Noah
Each year at my kids’ school they do an identity project. Here is Noah’s and Zoë’s. I love the detail of Noah’s-especially his eye lashes and curls.
Zoë
Zoë
48-Months-Old
Dear Zoë,
Today you woke up 4. Four. FOUR. Wow. My youngest baby is FOUR. How did that happen? I don’t know where the time has gone. I know part of that is because you a are a constant whirlwind of energy and activity. You literally never stop moving. EVER.
It is hard to put into words the love I have for you. Your spirit and your love of life is nothing short of amazing. You laugh at the strangest things and you laugh every time your brother laughs. And then when asked what you are laughing about you say “I don’t know” with a huge grin.
How I love your grin. Mostly because if you are laughing and smiling it means that you are not crying, pouting, or whining. All of which you do with the same vigor and spirit as when you are happy. It’s is quite annoying amusing. Mostly. You have taken to trying to tell jokes and let me just go on record here–Your jokes do not make any sense. But I love you and I laugh. I laugh not because your jokes are funny, but because they don’t make any sense and I have to wonder where you get your joke telling from and then I remember that your father isn’t the best joke teller and then I understand. Recently you told this joke:
“Knock knock”
“Who’s there?”
“Chicken”
“Chicken who?”
“Chicken aren’t you glad I did say cross the road.”
WTF? What are you learning at school? I pay a metric ton of money to send you to private school and you can’t tell one joke? You try to combine two. Over achiever. But we laugh because we love you and its adorable.
You have become very independent of late. You’ve always been pretty independent and all about doing things for yourself. You now get your shoes on the right feet about 95% of the time–which I have to say impresses me. Especially considering you don’t seem to be able to pick up your shoes and put them away in the basket where they go :). You have begun picking out your own clothes and ask if your dresses are too short and if you need leggins. I would like this written down because you will eventually stop asking and will eventually stop giving you a choice. So get used to that now.
You are flourishing at school and your attitude is getting snarkier–which is understandable since you’re pretty sure you know it all right now. Your teachers have nothing but good things to say about you and you are learning to write and you can color in the lines. Impressive. You love your teachers and your friends. Really, you love just about everyone and you have yet to meet a stranger. You are happy and love to talk. LOVE. TO. TALK. There is very little silence with you around and I’ll be honest, it sometimes drives me crazy. Sometimes I just need quiet–but you have a need to fill every silence with something.
You are 4. You have been a dream of ours for as long as I can remember. Only in my dream you were obedient and quiet. You have made our family whole. Your heart and your kindness are inspirational. You love completely and fiercely. You give the best hugs. You also stand up for yourself and aren’t afraid to back down. You use your feminine wiles to try to get your way on everything. Mostly you are unacceptable and tell me that you won’t let me be your mom if I don’t let you have candy for breakfast. Then you’ll cry and say your feelings are hurt that you can’t have cookies for dinner. Well, I will tell you this sweetheart–I am your mom and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Happy Birthday Baby Girl. I love watching your grow.
Love,
Mother
Random Act Of Cuteness
I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed with life right now…everything is crazy busy and intellectually over stimulating. I am working on posts surrounding education, homework, etc but wanted something light for today.
Last night on our way home from dance class, Zoë picked up a sweater she had left in the car. It’s a bit of a hippy sweater–brown crochet tank–with colored flowers and fringe. It’s cute. Zoë was holding it up and asked me to look. I then had to remind her that I was driving and that I can’t look.
“Tell me what it is.”
“My Ho-ka-pon-tas sweater” she said.
I died laughing. I know she was trying to say Pocahontas sweater, even though I have no idea who might have called it that. So of course, I had to ask her three more times what kind of sweater it was just to her her say Ho-ka-pon-tas.
I then made her tell her dad when we got home.
Sometimes you just need a laugh and if your kids can’t provide that for you…I don’t know what to say.
Hair Meets Scissors
Monday, I was taking out some of Zoë’s braids for a new do for picture day. I had some scissors out (can you predict where this might be leading?) to cut the bands off the bottom of the braids. I took out a few braids and Noah called for me. I left the living room to help Noah and put the chicken in the oven. Zoë comes into the kitchen with this look of horror on her face and tears brimming in her sweet little doe-like eyes.
I immediately asked her what happened.
“Scissors” she whimpered
“WHAT?”
“Hair” she cried.
I look at her little whisp of hair that is now nearly 2 inches shorter than the rest of her hair.
I knew it was bound to happen and can say at first I was so mad at her for picking up the scissors and then so mad at myself for leaving the scissors out for her to be able to pick up.
“Why did you use the scissors?” I demanded in the nicest voice I could muster.
“I didn’t know.” she cried. Or more aptly–she bawled.
She was hysterical. She asked me to sew it back on. And that just broke my heart. She grabbed at my long hair and cried and cried.
it’s not so bad and I can style her hair to make it completely unnoticeable. I had only taken out two of her cornrows at this point so the amount of hair cut is minimal. And the way her hair shrinks up when the curls dry will also keep it pretty unnoticeable.
I promised her it would grow back and she promised to never use scissors on her hair again.
Teaching Our Girls To Respect Themselves
There was a huge brouhaha that lit the interwebs and twitter up like Times Square. Ah….JCPenney, what are you thinking? What were you thinking. As the mother of a little girl who loves being pretty and make-up and frilly clothes, I struggle with teaching her that those are not the things that matter. And this doesn’t help…
Cute and sassy? I don’t mind if my daughter is cute and sassy, but she is also going to be intellectual and use her brain for more than picking out the right shade of lipstick. I know that being pretty is overvalued in our society. I know the research that says that pretty people make more money and have more opportunity (just look at TV, movies, print ads–we totally overvalue beauty). These pressures are abundant in our society and they don’t go away as you get older. Hell, I’m 40 and I still feel them. But to market to that? To make being pretty a value just doesn’t sit right with me.
Our job as parents raising boys who are caring and girls who value smarts is already difficult enough, does it really need to get any harder?
Embracing Imperfection 