Picture Perfect

Dear Sophie,

It's getting harder and harder to take your picture, as you are too busy looking at everything and playing and exploring to hold still for a photo.  And because I'm so desperate to capture these wonderful days with you, taking your picture is important to me.  Some day, my little girl won't be so little, and I imagine I will look at these photos over and over again.

Last Saturday morning, we took advantage of a lovely fall day and went to Loose Park.  I intended to take some photos of you, as I usually do in the fall when Nature's colors are so amazing.  You, on the other hand, were quite distracted and photos were the last thing on your mind.  I snapped away, unsure I was getting anything worth keeping - several looked blurry from your constant movement, in others the sun was too bright, or the shadows darkened your face.  And you just wanted to play (and who could blame you on such a sunshiny day)!  But I couldn't help feeling a little frustrated at the thought of not getting a good pic.

I should not have worried.  When I got home and I uploaded the photos from the camera to the computer, I found this gem.  I couldn't have staged this picture if I tried.

I love you!

Mommy

Conversation with a 3 Year-Old

Dear Sophie,

Conversation with you never ceases to amaze and entertain.  And perhaps it would be a good idea in these letters to periodically capture your typical banter.  Here's the discussion string from our car ride home from work / school.  It all started from a song on a "mix tape" CD playing on the sound system.

Mom, what is this song about? 

It's about a "Holiday." (I did not wish to get into the true theme of Green Day's song at just that moment.) 

Two songs about a holiday? 

Uhhhh (I was puzzled by your question and then realized why you were asking).  No, this is the same song.  It was playing when we got out of the car and it is still playing now that we're back in the car. 

Oh, it's the same song.  Did you pause it while we were gone? 

Something like that. 

Is it on your phone? 

No, it's on a CD that Aunt Kirsten made for me. 

For you and for me? 

Yes, Aunt Kirsten put a song on here for you too.  But it was for Mommy's birthday. 

Oh.  That was nice.....  Can we call her? 

Sure but not right now. 

When you call her, can you tell her thank you for the nice music?  That was soooo nice of her. 

Yes, sure.  I can tell her that. 

You won't forget? 

I won't forget. 

Is Aunt Kirsten your friend? 

Yes, she's a very good friend.  You might not remember her.  You were just a baby when you met her. 

Did you visit her last year in Boston? 

Yes, Mommy visited her in Boston last weekend.  (You get years and weekends confused.) 

Was she in the hospital? 

No, she wasn't in the hospital. 

I was just asking because that would be sad....  I have a good idea, Mommy. 

Oh, what's your idea? 

Let's tell her to come to our house. 

Yes, that's a good idea.  I'll tell her. 

You won't forget. 

No, I won't forget.

And this is a non-stop conversation.  If I take too long to answer, you say, "Mommy, why aren't you talking?"  In the future, I need to remember to share with you the power of a pregnant pause.

You're adorable.  And turning into a wonderful conversationalist.

Love you, Chatterbox!

Mommy

Sharp Eyes and Keen Ears Catch Everything

Dear Sophie,

You seem to notice everything.  For example, when we were driving down the road, you pointed to a long, airy cloud in the blue sky and said it looks like a "talk-a-dile."  There certainly was a resemblance - the cloud had a long, scaly body, short legs, and the head and jaws of a crocodile.  I chuckled out loud, marvelling at your observation, and then we chatted about the word "imagination" (which you happily repeated and pronounced with greater ease than "talk-a-dile"). As another example, earlier this week you asked, "Daddy, did the orange balloon in the closet fly away?"  Just that day your daddy had secretly taken the balloon from the closet, popped it, and thrown it away.  He couldn't believe you noticed it was gone.

Warning:  If poop talk offends you, proceed no further.

Your terrific powers of observation aren't limited to the things you see.  You also have keen ears, which I hope means you'll be a music lover.  More on that subtopic later in this post.  The next paragraph is about poop.  Warning:  If poop talk offends you, skip the next paragraph.

A few days ago, your day care teacher relayed to us that you had told your classmate, after you had both successfully relieved your bowels on separate potties, that your poop "beeped."  We had no context to share with the teacher to explain where you might have gotten that vernacular.  Perplexed, I tried at various points over the past couple of days to ask you what "beep" meant but was unsuccessful at "flushing out" the answer. Today, that mystery was solved.  While sitting on the potty, immediately after going number two, you said matter of factly, "My poop beeped."  Daddy then realized you were speaking of the sound a number two makes the instant it drops into the water - bloop!  "You mean, it blooped?" he asked for clarification?  You affirmed and adjusted to your daddy's word, "Yes! It blooped."  You actually took note of the sound your poop makes when it plops into the toilet bowl?  And for your next trick, you'll learn the word "onomatopoeia."

Back to your keen ear for music....  Your daddy really likes this one, and has proudly recounted it for multiple friends.  When you were...oh...about six months old, we discovered that you liked listening to the Coffee House Channel on SiriusXM radio.  That channel of music - the singer-song writer channel - made you happy whenever it was on (which, at the time, was whenever you were in Mommy's car or whenever we were in  Daddy's car and Mommy insisted on it).  And if Nora Jones, in particular, popped up, you would immediately sing along (as best you could, being an infant with no real choral skills yet, or language skills, for that matter).

Fast forward two plus years down the road, and we've been listening less to the Coffeehouse channel and more to the AltNation channel or our personal MP3 playlist.  We were watching a certain non-kid-appropriate comedy movie and hoping that the toy you were playing with had distracted you from paying any attention to the sights or sounds coming from the flatscreen.  You certainly seemed to be wholly engrossed in the toy, with no sign of interest in Daddy's movie (I claim no responsibility for the showing of this movie in your presence!).  Near the end of the movie, Nora Jones appears on the screen as part of the plot, and she is playing herself performing at a concert.  Just a few words into "Come Away With Me," and you immediately piped up, as if magically awakened from the spell of your toy, and declared enthusiastically, "That's a pretty song!"  Daddy and I were awestruck.  As I said earlier, I hope you'll be a music lover.  This was good sign.

Trivia Question 1:  For what movie did Norah Jones co-write the song "Everybody Needs a Best Friend," which was Academy Award-nominated for Best Original Song?

Trivia Question 2:  Who collaborated with Norah Jones in writing that song?  Hint: He is also a writer and voice actor for one of Daddy's favorite animated television shows.

Answer 1:  Ted - the 2012 R-rated movie we should not have been watching with you present!  By the way, Mommy really likes the actor Mark Wahlberg, and Daddy really likes Mila Kunis.  This may be why we couldn't resist watching it.

Answer 2:  Seth MacFarlane - the creator of, and writer/voice actor for, the Family Guy, another kid-inappropriate show.  Seth MacFarlane also voice-acted in and co-wrote / co-produced the movie Ted, which was MacFarlanes first feature-length film.

In closing, I hope you'll always have a keen sense of how much your daddy and I love you.  Even when your poop beeps and stinks up the bathroom.

Much love forever,

Mommy

P.S.  At this very moment, you are sick with a respiratory flu.  You've had fever, congestion, coughing, you name it!  Mommy can't bear to see you so uncomfortable.  Thank goodness for your generally good humored spirit and entertaining ways.

P.P.S.  One day, while listening to "Best Day of My Life" by American Authors, you declared, "This is my song."  And every time it comes on, you notice it right away.  You also like American Authors' "Believer", but you call this Mommy's song.  To be inclusive of Daddy, we made the executive decision that Daddy's song by American Authors was "Luck" (though Daddy refuses to agree).  I think you favor American Authors because of the banjo.

Not A Baby Anymore

Dear Sophie Queen,

It seems appropriate to address you by the nickname you have at school. Sophie Queen started off as a pet name your very first teacher affectionately gave you when you were in the infant room. I'm not entirely sure what characteristics were evident in your infancy that led to your nickname, but all your teachers and even your schoolmates call you "Sophie Queen" or "Queen" or "Queenie". And you seem to have grown into it. I am told that, even though you are tiny, you have a tendency to tell others what to do.

Even though you are not quite three years old yet, lately you have asserted that you are not a baby anymore. When you're eating, and trying to talk yourself into a few more bites, you announce that you have to eat so you can grow bigger. And then you look to me and say, "Mommy, I'm going to grow bigger and not be a baby anymore." I play along and say, "But I want you to be my baby." This is a fun conversation for you. You disagree and reassert your being intent on growing up. And I can't argue because I want you to eat more. (You persist at the "less than 3 percentile" mark on the height and weight scales. The next tallest kid in your class is at least a head taller than you. In the end, this only gets you to eat a few more bites, but every little bit helps!)

At work, a colleague asked me, "How is your little angel?" I replied that my little angel has lost some of her angel dust, and I relayed the story of how you shouted "Dammit!" at our dog Lucy, who wasn't behaving as you had commanded her. You shouted it so loud that I heard it from another room, and I walked to where you were and looked at you speechlessly. Fortunately, you knew your error immediately, and all your Daddy had to say was your name. He didn't say your name angrily or loudly. He didn't have to. As soon as he said your name, you burst into tears. I was relieved that you had a sense of right and wrong, and also amazed at how much it affected you to have disappointed your Daddy. You reminded me of me. Later, your Daddy, who was as astonished as me, asked, "How long will I have that kind of power over (affect on) her?" I was also relieved to see your Daddy recognize your tender spot. You were contrite, and instead of scolding you, he had just hugged you and calmly instructed you not to say that. You then walked to me for another reassuring hug, which you got in full force. Confidence restored, your tears abated.

Unfortunately, despite that learning opportunity, I think I still hear you say from time to time "dammit" very quietly to yourself when you're frustrated. And when I'm 99 percent certain it's what you said, I confront you, and you merely say, "Sorry, Mom. I say dangit." Sigh... You are, after all, your Daddy's girl, so your inappropriate language will have to be his problem to solve. We have other effects of the terrible twos that I can try to help you with - such as your stubborness, to which I will admit to having contributed 50 percent.

On the plus side, I'm seeing you mature in many ways....not just in vocabulary, but also in your breadth and depth of comprehension, and your sense of humor! You are a little like me but mostly I see your Dad's sense of humor in you.

I don't want to forget the funny memory captured by the photos below (I've learned to have the cell phone camera ready to catch these wonderful candids). While I was in the upstairs bathroom doing my nightly hygienic routine, I heard you giggling in the bedroom. Your self-amusement and laughter continued as I was brushing my teeth. My curiosity was picqued, and after rinsing the toothpaste from my mouth, I called to you and asked, "Sophie, what's so funny?" You came to the bath room door and showed me what was so funny - you were wearing my pink bra over your jammies! You stood in front of me and giggled and giggled and giggled, and then for a few seconds, you looked down at the pink monstrosity on your chest and said in all sincerity, "This is scary." You returned to laughing, and I joined you! With tears rolling down my cheeks!

Sophie Queen, I'm afraid to know how quickly the day will come when you will be wearing a bra.





Baby, don't grow up too fast.  And, really?  Is my bra that scary?

Love,
Mommy

Bedtime Excuses

Dear Little Sophie,

You're getting creative with your excuses for delaying bedtime.  Tonight, it was, "I want some edemame, Mommy.  I need to eat some edamame beans."  You almost had me convinced, until I saw that sly smile of yours start to form at the corner of your mouth.  And, by the way, the sweetness of your request for one last goodnight hug and kiss wears thin after the sixth time.

Sweet dreams,
Love,
Mommy

Orange You Glad?

Dear Little-Girl-Who-Is-Growing-Up-Too-Fast,

You asked for a snack.  I gave you two small oranges, and told you I would be right back to help you with them after taking care of a quick chore.  A short couple of minutes later I returned.

"What, Mommy?" you asked, uncertain about the expression on my face as I looked down at a pile of orange peels and a slice in each of your little hands.

You didn't need me to peel your oranges.  How proud and sad I was!

Love you,

Mommy

Trip to Kosovo

Dear Sophie, Today is Father's Day, and we are catching up. On sleep (you're napping right now). On time with Daddy (because he's been away for two weeks teaching in Chicago). On the rental property (Daddy is cleaning up the remnants of a big tree that fell down during the storm). On Mommy's blog about you (because we've been so busy, especially with our 11 day trip to Kosovo). The last time I wrote here was about three months ago.

I will be surprised if you remember on your own our March 15 - 26 trip to Kosovo, so I'd like to share with you how it went. Along with you, Daddy, and me, Grandpa Mike ventured with us. You were quite the little traveler. Flying to Skopje, Macedonia, our airport destination city, was a day long process, followed by couple of hours' drive to Brezovica, Serbia (Kosovo), where Uncle Chris, Auntie Jelena, and Cousin Iva live. You did well on the long flight (from Washington D.C. to Istanbul, Turkey), only getting cranky and restless in the last 20 minutes (and frankly, who among us wasn't cranky at that point!). For the most part, though, you slept, and when you were awake, we entertained you with movies and TV shows on the iPad.

The purpose of our trip was to visit your baby cousin, Iva, for the first time. Baby Iva and her parents live in Brezovica, in a village nestled in the mountains of the country Kosovo (or Serbia, as it is known by the residents of Brezovica). We spent the first three days of our vacation in Brezovica, playing with Iva and her doggy Kenny, and enjoying the mountain life. Then Uncle Chris, Grandpa Mike, Daddy, you and I took to the road in a big eight-passenger van to visit some Adriatic coastal cities: Budva, Herceg Novi, Kotor, and Petrovac in Montenegro; and Dubrovnik in Croatia. It rained on us in Herceg Novi and in Dubrovnik, but we persisted in making the best of it, having the time of our lives, and taking probably a thousand pictures to capture it all. After concluding our time in Dubrovnik, we returned to Brezovica to spend the last day and a half with Auntie Jelena and baby Iva, who celebrated her 6-month birthday.

Perhaps the most memorable moment on our trip was in Dubrovnik. It was one of the rainy days, and we had gathered in a hall of the hotel to look through our guide book and find something indoors to do. Your daddy had taken you to change your diaper in the mens room, and after leaving you with us, he excused himself for his own restroom break. In that moment, Grandpa and I looked at you, and then we turned our gaze back to the travel book. Never did we think you would walk away from us. Daddy came back from the restroom, and not seeing you at the table with us, asked where you were. Grandpa and I had not realized you were gone! Daddy and mommy ran all over that floor of the hotel, in the bathrooms, in the hotel office, looking for you. We checked outside, as the door was wide open and you could have run out into the street on your own. We yelled and yelled for you. Daddy was quite angry - at the circumstances and at me - and thinking of all the worst possible scenarios. Finally, I heard a faint little voice that I thought was coming from up the stairs. I went up three flights before finding you, sitting calmly on the top step of the third level. Out of breath, I asked, "Sophie, what are you doing?" "Wooking Daddy," you answered with sincerity. You were looking for your Daddy. Daddy blames me, and I blame him. We laugh about it now, but we certainly weren't laughing at the time.

Other than that one incident, we had a wonderful time. And even now, you say, "Mommy, I want to go back to Uncle Chris' house." It was a very special trip for many reasons: spending time with family and seeing an amazing part of the world.

I am short on time (you've woken up from your nap), so I will wrap this letter up. As I look back through our photos of the trip, I am very pleased. My dear tiny one, I am so very grateful that you took everything in stride and remained an easy traveler for the whole trip. It would have been ruinous if you had been an unhappy tourist. Thank you for being so flexible. I hope that characteristic stays with you throughout your life.

Daddy is so lucky to have a daughter like you. Today should be Happy Father and Daughter Day.

Love, Mommy

Thank You, Daddy!

Dear Sophie (a.k.a. Daddy's Girl),

The phenomena of "Thank You, Daddy" began well before the date of this letter.  It started with the rail that your daddy installed a few months ago in the stairway up to our bedroom.  Your daddy wanted you to have something to hold onto when you climb or descend the stairs, and he placed the rail at just the right height for your reach.  The first time you ascended the steps holding on to your new rail, I told you, "Daddy made this rail for you.  You should thank Daddy."  You dutifully and sweetly yelled out, "Thank you, Daddy.  Rail!"

Your daddy's next project was to remodel the bathroom.  He extended the tile above the bath and installed a brand new shower head.  After it was installed, I casually mentioned to you, "Daddy made that shower for you.  Someday you'll be thankful Daddy did that."  Perhaps a week later, as you were sitting on your little potty, facing your new shower, you looked up at it and said, "Thank you, Daddy.  Shower!"

And so it was that you began to learn about all the things in the house that Daddy had built or made - your bed, your dresser, your bookshelf, etc. - and you thank Daddy out loud for all of those things.  In fact, almost every time you take the stairs, even if Daddy is not in earshot, you yell, "Thank you, Daddy!"

Your dad and I joke that every time someone tells you you're pretty, cute, or smart, you should say, "Thank you, Mommy!"  Unfortunately, that hasn't caught on quite as well as "Thank You, Daddy."

One morning about a week ago, you and I found ourselves in a predicament.  Daddy was out of town for work.  I had finished my morning routine to get ready and picked you up to carry you downstairs with me.  I put my foot out onto the top step, and as I began to shift my weight to step down, I felt an obstacle under my foot.  Junior!  That crazy cat didn't budge!  I stiffened up and all at once slipped down two or three steps (remaining upright but out of control).  Then there was this awkward moment when my uprightness reached a tipping point and began transitioning to a face first fall down the remaining steps.  In that last instant of uprightness, I thought of the stairway rail and grabbed hold, barely catching us.  "Careful, Mommy," you said.  I stood there for a few moments, in quiet contemplation of the trauma that was averted.  "Okay, Mommy?"

My response:  "Thank you, Daddy!"

Stay sweet,
Love,

Mommy

Sunshine

Dear Sophie,

You are my sunshine, and I love you always.  The past week, however, was not sunshiny. Last Monday, you began the week with a fever, a barking cough, and a runny nose - what I thought was just a bad cold!  Tuesday morning, your daddy left for an out of town work assignment in Puerto Rico.  The duty to stay home with you fell squarely on me, and at first I welcomed the idea of nursing my baby girl back to health.

We stayed home Tuesday and then Wednesday.  Your temperature had topped at 102.9 on Tuesday before declining on Wednesday.  In the night, you would wake up crying for something: daddy, pretzels, crackers, Amy (the administrator at your school).  Many times you would yell "mommy hold you (me)!" even though I was already holding you.  I suspected you may have been delirious.  During the day, your coughing hurt your throat, leading you to cry, "Owweee, owweee, owweee!" and no amount of blowing or using saline and a suction bulb seemed to give your nose relief.  In your misery, you wanted constant comfort and "holding".  You cried frequently and for long periods, all while being held. If I put you down or divided my attention for a few minutes, you would wail your insistence that I return.  We watched Disney's Rapunzel over and over again, as it was the only thing that would quiet you (however fleetingly).  You had no desire to eat, unless it was applesauce, jello, a cutie or pretzels, so that was what I gave you. Fortunately, your thirst stayed in tact, and you drank water and juice almost nonstop.  Otherwise, there was little I could do to ease your suffering, and in turn, I too grew weary and drained.

Later in the day on Wednesday, though, you seemed to be on an upward trend, and by Thursday morning, your temp had fallen below 100.  I thought it was safe to take you to school.  I put in about 6 hours at the office when I got the call from your school to pick you up.  Your temp had gone back up to 101.  Your teachers told me they knew you weren't yourself when one of your little friends tried to mess with you and you didn't respond.  After picking you up, we went immediately to the pediatrician's office, where a test of some mucus from your nose revealed you had influenza A.  I had no idea!  Not only did I feel tremendously bad for you, I felt guilty for taking you to school and my going to the office.  All I could think about was how I'd put others at risk - your teachers and little schoolmates and my own officemates.

Thursday evening at home with me, you continued to express your misery, and I could now more clearly see the puffy and red bags under your eyes that the pediatrician noticed right away and said was a big giveaway.  She said the flu symptoms can last 10 to 15 days!  Next year, daddy and I will not wait until your annual birthday checkup to get you a flu shot!

On Friday morning, it appeared your fever had dissipated again.  We stayed home this time so that I could be sure you were truly on the mend (and the school wouldn't have let you return for 24 hours anyway).  Fortunately, the outdoor temp had risen to the 50s for the weekend, so we went outside  in the sunshine and took Lucy for a walk on Saturday and took an outing to Target and Trader Joes on Sunday.  Sunday evening, our thoughtful friends the Buntings invited us to dinner, and we took them up on it.  Although the fever never returned all through the weekend, you still had fitful nights and clingy, needy days.  Both of us were exhausted.

You went back to school today, and lasted the whole day.  Your teachers said you seemed to be back to your old self.  But as soon as I got you in the car, you began to cry for me to hold you.  You cried all the way to the grocery store.  You cried all the way through the grocery store and required that I hold you the whole time.  I got many sympathetic looks and reassuring, positive comments from some very kind patrons and store staff.  You continued to cry as we left the store, with me awkwardly carrying you and two grocery bags.

Bear with me on this side story, the telling of which will allow me to vent.  As we approached the car, I had to put the groceries down, and then proceed with putting you in your car seat - not a quick process.  A man parked next to us had arrived with his groceries, and had gotten his groceries put away in his SUV before I could finish buckling your belt and stash our groceries.  From inside his car and in an apparent hurry to leave, he yelled at me, "Could you shut your door?!?!"  At just that moment, I had shut the rear door and was just getting into the driver's seat.  On the way home from the store, I was nearly in tears.  I tried to remind myself to think about the multiple kind people inside the store and not the ill-tempered one outside the store.

Back to your crying....  You cried all the way home from the store, all the way through dinner prep and consumption (you refused to eat), all the way through your bath, and and all through dressing for bedtime.  Having picked up a new movie, Spy Kids (for $5 at Target) (to give you a tempting alternative to Rapunzel), I put in the DVD and got it rolling.  You cried well into the opening scene and finally quieted (but still wanted me to hold you).

My dear little one, you are sleeping now as I write this.  I sure hope tomorrow is better for you.  Perhaps if you can get a restful night, you'll be less crabby tomorrow.  Here comes the sun!

Love you,
Mommy

Pee Pee in the Potty

Dear Sophie,

For a couple of weeks now, we had randomly placed you on your "throne" hoping that you would relieve yourself by chance.  Your potty is literally shaped like a princess' throne, and it even plays celebratory music when the bowl gets wet.  From the first time we ever put you on the potty, you seemed to know exactly what to do, even pretending to "push" something out.  After several tries, though, you had not yet made your potty sing.  We didn't make a big deal out of it though.  We gave you M&M's just for sitting on the potty and praised you for trying.

Today, for the first time at 22 months and 10 days old, you successfully peed in the potty.  Right before being put to bed, I noticed that you had nearly finished your second sippy cup of water that I had just given you.  I thought, she's got to have a full bladder....I wonder if she would go potty now.  I brought you into the bathroom with me and placed you on the seat.  "Go pee pee," I instructed you, just like every other time before.  You "pushed" and suddenly your throne erupted in happy tunes!  You stood up, and both of us peered into the bowl.  Seeing true success, I clapped and cheered, told you good job, and gave you a high five.  Daddy joined us in the celebration too.

What a proud moment!

You are growing up so fast.

Love you, Little Buddy!

Mommy

For the Birds!

Dear Sophie,

You had a couple a funny moments recently that I wanted to remember.

We were standing outside on an unusually warm, 80 degree evening in October.  You love walking through the crunchy leaves and picking up the little red berries that have been falling off the prairie fire crab apple tree in the backyard.  Because I wanted you to understand that you shouldn't eat the berries, we sat down on the back steps and I explained that the berries were food for the birds.  It just so happened that a large flock of birds was flying noisily over head at that moment.  Fully comprehending the food lesson and then dramatically gasping at nature's impeccable timing, you held up a fistful of berries up to the sky and shouted, "Heeh, beehds!  Eat, beehds!" (translated, "Here, Birds!  Eat, Birds!).  How I love that you make a seemingly uninteresting moment such an exciting one!

This next story embarrasses me, but your cuteness overrides my shame.  You were sitting quietly, coloring and playing with stickers.  I was sitting across from you, watching you color and occasionally helping to remove a sticker from its backing.  Digestion of a taco salad made itself evident when I let slip a hard-to-ignore "toot."  In great sincerity, you looked up at me with raised brows and asked, "Poop, mommy?"  I suppose I'm fair game to be asked that question, since we ask you the same question seemingly every day.  Soon, I'll be teaching you that a "toot" may be a signal that it's time to go to the potty.

I love you, Funny Face!

Mommy

Miss Bossy?

Dear Sophie,

We went to McDonalds for dinner tonight.  You don't really care about the food, but you like to watch the kids playing on the gymnasium and the slides.  You don't yet participate in the playing yourself because I suspect that you may be intimidated by all the other kids - they are much bigger than you.   As we were eating our dinner and people watching, two little girls (about nine years old) came over to our table.  Fully engrossed in play time, they hopped up on the chair and then stepped up onto our table so that they could reach up and jump onto one of the bars of the gymnasium. In a bossy little voice, you said to those girls, "Off table! Get down!"  You repeated it a second time when the little girls did it again.  Eventually, an adult from their party came over and told the girls not to get on the table.

I wonder where you learned to be so bossy? *wink wink*  This was the first time I've seen you be bossy to anyone else besides Lucy, Blue, and Junior.

Love you,
Mommy

FaceTime

Dear Sophie,

Thank goodness for FaceTime - this nifty Applie iPhone application that allows me to "video call" you.  I can see your cute little face even though I am far away in Washington D.C. at a conference.  And you can see my face too.  "Hi, Mommy!" is such a nice greeting.  You can hear me and interact with me on FaceTime.  You even mimicked me sticking my tongue out.  And when I asked for a "high five," you did it - unfortunately, your high five disconnected our call, but we got right back online together with a touch of a button.

What a darling little girl you are!

I'm so glad this is only a 3 day trip.  I miss your face!  I miss Daddy too, but his face is not nearly as sweet as yours. Wink wink!

Love,
Mommy

First K-State Game

P.S.

Daddy and I took you to the K-State vs. KU game in Manhattan yesterday.  It was your first college football game.  KU lost to K-State with a horrendous score of 56 to 16!

Oh sh*t!

Dear Sophie,

Who would have ever guessed that you would learn your first naughty word from Mommy?  I've been lecturing your dad for two years that he should start modifying his language in preparation for little ears.  As it turns out, it was I who needed the lecturing.

Here's how it happened.  Daddy was out of town.  It was just you and me, which means that Mommy was probably on the "worn out" side.  I placed you on the changing table so that I could give you a fresh diaper.  You were being your usual squirmy self - anything left on the dresser is vulnerable to being kicked or knocked off.  This isn't usually a problem, because most of the time, what's on your dresser is plush or plastic (like your animals or your comb).  This time, though, it was a sizeable bottle of lotion.

With a wave of your arm, the lotion container went crashing to the flower ending with a big splat!  Lotion was everywhere!  "Oh shit," I said.  "It's broken."  Not dwelling on the mishap (yours or mine), I finished changing your diaper, and then proceeded with the cleanup.  We went on with the day.

Later that day, it was time for another diaper change.  I took you back to your room and placed you on the dresser.  You noticed the broken lotion bottle still on the dresser, and then turned to me and said with all innocence, "Shit.  Boken."  I asked you, uncertain I heard you correctly, "What did you say?"  You repeated, "Shit. Boken."

And if that wasn't confirmation enough for me, two days later, when I was changing your clothes, you said it again after accidentally dropping your shoes on to the floor:  "Oh shit."

I can hardly believe that it was me who taught you a bad word.  Of course you don't know that it's a bad word, but everyone else will know, when your repeat it in public, that someone taught you a bad word.  Everyone will suspect your Daddy, but he will be free of blame and point his finger squarely at me.

Love you!
Your Imperfect but Loving Mommy

No bite!

Dear Sophie,

We are still trying to figure out how to move you on past this biting stage.  Yesterday, one of the other children in your class pushed you and, in retaliation, you bit him or her on the arm.  This morning, your teacher Ms. Robin told me how you reacted when you were put in a time out after yesterday's incident.  You were crying, and you pointed with a crooked index finger to some nearby blocks and repeated, "No biting, Block!  No biting!"  Ms. Robin said she struggled not to laugh.

I relayed this story to Daddy.  He laughed too and said he was glad that you seemed to be "getting it."  I, however, felt broken-hearted to hear it.  You and I have had some talks about biting on the way home from school, and I wondered if I had been too stern with you.  After all, you're a one year-old.  Still just a baby.

Instead of the stern talks on the way home after you've had an "incident", I'm going to praise you with lots of hugs, kisses, and positive words every day that you don't have an "incident."

I sure hope that works!

I'll always love you,
Mommy

Hug?

Dear Sophie,

Today, you walked into the room where I was working, stretched out your arms, and said, "Hug?"

I love you!

Mommy

Come on, Mom!

Dear Sophie,

Yesterday, I ran in the 4-mile Kansas City Zoo Run, a charity run benefiting the zoo's Sumatran tiger.  You'll know someday that I love animals, especially our dog Lucy and cats Blue and Junior, and one of my favorite channels to watch on TV is the Animal Planet.  I hope someday you, too, will share my love for animals.  So, I registered for the race.

Needless to say, with only a few 3-mile jog/walks in the few weeks leading up to the race, I was ill-prepared.  I started the race with three co-workers from the Federal Reserve.  Two quickly separated from the group about one mile into the run.  The other stayed with me for another mile and half or so.  She kept me encouraged with positive words along the way, but at approximately two and a half miles, I suggested she could go on without me.  I just couldn't keep up with her! So, I found myself running without a companion.

It just so happens that right about then I had caught up with two young girls.  I soon learned that they were running with their mom.  The oldest girl, perhaps about fifteen or sixteen, yelled back at her mom every few yards or so, "Come on, Mom!  Keep running!  You can do it!"  She repeated this numerous times.  The effect on me was inspiring.

I thought about you and how you sometimes grab my shirt or my hand and pull me in the direction of something you want to do.  You say, "Mon, Mommy," which translates to, "Come on, Mommy!"

I loved seeing the relationship between the teenage daughter and her mom during the Zoo run.  This was something they did together.  I imagine that you and I will do many things together, and I hope someday that when you're a teenager we maintain that togetherness.

Love you, Sweetie!

Mommy

The "BB"

Dear Sophie,

Today, I realized you'd learned a new word.  Unlike other words that we had made a conscious effort to enunciate for you and encourage you to repeat, "BB" (easily recognized as "TV" with your emphatic pointing at the big flat screen) must have been absorbed from our daily conversations.  That causes me two concerns:  (1) You are listening to us adults even when I don't think you're listening, and (2) "TV" must be a frequent word on our lips.

This morning, I lifted you out of your crib, and as I often do in order to impress the English language upon you, I explained to you what we were doing.  "I'm going to change your diaper, and then we're going to get breakfast."  You pointed somewhere in the direction towards the front of the house, and said, "bibi?"  Misunderstanding, I asked if you wanted your "binky" and despite your obvious frustration with me, I put a binky in your mouth.  You impatiently squirmed while I struggled to change your diaper.  We proceeded with breakfast, and then to the living room to relax.

I turned on a DVD, the Blue Planet.  You love watching the fish and the birds.  This morning you easily identified "bear" which was gorging itself on salmon.  You were pleased for the moment.  Later in the day, though, when Daddy had left the the news on the TV and had gone down to the basement to try to make some progress on a toy box he is building for you, you retrieved the remote control and thrust it into my hands.  "Bibi!" you demanded and pointed at the news show.  It was then that I realized you were saying "TV."  "Yes," I nodded my approval, "that's right.  TV."  You shook the remote in my hands, and it finally donned on me that you didn't want to watch the news.  We flipped to channel 29, Nick Junior, and you settled in for an episode of "Go Diego Go."

This evening, at dinner, we discovered just how addicted to the "bibi" you had become.  The television was on in the background, and we were all at the dining room table.  Although you had a fork, you dug into the pasta and tomato meat sauce with your little fingers, picking out the parmesan cheese - how you love cheese!  You aren't much of an eater, as it is, but Daddy noticed that you were distracted by the TV.  You kept turning around to look at it, while your food was getting colder and colder.  Daddy tried to refocus your attention on your dinner plate, but when it became obvious that the "Family Guy" (which Daddy himself is hooked on) was more important to you, he turned the TV off.

Two things happened in this moment that amazed me:  (1) Your daddy actually turned off a rerun of the Family Guy, and (2) you were instantly in temper tantrum mode, crying and yelling "BB!"  And that was it.  You weren't going to have another bite.  Not one bite more.  Not even a piece of parmesan cheese!

The crying and yelling persisted.  We put you in a time out, and though you bore your punishment for the single minute of your typical timeout, you weren't reformed, and we had to put you in a second time out.  The second time out was no more corrective than the first.  It was Daddy who stayed strong and did not turn on the TV despite your kicking and screaming.  I was ready to cave in because it was Sunday night and I wanted to eat dinner in peace.

No such peace was made without a great effort.  Seeing that your Daddy was determined not to give you your way, I scarfed the rest of my dinner (I'm always last to finish our meals) - Daddy was going to need my full support.  "Don't turn on the TV yet," he ordered.  Though it's much easier to drop you in front of the TV while we clear the table and tidy the kitchen, we didn't do that this time.  We distracted you from your fit of rage by engaging your assistance in the dinner clean up effort.  I gave you plates to carry from the dinner table to the kitchen, and I supervised your every step as you dutifully bore them, one by one, to Daddy who was doing the dishes.  You took the soiled napkins I gave you, and put them in the trash receptacle.  Daddy instructed you to close the dishwasher after we had fully loaded it.  By the time we were done, your tears were dried up, and you were wiggling with pride at having helped Mommy and Daddy.

The work all done, Daddy scooped you up, grabbed the bag of snap pea snacks that you love (because he knew you'd still be hungry), and plopped down onto his recliner with you on his lap.  The Family Guy resumed.  I looked over at you and your daddy.  He caught me observing the two the of you, and asked "What?"  "Nothing," I answered unconvincingly.  Nothing but a daughter like her daddy.

It gives me relief to think that a few days ago I had heard you clearly say the word "book."  You learned "book" before "BB," and that has to count for something, right?

Love you!
Mommy

Busy Weekend!

Dear Sophie,
Daddy and Lucy went on a weekend trip, so it was just a girls weekend - you and me.  Friday night, we went to the Ethnic Enrichment Festival to eat some Filipino food at the Filino Association booth.  You ate barbecue, adobo chicken, pancit, lumpia, turon, halo halo, and cantaloupe drink.  You also watched the Sinag Tala perform several traditional dances.  You seemed most interested in the Tinikling and Silat dances. 

On Saturday, we spent lunch and early afternoon at the zoo because today was KC Fed Day at the zoo.  We only had time to visit Africa before it became obvious that you needed a nap.  I asked you if you liked the elephants, and your serious answer was "noooooo."  Would you like the elephants to visit you?  Again, "Noooooo."  I think the elephant's sheer size intimidated you.  You were happy to watch from afar.

Tonight, we'll go back to the Ethnic Enrichment Festival and see what other good foods we can eat, but until then, you are crashed out in your crib - fast asleep!

Thank you, little sweetie, for a wonderful girls weekend.

Love you,
Mommy