Doodle

Dear Caroline,

You are nine years old today. Nine. How is it even possible that we’ve already come to the last single digit year? Especially since we just brought you home from the hospital like two days ago.

I think the thing that has hit me the hardest about nine is when it dawned on me that nine is the halfway mark. In just nine more years you’ll be eighteen and headed off to college or whatever adventure God calls you to as you begin your adult life. And I have a feeling the next nine years will go by as fast as these first nine.

Excuse me while I go cry in the back of my closet.

The thing is that it’s okay. It’s how it’s supposed to be. Honestly, I love you more with every passing day because there is never a day that you don’t surprise me with some type of insight or an unexpected reaction or make me laugh out loud. You are one of the funniest people I know. I told you the other night that I think God gave Daddy and me a funny kid because he knew how much we love to laugh and I meant it. You’re hilarious.

I can definitely feel the shifting sand as we hit nine. I don’t know as much as I used to. I’m not quite as smart and my word isn’t always the final word. You have your own opinions and thoughts and you’re never afraid to voice them. It seems like there are more and more days where I find myself saying, “Just quit arguing and do what I asked you to do” or the less patient, sarcastic version which is “You know what would be a real novelty? If you’d just do what I asked and quit asking questions.”

Because while the infant and toddler years were physically grueling at times, this new stage sometimes leaves me biting my tongue until it bleeds or feeling like I have to bang my head against the wall until I either pass out or don’t care anymore.

Yet that’s just about the time you’ll do something so dang sweet I can barely stand it. You’ll crawl up in my lap while we’re watching T.V. or reach for my hand as we walk across a parking lot without even realizing you’re doing it. And then it feels like you’re three years old again and I soak in every moment of it.

And that’s what I love about you right now. You’re right in the middle of pure little girl sweetness with a little bit of pre-teen angst thrown in. The other day you asked, “Mama? Do you ever just feel sad sometimes for no reason?” I wanted to say “Get ready because that’s about to be one week a month for the rest of your life” but instead I just reassured you that we all feel sad from time to time and it’s totally normal.

Then there are the times that I can feel you try to manufacture something to be sad about. Like the other day when we passed a cemetery and you asked in a very solemn voice bordering on tears, “Do we know anyone who’s buried there?” And I quickly told you no because I felt the drama brewing. You’ve always had a knack for a little bit of drama. I think you come by it honestly.

About a month ago you woke up and the first question you asked that morning was “Mama? Am I almost at the end of my little years?”

Oh my heart.

Yes, you’re almost at the end of your little years. I read one time that the magical years of childhood are from age six until ten. So I guess if that’s true then you have one year left of the magic. But when I look at you I see someone who will always find the wonder in life. You will always find the magic because it’s just the way God made you. You live life with joy.

And you fill our lives with that joy.

Every day.

The greatest gift Daddy and I have ever known is getting to see the world through your eyes. We love you more than you’ll ever know.

Love,
Mama

So we had a good weekend this past weekend. Even though I was so tired by Saturday night that I went to bed at 9:30. Which would make the twenty-year-old me very sad at the lameness but makes the forty-year-old me think that at least I’m not as lame as P who fell asleep sitting up on the couch at 8:25.

But we can both blame the sleepover.

On Friday night, Caroline’s school had this little fundraiser thing where you could drop your child off at the school from 6-9 for $20. The third grade teachers were the chaperones and the kids were basically treated to a dance party, craft session and running around on the playground.

Meanwhile, P and I went out on a date like real live people who enjoy conversations that aren’t interrupted by jokes heavy on the potty humor. Even though we knew our fancy night out had a shelf-life of three hours. Especially since we’d agreed that Caroline could have two friends come back to our house to spend the night.

I picked the girls up and they filled me in on all the evening festivities and then we got to the house and I made them a giant pallet on the living room floor because this is Caroline’s favorite sleepover routine. Why would anyone want to sleep in comfortable beds when you can spread an old comforter on the hardwood floors?

Since the girls were settling into the living room, P and I decided we’d watch T.V. in our bedroom. But then we remembered that we don’t have a T.V. in our bedroom because the old T.V. that used to be in our bedroom belonged to my dad and he took it back because it saved him approximately $5.00 and he is never one to walk away from a $5.00 savings.

And we currently have two televisions in the living room. The big one that we actually watch and another antiquated one that’s in the armoire we still haven’t moved into another room because we’re trying to figure out our built-in situation and evaluate our armoire needs.

(This is all a terribly boring lead in to what I’m sure you’re hoping will be an interesting story. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t get any better.)

So P hoisted the antiquated T.V out of the armoire in the living room to carry it to the armoire in our bedroom. And he nearly died because it weighs approximately 800 pounds since it was made when plasma and led screens were just a gleam in Sony’s eye. But he got it into the bedroom and then we tried to hook it up to our Dish Network remote.

Unfortunately after a highly technical method I like to call PUSHING EIGHTY-FOUR DIFFERENT BUTTONS REPEATEDLY, it still just had a snowy screen. So I tried to call Dish Network to get help but the customer service line was closed and that’s when I noticed on the website that I could get immediate help using their online chat feature with a customer service representative.

And that’s how Victor and I became BFF at 9:42 p.m. on Friday night. He helped me troubleshoot on the T.V. in the bedroom until he finally suggested that I go to the source of the problem which was apparently the T.V. in the living room. I pushed all the buttons Victor suggested and he would respond with a politely typed, “Thank you, Melanie”. And I would reply, “You’re welcome, Victor.”

But in the end, nothing worked. I could sense Victor’s disappointment and sense of defeat all the way from India. He typed, “I am truly sorry, Melanie. Your remaining option is to ask for a new remote from Dish Network on Monday.”

Which didn’t help us at all on Saturday night.

Then P went into the bedroom to try it one more time and change a few channels and mash a few buttons. And he called out, “Did you plug in the cable wire to this T.V. after I carried it in?”

No.

No I did not.

And it’s amazing how plugging in the cable wire to the back of a T.V. immediately fixes your cable problem.

I was just glad Victor had already departed from our chat session so I didn’t have to make this admission to him. He would have been so disappointed in me. It probably would have been the end of our friendship.

Anyway, in the midst of all the bonding with Victor, Caroline’s teacher dropped by to say hi. And we visited for a little while after I’d discovered I’m an idiot who doesn’t plug in cable wires to televisions and wastes hours of poor unsuspecting tech support folks’ lives. Somehow I ended up plugging in my You Curl curling iron so I could curl her hair.

(I don’t make a habit of curling my child’s teacher’s hair, but she is also a friend and is only twenty-eight years old.)

(Don’t ask me why her age matters but the fact that she’s younger than me makes me feel like I was offering a hair mentoring service.)

(It also explains why when I explained that the curls wouldn’t look like Nellie Olsen’s after they fell just a little bit that she asked, “Who’s Nellie Olsen?”)

So I had the curling iron sitting on the kitchen island when Caroline came in and pulled open a drawer looking for the ice cream scooper. And the curling iron started to fall and she tried to grab it. Fortunately, I saw the whole thing happening and knocked it away before she could make a good catch and it was just a small burn between her thumb and forefinger.

We immediately began to run cold water over it and applied some burn gel stuff that I’d bought a few weeks earlier when I had a bad run in with some juice from a pork roast. (Wow. That sentence sounds gross.) And I also gave her some Tylenol. She’d never been burned by anything before and was crying. I kept rubbing her back and telling her it was going to be okay, assuring her that it would stop hurting in just a little while.

I helped her settle back in with her friends and got them all bowls of ice cream with chocolate syrup and sprinkles because that cures almost anything. But she was having a hard time eating because the burn was on her left hand and she’s left handed. That’s when she said in a pitiful voice, “Now I know exactly how Bethany Hamilton feels. Neither of us can use our hand.”

Yes.

That’s the same.

Before I could say anything, I heard P say, “That is not the same. She got her arm bitten off by a shark, you have a small burn on your thumb.”

She pushed it too far with the post-injury drama in a bid for more sympathy.

In other words, she literally jumped the shark.

Before I say anything else I just want to say thank you for all your sweet words and prayers about the loss of Nanny. It was all very much appreciated. Last week was a hard week and I was thankful for all the love.

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before but Caroline has the same teacher for third grade that she had for first grade. And in first grade this teacher helped the class host the sweetest Mother’s Day Tea party for their mothers and grandmothers. Secretly, I’d been hoping that she would do it again this year and so I was thrilled when Caroline came home a few weeks ago with a little decorated invitation to the Mother’s Day Tea.

Although I would have totally understood if Miss C. didn’t want to do it again this year because it is a lot of work and I can’t even imagine how many hours she puts into the whole thing because there is a huge cake and glittery cards and actual tea and a photo slideshow that always makes me cry. Not to mention the whole herding of third graders who have the attention span of rabid guinea pigs.

When I picked Caroline up from school on Wednesday, she tried to con me into buying her a new dress for the party. She told me that she was “pretty sure” Miss C. wanted them all to wear white dresses but she underestimated my ability to text and get confirmation. It turned out that Miss C. said they should wear a fun dress, but not a white dress.

Of course Caroline still wanted a new dress but I turned her down because she has somewhere in the neighborhood of WAY TOO MANY dresses that have only been worn once. And I felt validated by my decision to not buy the new dress when she told me on Thursday night that she wanted to wear this brown maxi dress we bought on sale at Target last year. The problem is she’s grown about sixty-four inches and the maxi dress is no longer a maxi dress but more like an awkward length dress. It also looks like something from Little House on the Prairie.

Thankfully she decided on something else and we were both happy with her second choice.

The tea was Friday afternoon and it was just as sweet as I remembered. There was a slideshow and cake and everything was decorated. Caroline had made cards and written a little thing about me that not only said I was athletic but also the best cook in the universe. Which totally validates all the chalupas and sloppy joes and frozen pizzas we’ve eaten over the last few weeks because BEST COOK IN THE UNIVERSE.

Here’s my secret. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Take pizza out of box. Place on rack.

You’re welcome.

She also said that one of my greatest wishes is to see Scotland. I have never expressed a desire to visit Scotland, but I’ve also never been called athletic so I’m just going to go with it.

On Saturday morning we had the last soccer game of the season. Caroline scored two goals and played her little heart out so it ended on a good note. And then we went to the end of the season pool party even though it was only 82 degrees out with a north wind. I realize some of you call this summer but here we call it TOO COLD TO SWIM. Actually, I call it too cold to swim. Caroline and her friends thought it was perfect and they assured us all repeatedly through blue lips that the water was FINE.

Then Sunday morning we went to church and then to lunch with Mimi and Bops for Mother’s Day. Caroline had warned me not to go in her room and when we got home from lunch, I discovered why.

She’d set up a little spa just like she did last year. Her spa is very special because it’s hard to find a place that offers a soaking solution of purple glitter, cucumber antibacterial soap and Tressemme hair mousse.

I soaked my hands in the glitter while my feet soaked in another tub of water that I’m pretty sure was a combination of Curel lotion and more hair mousse. Then she gave me a manicure that can best be described as not subtle. She also believes that if a little polish is good then more is better. Even eight hours later I’m still not sure my nails are dry.

She also offered to give me a pedicure and I agreed but asked if we could not paint my toenails since I just got a fresh pedicure on Friday. I was torn because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I also hated to ruin a brand new pedi. And so she looked my toes over and said, “Is this even a color on your toes right now?”

“Yes. I just wanted a light, natural color.”

“Oh”, she said as she dropped my foot with disdain, “Some people will never learn.”

I think I should have been offended, but instead I just agreed that my pedicure was totally boring compared to my fresh, new manicure. Of course, Cher would be boring compared to my fresh, new manicure.

And life would be boring without Caroline.

Hope you all had a wonderful Mother’s Day.

The other night P was grilling fajitas and was going back and forth from the kitchen to the back porch. Caroline was happy to just mill around outside and enjoy her current favorite hobby, collecting bugs of any kind.

I was in the kitchen tasting the guacamole when I noticed P looking out the windows. He motioned for me to come take a look. This is what we saw dancing around our back porch in her own little world.

She’s wearing P’s landscaping hat. They were out of the big one.

We looked at each other and agreed that we have our very own version of Speedy Gonzales. A little mouse with a very large hat and some nice moves.

I was going through old videos the other day because I harbor grand illusions that one day I will get all manner of memorabilia from Caroline’s childhood organized and labeled.

Judging from the eight packs of photos currently stuffed in my desk drawer, it’s not likely to happen anytime soon.

But I came across this video and it seemed appropriate to post it since Easter is this Sunday and it clearly has an Easter theme.

I’m also hoping that someone will be able to tell me how that little chubby-cheeked baby turned into this overnight.

I took this before I dropped her off at school yesterday morning. It was picture day and she let me blow dry her hair AND curl it. It was a hair miracle.

But then she saw herself in the mirror and was so pleased. She looked at me as she fluffed her curls and asked, “Mama? Are you sure it’s school picture day today?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“That’s good”, she replied as she walked toward the car, “Because I’d hate to waste all this.”