,
Forever,
Mommy
Saturday, June 05, 2010
End of Kindergarten
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
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
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.
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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.
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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
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