Doodle

Dear Caroline,

There are very few moments in life when you can recall exactly what you were doing on a specific date at a specific time, but I know that at 2:24 a.m. on August 3, 2003 you came into my world and changed it forever. Who knew a little person weighing in at five pounds and eight ounces could have such an impact? Daddy took one look at the scale and remarked that he’d caught fish bigger than you.

Specifically, he’d caught fish bigger than you two days earlier when he headed down to the National Seashore, out of cell phone range, to camp out on the beach. I kissed him goodbye and said, “Just remember, missing the birth of your first child falls in the category of things I’ll never get over”. But God always smiles on Daddy and he got back in town approximately twenty-four hours before you decided to show up two weeks early.

As soon as you were born, the nurses whisked you off to make sure you were okay because you were so much smaller than they expected. In fact, they did an ultrasound while I was experiencing excruciating labor pains and assured me you would weigh in around seven and a half pounds. I guess you showed them.

A few minutes later they placed you in my arms. I took one look at you and said, “You’re a peanut”. Because you were. The most beautiful little peanut I’d ever seen. With wide eyes and no eyelashes to speak of. I’ll be honest, you looked a little like a frog. But you were my frog and I was head over heels in love.

Seven years later, I love you even more. You are the light of my life.

And the feeling is mutual.

Maybe it’s because your first grade year kept us so busy with all the soccer and the homework and the drama over picking out clothes, but this has been our summer of being in love. You can’t get enough of me. It’s like I’ve grown an appendage that weighs forty-seven pounds and likes to kick me in my sleep and occasionally wake me up with the command to “cuddle”.

The other day we were driving down the road and you said, “Mama?”

“What, baby?”

“I have seen a lot of mamas in my life, but you are my favorite.”

Melt my heart. Seriously, what do you want? Just name it.

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of kids in my life and you’re my favorite.”

With that you smiled a contented smile. And then ten seconds later treated me to a joke containing your favorite brand of potty humor.

If only I could capture these moments on video to pull out when you’re thirteen and furious that I won’t let you out of the house wearing all that blue eyeliner. I’ll tell you now that I’m doing you a favor.

This year has brought its share of challenges. You’ve had your feelings hurt, felt misunderstood and had to learn what it means to stand up for yourself. At times it’s been hard for me to watch, but I’ve seen your character grow and develop as you’ve learned what it means to be a good friend and the importance of treating others with kindness.

A few days ago, you spent the night with Mimi and Bops. And when they brought you home, you went into full-on drama queen mode. I told you to go to your room until you could settle down. A few minutes later you walked back into the living room, hugged me tight and told me you were worried that you weren’t unique. I have to believe that only someone is truly unique would actually verbalize being worried about it. I can assure you with full confidence that you can cross that off your list of concerns. You are one of a kind.

Last Friday night, we had an impromptu family movie night. I’d recorded A Little Princess and we all crawled in bed to watch it together. This has been the year that I’ve officially realized, barring some huge life-altering decision, that it’s most likely going to be the three of us. And it’s caused me to hold every moment a little bit tighter trying to fully soak in the sweetness. As we all snuggled in together, I loved listening to you and Daddy laugh out loud and I don’t know that I’ve ever had more love and appreciation for our little band of three.

You are the dream I couldn’t have imagined. And Daddy and I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Happy Birthday, my sweet girl. You are going to be great at being seven.

Love,
Mama

Tomorrow is Caroline’s seventh birthday.

I am in a little bit of denial about the whole thing.

But here’s a little video we made last night.

Turning Seven from Big Mama on Vimeo.

When I started this blog four years ago, I had a line from a song by Watermark across the top that said, “The tenderness of God is twirling around my living room”.

As much as she’s wishing for roller skates and pink kneepads, I’m hoping that she’ll always have enough joy in her life to cause her to twirl around a room.

And I hope nobody treats her like a first grader.

We went shopping for school supplies yesterday.

I’ll just let that sink in for a minute.

In less than one month, Caroline will start second grade. Of course I can’t really think about it for too long because SECOND GRADE. How did that happen? I’m just trying to console myself with my personal theory that third grade is really the gateway grade to official BIG KID status and that second grade is just a filler grade that the school system threw in because no one wants to teach a bunch of seven-year-olds how to write in cursive and use a protractor.

Let me have my denial.

When I registered Caroline for Kindergarten, they handed me a form that allowed me to pre-order her school supplies courtesy of the PTO. I’m never one to play the martyr, so I filled out the form, wrote a check and when she showed up on the first day of school there was a shrink-wrapped package in her cubby containing all her school supplies. It was brilliant.

So when the same form came home at the end of Kindergarten, I checked the box that read HOOK A MOTHER UP and sent in my check. And just like Kindergarten, the supplies appeared as if by magic on Caroline’s desk the first day of school. Perfect.

Until the second week of school when Caroline came home upset because her teacher had passed out notebooks to be used as poetry journals and she received a plain red one. She didn’t understand why some of the girls got notebooks featuring furry kittens and baby seals while she only got a plain red notebook. And you need to know that she said “PLAIN RED NOTEBOOK” in the same voice she uses in the morning when she lovingly says, “YOUR BREATH SMELLS LIKE THE CIRCUS”.

Her teacher explained that the plain red notebook was the one in her school supplies and that the other girls had brought the notebooks with dolphins and puppies. To which Caroline replied, “NO WAY DID MY MAMA PICK OUT A PLAIN RED NOTEBOOK”.

And she’s right. I would have never picked out a plain red notebook.

But the PTO would. Because all they care about it the bottom financial line and they aren’t really interested in wide-ruled notebooks featuring three kittens huddled together with a ball of yarn.

So we went to the store and picked out a pretty notebook for her to use as her poetry journal. And then she made me sign in blood that I would never order school supplies from the PTO again because she wanted to pick them out herself.

Which is how I ended up in the back of Target yesterday trying to figure out what the heck the list means by a Mead marble composition 100-count notebook with red baseline while Caroline danced around me holding a Trapper Keeper featuring a baby penguin and begging me to buy it.

“It’s not on the list”

“Well, it should be. That list is too strict. Why is second grade so strict?”

“Second grade isn’t strict. It’s not that you can’t have it, but let’s just focus on getting the things you need first.”

“Okay…but what if I get this one with the horses and can I pick out a new backpack and I need a new thermos because my old one is Disney Princess and I’m over Disney Princess and what I really want is a thermos that looks like Gabi’s and I love this notebook with the hearts and what I really want is this pack of glitter pencils with erasers shaped like stars.”

Well, what I really want is a nerve pill.

We can’t always get what we want.

By the time we left Target I semi-regretted not ordering our school supplies from the PTO, but just knowing that Caroline will have a notebook depicting a baby seal makes it all worth it.

Actually, that’s not true.

But it makes me feel better to pretend that it does.

This video, even with all its poor editing, makes me so happy.

Camp from Big Mama on Vimeo.

I think it’s safe to say she’s having a good time.

And learning some sweet new moves.