It's Scarlett's world...I just write about it!

I'm back.....

After a haitus that turned into semi-retirement, I decided that I really need this outlet...and somehow I'll find time to get these thoughts down for my loyal 2-3 readers. (ok, Its pretty much just me at this time...we're working on that).

I will rework the blog's name and pictures to include Miss Sassy Sophie but for now, without further ado, let me oil those squeaky writing joints with a little note about Scarlett's most recent milestone.
I call this, "The Recital that I thought would be hell, actually went pretty well".

I thought it would be something fun for you…a little physical activity, a little socialization, a little instruction. I mean, after all, you had just turned 3, and I didn’t have very high expectations. In fact, I wouldn’t have considered ballet & tap dancing for you at all, had it not been for Grandma signing you up (with our consent, of course).

For 8 months, you spent 45 minutes a week in a tiny little dance studio. On the first day, Grandma and I both came to drop you off, and I nearly panicked when I wasn’t allowed in the room with you. I didn’t know how you’d react, but I assumed you’d react with your very best Scarlett meltdown. I had my own meltdown, mentally, of course. You’d never been left in anyone’s care but close family…and now I was to trust a dance instructor-who’d I never met-with your care.

Would you cry?
Would you wonder why I wasn’t there?
Would you be scared?

That day, Scarlett, was the first official time you proved your resilience and bravery. While I wrung my hands with worry, you were being introduced to the very basic, beginning concepts of classroom dance.

And you didn’t cry.

So for 8 months, you went to class. 45 minutes a week. That was all you needed to let your Great Big Personality grow even bigger. You’d come home and sing us the songs, show us the dances. Your dad and I grabbed the video camera every time you chose to give us a sliver of sight into your little dance world.

Several months ago, I heard the word “recital”. How exciting. I figured we’d crowd into the little studio for a 3 minute rendition of whatever dance you’ve mastered.
Then I started to hear the instructor talk about costumes, tickets, flowers, a real theater…, theaters…and still, I was ignorant enough to believe this was no big deal.

As the recital date crept closer, that anxiety returned, and I was wrecked with worry. Especially when I saw what was expected of you, a mere 3 year old.
I had to drop you off early, leave you backstage for several hours…again, without your mom and dad. We wouldn’t be able to baby you, to coddle you, to look after you. I wouldn’t be walking you onto that stage, holding your hand tight to mine. It’s a different world up there, on stage. I’ve been there. Bright lights & big crowds could scare anyone, especially one who’s never been exposed to this world.

In my almost 4 years of motherhood, I don’t think my mama bear mentality ever kicked in as fiercely as it did, in the days leading up to this recital. I fretted about your behavior. I worried about your performance.
And again, I was left with no choice but to trust a group of strangers-who’d I never met-with your care.

Would you cry?
Would you wonder why I wasn’t there?
Would you be scared?

You proved it to me once before, so I should’ve known, my worrying would be for naught.

You battled the frills and fuss for weeks leading up to the big day…didn’t’ want to be bothered with rehearsals, trial hair runs, costume fittings.
But on recital day, you awoke with a calm that allowed me to breathe, without needing a paper bag.
You didn’t complain about Grandma fixing your tight bun.
You stood still while we applied your (very heavy) makeup.
You walked into that backstage room, said goodbye to us, and didn’t look back.

And I waited. Through a dozen other performances & an intermission that seemed to grow longer with every breath. So many times, I wanted to run out of the theater & find you backstage. To make sure you weren’t thirsty…or hungry…or needed a mommy hug. To make sure you understood what was about to happen. My stomach was in knots & even though you were in the same building, you felt like a million miles away.

Then it was time. Out on stage came 8 little dancing bunnies. But I only had eyes for one.
One bunny stood out…and as I saw your big smile and confident pose, I felt the tension in my body relax, just so slightly. For approximately 2 minutes, you wowed me with your smile, your dance moves, your enthusiasm. Even though I’ve seen you perform that dance a hundred times at home, you never put so much life into it as you did on stage. Before you departed the stage… you flashed the audience your 1000 watt smile, waved and even blew some kisses –I’d like to think in my general direction.

When it was over, we ran to you in a mass cattle herd of other equally excited parents-all carrying huge bouquets of roses. When you saw us, and the flowers, your smile grew bigger! You were so happy to have them. I was so happy to have you back in my arms.

I asked you if you were scared. You said no, not at all. You loved the stage, you tell us. I should’ve known. Your father & I may not have made it beyond high school & college theatrical productions but it’s in our blood. How could I not have realized it would be passed down to you as well?

Now you want to be on stage again. Like right now. You want to know if you could skip the dance lessons and just do a recital every week.
I want to know when you went from being a tantrum-throwing toddler to a girl who showed me maturity beyond what I gave your credit for, a stage presence beyond my ability, and an independence that made me so proud.

This was just the first, of many, debuts in life you’ll make without me there to baby you, coddle you, to look after you.
And this was the first-of many -times you’ll say goodbye to us, and not look back.

And you taught me an important lesson that day. I will probably always be filled with worry, fear and trepidation as you dance across the big stage of life. But you are already my star and I know you’ll continue to shine just fine…all on your own.

Sleep, Sunshine & Stella

are just 3 reasons I'm in a somewhat good mood today.

Sleep-I came home from work and both babies (the big one and the small one) were in bed, sleeping, with the doors closed. Ya know what that means for me? Freedom!!! That means I can watch whatever I want on tv (or catch up on my DOV'd shows)...jump online without waiting for my turn...and do whatever the hell else I want for another hour....Mommy's selfish time before round two of my day starts. I'm at intermission and enjoying every minute of it!

Sunshine..its only March 11th but its awesome outside. Above 70! I have the doors open and sunlight is pouring into the house. Hard to believe just a few days ago, my front lawn had snow drifts up to my waist. Now there's only a piddly reminder of the white stuff on the curb. I know we'll get one more winter blast but I'm loving the sneak peek of spring (even if that sunshine pouring in through my side door and glistening on my wood floors is revealing 5 months worth of nasty crap that I failed to see previously. )

Stella-Her mommy says things are improving. Stinky had a bath after 11 days. Her mommy & daddy may be hippies, but they weren't too keen on their 18 month old having dreads...maybe in a few years. There appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel in Boston...we'll find out more by this weekend.

BAby Stewie is fine (if you don't get the name joke, don't bother asking!) Im' sure. I'm not showing a whole lot of baby belly and that's aggravating some people ...like maybe I'm lying about the whole thing. I go for another visit to the OB in a few days...but with that evil first trimester behind me, I'm slowly returning to the land of the living. I've only taken one nap after work this week. That's what I call progress.

Scarlett is pooping on the potty at least once a day now.

::funny story insert::

One night she was sitting on the pot, grunting and straining and trying real heard to be a Super Duper Pooper. I was otherwise engaged (cleaning the sink, I think) because I knew it'd be a long process. Suddenly, she shouts out, "Work with me , Poopies, Work with me, will ya?". I could've died. She had the authority of a big time movie producer yelling at her actor poops whose performances weren't up to par. I wish I had any idea where kids get this stuff...

So Im hoping shes potty trained by the start of summer. I'm taking the 'slow and steady' process-hoping to ease her into it. I'll change my approach on Labor Day, when I realize that I could be changing two sets of diapers at any moment. Hopefully, it won't come to that...

That's my update. I'm going to be self indulgent now and watch TLC while eating a cupcake I brought home for the husband, and I better do it now. The game clock shows that my time is almost over...and  the 2nd half is about to begin...

Stella's Surgery

Mommy's in the middle of a HUGE, HUGE finals project for her grad class, so I'm updating this time....Just wanted to make sure everyone remembers to say a little prayer, or pass along a good vibe, for my cousin and best friend tomorrow.
Stella is having open heart surgery. Mommy says she went on an airplane with auntie laura and grammy to the hospital and they're very far away. Mommy told me Stella's heart is broken and it will start getting fixed tomorrow.
Spring is almost here and I can't wait to run at the playground with her and show her the fun fishpond in grammy's backyard and play Thomas with her. But she needs to get better first.
I miss Stella, and grammy and Auntie Laura.
I want them to all come home soon!

Thank you,

Scarlett

Buble blubberings...

Sometimes this life we're living throws us under the bus, so to speak.

Sometimes shit just happens that makes control freaks like me need mass amounts of Xanas, because we realize that we really have, indeed, very little control over what cards we get dealt.

I started this new year knowing that it was going to be a roller-coaster, topsy-turvey, partially hellish 12 months.

I started this year knowing that our Stella would have to leave us and travel to Boston to have her broken heart fixed.

I started this year knowing that certain personal relationships were going to take a hit.

I started this year hoping I'd get to put this house on the market and move into my  dream home.

But life hit me right between the eyes with a speed pitch and I'm just now regaining my footing...just now accepting that again, I'm not the one calling all the shots.

Last night, I was at a department store...and I heard one of those easy listening songs that you also hear in dentist offices and at the bank.

I'm usually oblivious to the croonings on muzak but the words to the cheesy song could've knocked me to the ground by themselves. I've always had a keen ear for lyrics of songs-of all types...and sometimes I hear something that changes the way I think...maybe that's why I write for a living.

And last night, in Gabriel Brothers, the words of  Michael Buble (I think that's how you spell it..ya know the fresh faced Harry Connick Jr. wannabe) spoke directly to me....and snapped me out of a major funk while at the same time, causing me to start blubbering, in plain view of anyone who cared to glance my way.

Since I've been at a loss for my own words lately, I am borrowing his words to address a very loved member of my family...cheesy? yes. But I'm cheesy, so here goes it.

And I Know Someday That It'll All Turn Out
You'll Make Me Work So We Can Work To Work It Out
And I Promise You Kid That I'll Give So Much More Than I Get ...

 

 

I Just Haven't Met You Yet....!

I didn't anticipate adding to my family this year.

I'm done worrying about logistics and childcare and money and work and sleep and spending another summer as big as a house, keeping my local Dairy Queen in business. I'm ready to accept the fact that this lil ' buggar is here for a reason...and we can't wait to meet him/her in September. I'm sure Scarlett can...but mommy and daddy think round two is going to be another good one!

 

Two is the New Twelve...

From the time I learned I was expecting a girl, one fear loomed in my mind... age 12 through 16.  Well maybe there are some other ages I dreaded but that age group sends shivers down my spine. They were easily the most difficult of my life so far...almost 20 years later, I can still easily say that.

I was insecure in my developing body.

I was insecure in my looks.

I was boy-crazy and not afraid to sob hyterically every time I got dumped-which was often.

I was outspoken, stubborn & constantly locked horns with my well-meaning parents.

My mom was thrilled beyond words that I was having a girl. She smirked as she reminded me that 'paybacks are a bitch".

What she didn't tell me was that the rough years with me didn't start at 12. They started at 2 when I decided I could do everything myself, and didn't need her or anyone else for assistance. 2 is when I started talking back. Asserting my independence like she'd never known a toddler to do.

My daughter didn't fall far from the mother tree.

She can do everything herself.  She doens't need me, or anyone else. She asserts her independence like I've never seen a toddler do.  I'm frazzled beyond belief at the arguements over food, clothing, treats, and bedtimes. She lives in 'time out'. So i switched my approach.

I tried to talk to her the other day. One on one. Mother and Daughter.

"Scarlett, I want to talk to you about your actions lately".

"ok Mommy".

"Sit down and look at me. I don't like when you talk mean to mommy and daddy, and it makes us feel..."

"Uh mommy?"

"What sweetie?"

"Are we done talking yet?".

"Why? No we're not. Do you have something more important to do?"

"Yes, I want to play. in my room, by myself".

And with that, my 2 1/2 year rolled her eyes, ran into her room, slammed the door behind her, and yelled " stay away".

I could almost picture her, on the other side of her door, grabbing her Ipod, shoving in earbuds, and drowning out her parents in her favorite downloaded tunes (probably the Thomas theme song)

I wanted to be mad at her but I had to laugh.

Forget dealing with adolescence.

No one bothered to tell me that 2 is the new 12.

God help me.

 

Welcome to the Future!

I'm baaaaaaacccckkk!!!

After yet another unintedned haitus, I promise to try dutifully to post updates here at least  twice a week. God knows I spend enough time on the 'puter, but after staring at the screen for 8 hours at work, and doing online homework at the house,I am usually ready to give the old eyes a break.

The holidays were wonderful. Truely. Having a 2 year old caught up in the spirit of Christmas made me feel like a child again. That old 'holiday spirit' came creeping back into my sould for the first time in years. It's a good feeling, and I'll hold onto it as long as I can...because I know its just a matter of years before her magic is gone and she's asking for $300 hi-tech gadgets to be placed under the tree.

I don't honestly know one person who thought 2009 was a great year. It got downright ugly at times. I dealt w/ furloughs and a significant pay cut at my job...we're still trying to figure out how to work around that one. I saw many loved ones lose thier jobs, or have to get second jobs to make ends meet. I dealt with many personal trials and tribulations. Friends dealt with foreclosures, illnesses, relationship woes and depression.

So I won't be so naive to assume 2010 will be awesome. I'm hopeful. I know, regardless of how it turns out, that there will be big changes to my life, and the lives of some of my loved ones. I'm anticipating some rocky waters ahead, but as usual, my family and friends will navigate them & keep looking for the serentiy of dry land. Here are just a few things that Oh-Ten (!) will bring:

Stella will return shortly to Boston for the open heart surgery we've known was coming for 16 months.

Several friends are getting married. In fact, I think I have 5 weddings in a 2 month span this summer. One being my closest childhood friend.

One dear friend is awaiting word of fufilling her dream to be a mother...She's adopting and could meet her child any day now.

One friend is throwing caution to the wind & gambling on a new career. Totally uncharted territory.

I hope this time next year, I'm writing on this blog about how great the year turned out. That Stella will be thriving with a successfully repaired heart. That my newlywed friends are enjoying marriage. That my friend is constantly sending me pictures and updates of her baby that she's waited so long for. That job changes are positive ones. That no one else gets laid off, or furloughed, or has to endure more pay cuts.

I'll keep you all updated!

In the meantime, Here is my holidays wrapped up in one image:

Boo (hoo) at the Zoo!

My little girl is growing up so fast, but as we really submerge ourselves in that difficult period known as the Terrible Twos, Im learning that, in some ways, my biggie girl is a bigger baby NOW than ever before.

I'll get to that in a minute.

 Being an Ohio University gal, I puffy heart Halloween. More than birthdays, more than Fourth of July and it runs complete circles around Christmas. So it only makes sense that I've been prepping Scarlett on the whole Trick-or-Treat deal since August. She made it clear last month that she'd be dressing up as Thomas for Halloween. She fell in love with pumpkins, hay bales, orange & purple lights and anything else related to the holiday.

Then, I made the brilliant decision to take her to Boo at the Zoo last weekend...with her cousin, Stella, grammy and some friends. I couldn't wait. She loves the zoo...she loves to wear her Thomas costume around the house, and she loves her friends and cousin. Win-win, right? Wrong.

Upon our arrival, my usually very cheeky engine immediately showed signs of discontent. She wouldn't wear her costume. She didn't laugh at other costumes. The giant pumpkins annoyed her. The festival of purple and orange lights, and giant pumpkin displays, repulsed her. She was a volcano...just waiting to erupt..I could almost see the lava, bubbling under the surface.

 Quickly, I made sure I was ready for a quick exit. Unlike Mr. Buffett, I did know where I would go, when the volcano blows....running frantically for the parking lot...kid and stroller in tow. Within minutes of entering the zoo's gates, Mt. Scarlett DID explode into tears and screams...begging to be taken home. sigh.

Maybe she thought she'd see more animals (apparently they're not fans of 'Boo' either because most of them were hiding in their dens & cages)...maybe she was overtired, or maybe I've got a big scaredy cat on my hands right now. Either way, it wasn't fun for any of us involved.

Other parents who've experienced the "Two's" laugh at my story. One mom told me, "with a toddler, expect the unexptected". I guess I will.

So now when we venture out in public, I study her every move, facial expression, and tone of voice. I'm a "Scarlett scientist", if you will...trying to read her & predict her next meltdown. Because it will happen again. Soon. And I still dont' know where I'm a-gonna go when the volcano blows, but where I go, I hope there's Rum...

 
Exhibit A. forcing the costume on a very unhappy engine

Exhibit B.  You can see the early stages of complete meltdown just by looking at her face,  while cousin Stella & friend, Chase, look happily on.

Exhibit C. Thomas the Train in happier times, pre-Boo at the Zoo

 

Another Trip Around the Sun

 I'm old enough to begin dreading each and every birthday.

Yet I'm immature enough to still expect a celebration.

My "love" relationships with October 9th has turned into one of those "I-Hate-You-But-I -Love-You" no-win affairs. If my birthday were a human, I"m sure any therapist would tell me to break it off.

On One hand...its another "new start". I become very reflective this time of year...thinking deeply about what this last trip around the sun has taught me about life...and what I hope to accomplish on this next year long journey. I of course, take time to realize the blessings I've received.

I also, each year, lament the passing of the youth that is slipping farther away from my grasp. I don't listen to country but I heard a song in the dr's office that struck me recently...and I now its background noise in my brain..

"When did the choices get so hard?
With so much more at stake.
Life gets mighty precious when theres less of it to waste."

Anyway, the day came and went. Heard Scarlett in her crib that morning, singing "Happy Birthday Mommy...we eat cake". I could've melted. Had a great dinner with friends that night. Found out that I got a 100% on a 10 page paper I wrote last week. Recieved a new Coach wallet for my new Coach purse.

And Now I embark on 35 with definite plans in place, specific hopes for the next year, and a rough outline as to how I'll accomplish what I need to do. I plan to aggressively fight the aging process crows feet that are getting out of control.

When I recieved my "People' magazine this week..The cover screamed out at me, " People Is Celebrating its 35th Birthday"....

Who knew? My longtime BFF Mag, who I've subscribed to for 20 years, is the same age as me. This is the magazine that I look forward to every week. That I will sit in the tub with a glass of wine with, and read cover to cover on Friday nights. (yeah, that tells you about my social life). I have a love-love relationship with People magazine.  This week's issue was a look back at the last 35 years &  included a page of celebrties that are 35 years old now...(of course I can't see the crows feet on any of them...) So, Happy Birthday People! At least I can look forward to getting older, with you!  

the end of innocence?

  My good friend, Lizz, has ensured that I will never have to pay to get Scarlett's face captured on film again.

She's a wedding photographer, gracious enough to take Scarlett's pictures every few months. Several weeks ago, she met us at the park, and fired off hundreds of shots of my girl.

The results...well, I may be biased. But they're incredible. And it has as much to do with the photographer, as the subject...because I was there. Scarlett, as usual, was a force to be reckoned with. She didn't look when called...couldn't be bribed to pose -even with graham crackers, and wouldn't sit still for anything on the planet. Yet Lizz managed to perfectly grab the one thing I'm desperately clinging on to...the complete innocence of a child, whose quickly becoming all too aware, of the world around her.

Last week, Scarlett told me (in keeping with the train obsession) that she wants me to buy the 'bad' train. Diesel 10 is the mean choo-choo. And she wants him for her very own. Last night, we flipped on 'Finding Nemo'..and she pointed out the "bad shark"...and hid her eyes as a small fishy narrowly avoiding becoming bad shark's dinner.

I know we can't shield her from evil forever. But we certainly have never taught her about 'bad' guys yet. I guess its' everywhere, and since she's a sponge, she's caught right on. I look at these beautiful pictures taken just weeks ago, and see the absolute innocence in her eyes...and in her smile. And I know the photos my friend shot are priceless...she managed to capture what I believe, is the beginning of the end, of my daughter's innocence.

(prologue)...

 I bought her 'Diesel 10'..the 'bad' choo choo. I couldn't help it. He was on sale . I asked her last night why he is so 'bad'...and she said it was because he doesn't have a happy face on...and he likes to chase the other trains.  Thank you, dear daughter, for still believing that's as bad as 'bad' gets. Do me a favor, will ya? Don't ever write for the news.

A Very "Thomas" Birthday

The pictures are past due. Blame it on a different work schedule this week.

Last Saturday, we celebrated Scarlett's 2nd birthday.

2 Months ago, she made her intentions clear. She wanted a 'choo choo' cake for her birthday.

For those of you who aren't down with the toddler lingo, 'choo choo' means "Thomas the Train"

Thomas first invaded our lives last winter, when friends of ours gave Scarlett an old Thomas toy that his boys no longer played with. Then I flipped an episode on for her once, and it was over. My daughter's very first love affair. In March, I bought her a little wooden 'Thomas the Train'. She hasn't let go of it since.

Her first words when I get her out of bed each morning ..."choo choo please".

Her trains go everywhere with us.

We've watched her love for trains flourish to almost epic proportions.

Its nothing I've ever witnessed before.

So what choice did we have...but hold a choo-choo party last week. Grammy won big points with the rockin' cake.

 

In keeping with the theme, Scarlett now has tracks, more trains, a Thomas suitcase, and enough Thomas outfits to go through a week of "Choo Choo" only apparel, without mommy doing laundry.

I dont know how long this phase will last. Next year, she'll likely want a Princess party. But for now, my girl's heart belongs to Thomas. He makes her so incredibly happy that I guess in a little way, mine does too.

Toddling Toward the Not So Terrible 2's...

      Sometime, when I wasn't looking, Scarlett turned 2. In fact, not only was I not looking, I was 2000 miles away. Her aunt got hitched the night before in L-A and after months of mulling over options, we chose not to subject her to a 5 hour plane ride and 4 nights stuck in a boutique (meaning, NO child friendly accommodations) hotel.

    The good news? Daddy and I had a blast -a much needed getaway for the 2 of us. While there was quite a bit of obligation to keep us busy, we also managed to steal some sunshine at the beach, play tourists (in a 2 seated Beamer, no less) and indulge in many an adult beverage.

    While we were only gone for days, the child we came back too..well, we may have just as well been gone, an entire year. I know age is just a number.  But the daughter we came home too, was 2! And talking in complete sentences. And looking like such a child that I can't help wonder if she ever really WAS a baby.

    I mean, I know she was. I have pictures to prove it. 2 years ago today, we brought home 7lbs, 7 ounces of screaming infant who gave us a run for our money right away. If I think long and hard, I can remember those first few weeks. How she didn't sleep at night-at all. How she couldn't get enough bottle to satisfy her little tummy. How she screamed for an hour each and every night at 7pm...the Witching Hour, we called it. How I tried to visualize her as a walking & talking being, and couldn't.

And now she is. She's two. And isn't this age supposed to be terrible?

But so far, its been wonderful. She hasn't had a temper tantrum. She can tell us what she wants for breakfast, dinner, snack. She can tell us why she's upset. Why she's happy. What she wants to watch.

Her vocabulary is beyond what I could ever imagine to be toddler talk. 6 months ago, she didn't say much. Now she'll tell you an entire story-and she has her mom's gift of dragging out the details. Its awe-inspiring and gut-wrenching at the same time. The more I excitedly anticipate her future...the more I miss that red-faced screaming newborn. Her independence is thrilling, yet its also taking her away from me. But if I already have a hard time with this age, how will 5 feel? double digits? 18? college? weddings? It can be too much to think about.

I feel extreme pride and some heartbreak, knowing my baby is turning into a big girl. And while I wasn't looking the moment she turned 2, I'm watching now. Because she's growing up, right in front of my eyes.