Year: 2010

Does anyone remember when I went to New York back in April? (It’s fine if you don’t. I certainly have no expectations that anyone is keeping up with my lame schedule.) Somehow I ended up in first class and I’m about 82% sure that I was sitting next to Javier Bardem. He was wearing a tweed sport coat with a red bandana sticking out of the pocket. Which I thought was a little odd, but totally makes sense now that I realize it was Javier Bardem. Everyone knows how all the Hollywood types like to wear red bandanas as pocket squares.

Anyway, I mentioned it to Ree and Sophie that night at dinner, but didn’t feel totally sure about it so I didn’t want to walk around claiming that I sat next to Javier Bardem on a plane when it might not be true and three people might care. But a little while ago I was watching David Letterman and he had Julia Roberts on and they showed a clip from Eat, Pray, Love with Javier Bardem and my certainty increased from a mere 43% to 82%. And now I’m just sick that I didn’t engage him in some sort of conversation because, next thing you know, we could have been vacationing with he and Penelope Cruz.

Assuming they are big fans of the beach at Port Aransas and wouldn’t mind spending all day hanging out under P’s version of a beach cabana.

You can only imagine my delight at the thought of Javier and Penelope being photographed hanging out under that piece of tarp and featured in US Weekly under the “Stars! They’re Just Like Us!” section.

I don’t know why I’m telling you this, other than the fact that I am functioning on about three hours of sleep and desperately need to go to bed but also desperately need some quiet time to myself where no one is asking me to help them put on their new roller skates for the thirty-eighth time or to assist them as they weave a potholder. P can be so high maintenance.

So, Caroline had a pool party this year. She was originally against the pool party idea which is unfortunate because she was born in August and that means she can either choose a pool party or something that involves air-conditioning. But at some point she came up with the idea to give all her party guests disposable underwater cameras as party favors so they could all take pictures of each other while they swam. I immediately agreed to this since I was ready to do anything to avoid Chuck E. Cheese.

The cameras were a big hit once I showed all the kids how to use cameras that aren’t digital. They kept trying to see the picture and I had to explain that back in the 1900’s all cameras required you to wind the film after each picture. And they looked at me wide-eyed and asked, “What’s film?”

Which may explain why later on that night at the slumber party, as we watched Mary Poppins and I explained that suffragettes were women who fought for the right to vote because women weren’t allowed to vote until the 1920’s, Caroline said, “DID YOU HEAR THAT? WOMEN WEREN’T ALLOWED TO VOTE WHEN MY MAMA WAS A LITTLE GIRL!”

I’m like a walking, breathing antique.

We took Caroline and some of her friends to dinner at The Magic Time Machine. They were so hyped up on cupcake icing that not a one of them remembered that there is such thing as an inside voice. P said he kind of felt like we ought to offer to buy dinner for the table that had to sit next to us, but I don’t feel like anyone can complain about the noise if they choose to dine at a restaurant where Batman is your waiter and Indiana Jones leads you to a salad bar made from a car.

And the slumber party.

Who knew that four little girls could be so loud? And have so much energy? And be so particular about all the different colors they need for their pedicure?

I did. I discovered it at Caroline’s birthday slumber party last year, but had blocked the memory from my mind because I knew we’d have to do it again. And again. And again.

And again.

I think it was about 1 a.m. when I officially turned into what Caroline described as “Miss Hannigan”. It was at that point that I may have made a vague threat about no more sleepovers for a long time if everyone didn’t get quiet and GO TO BED. And then I sang a song about little girls and took a drink from my flask while demanding that they scrub the kitchen floor until it shines like the top of the Chrysler building.

They all fell asleep and woke up around 7 a.m. asking what I had planned for the morning. The answer was NOTHING. I’m serving breakfast, calling your parents and then stumbling to the couch to lie down for the next three days.

And then I’m done with socializing for about a week.

Unless Javier and Penelope call.

You’ll have to bear with me here because I’ve never been very good at math. Not to mention that it’s 1:00 a.m. and I have been breathing nail polish fumes for the better part of two hours.

This is just my own personal working theory.

If a good birthday is determined by the absolute value of fun had in the pool

plus the velocity with which you propel out of the slide

divided by the square root of cupcakes

and the distributive property of candy contained in one horse pinata

divided by a fun night out with your best friends

multiplied by making sixteen necklaces and having your toes painted eight times

with the greatest common factor being the sheer and utter exhaustion of your mama?

Then someone had themselves a very happy day.

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.