Letters to My Girls

For Sweet Sophie on Her Fourth Birthday

How lucky am I to be your Mommy?  I think the heavens dropped you from above, my sweet Sophia, with your sparkling eyes and constant grin.  You wake up and immediately, you're talking and happy and excited to be alive.  You make everyone around you smile. 

You're the best snugglebug I could have asked for.  For whatever reason, you just fit exactly right against me when we are sharing hugs and smooches and little secrets. Your giggle is most precious sound on this earth. 

Here you are, four years old today, and babyhood is a distant memory.  You've conquered all the rites of passage that a little kid can manage.  You like to do things on your time schedule, and I'm learning to be a more patient mama as a result.  I don't really need to push you, though - you know what to do without my even telling you, don't you? 

I love that you are independent, but also love to have people around you.  I love that you adore your sister and can manufacture the world's funniest giggle-fest with the simplest of games.  You have a little naughty streak in you, and if I catch you playing in your room at midnight anymore, boy, I'm gonna....probably laugh at you because when I've come in to find out what you're doing, you always have a very righteous and proper explanation. 

We aren't quite certain how we came to parent a blonde child, but here you are, light as a daisy with your beautiful hair and big blue eyes.  You love that you are different - my goodness - what a valuable gift that will be into the future. 

Most of the time when I pick you up at school, you are coloring.  You love crayons, while most of the kids are into markers at this stage.   If I gave you scissors, I know you'd cut all sorts of things, including your hair, and probably Izzy's too.  That's why I don't give you scissors - you take your artwork very seriously.

You still love Ariel and always have, though I sense you will start keeping that fact to yourself from now on.  The only thing you wanted for Christmas this year was the Ariel Hair Salon, and Santa dutifully brought it.  The little bike we gave you today for your birthday seems more your style, though I think what you really want is some sort of eternal, authentic magic.  Maybe we can find a way to make that happen for you, dearie!

You are too busy with activities to care much about whether your hair is pulled back or your face is clean.  It doesn't really matter, though - your infectious smile makes all the chocolate, spaghettio, mac 'n cheese mush-mouth look precious. 

Your voice is still in that cute Minnie-Mouse stage, where everything you say seems so intelligent, yet so comical.  You have the cutest little fake cough that comes up every time you think you want medicine, and you still get angry when we don't believe you.  We still bandage your imaginary boo-boos because it makes you feel better to have a Scooby Doo bandaid on a finger and then show us how, magically, the boo-boo has gone away, at the end of the day.  

You asked me yesterday if we could fix your thumb for your birthday.  Your little thumb is bent and locked at the first knuckle, and we don't really know why that happened.  You've had it since you were a baby, and while we want to get it fixed, neither of us wants to put you through a surgery.  Not that you'd have any problems!  You got through five stitches without even flinching this year after cutting your eyelid open.  I wouldn't have guessed you'd be my emergency room girl, but we've had quite a few trips, haven't we?  Well, maybe mommy can take a cue from her daughter and be a bit more brave so we can get your thumb fixed.  

One thing I secretly adore is that you love "Mommy~Sophie" day.  Each week, on Monday and Friday, when Izz goes to school, we get to spend time snuggling in bed, running errands, playing, and sometimes we go to the coffee shop for a pumpkin muffin-top.  When we go to get Izz at school, you tell everyone that "it's Mommy-Sophie day" with a proud little bob of your head.  

My darling, you have absolutely soaked into every inch of my heart and soul, and I love you so.  You sweet, funny little girl - you've changed my life forever and I'm so very grateful you are mine.  I love you!  

Kisses,

Mommy 

 

Between the Stirrups

So, that guy - the one with the white jacket and blue face-mask?  The one whose eyes are smiling at  you from beyond the white drape, holding just beyond your sight a long, thin tube with some stuff in it?  The one who you might have fantasized about once or twice because, after all, he will ultimately be the one who impregnates you?  The one who is about to bill you $10K for the next five minutes of his time? 

Yeah - that one! 

This is what he's not going to tell you about the baby he's about to put in your belly and what happens to you as a result:

-  You will bake approximately 18 dozen cupcakes by the time the child is 5 years old. (Exception:  Those who get the cupcakes at the bakery, slide them into a pan filled with "Ariel" paper liners, and swish a bit of canned frosting on top, all in the interest of appearing as though it matters that they should look home-made.)

-  You will stress over teacher's gifts every year for the rest of your child's schooling.  (Should I do this or that?  Did I spend too much?  Are the other mommies doing gifts?  Will it be tacky if I sew something? Once I do this, does it set a precedent for next year?)

-  If you have a C-section, unless you have cosmetic surgery insurance, the area between your breastbone and bikini line will have numerous saggy bits that fold over or hang down lifelessly, like dead turkey skin.

-  You will be pee'd and pooped upon in the most extraordinary of circumstances,  however, the hormonal changes will render you incapable of being grossed-out or angry, and will leave you viewing everything through very Seuss-like, pinkish colored glasses.

-  After having seen a few Disney movies, your child or children will remind you that you're fatter, uglier, or meaner than the Queen in Alice in Wonderland.  All done, of course, with a sweet, innocent, and helpful little smile.

-  Your "slam dunk" choice of toys, books, games, dolls, and clothing for your children will be viewed by the little imps with complete disdain.  They will end up on the floor, be stepped upon, broken, soiled, stretched, mangled, hidden, tossed out the window, left in the mud, and/or forgotten before the next holiday.  Your child will then have the worst Target tantrum ever upon discovering a version of the dolly (scooter, ant farm, gun) she really wanted that you won't get for her.  Or, it might be that you refused to purchase the bouffant, blue-eyeshadowed, mini-skirted, boob-enhanced doll (fist-fighting, gun-wielding, mask-wearing, warlord) you wouldn't purchase for her if it only cost $1.22 on clearance.

-  Each meal - and I mean every single meal- from the time the kid is born to the time she leaves for college will be a struggle, made more complex by the inclusion of additional family members all requiring various and constantly changing dietary additions, deletions, or exceptions.  The only solution?  McDonalds. 

-  The one-time-only "fee" you pay to school each year is just something they put on a sales brochure to get you to matriculate.  After that, plan on dropping $50 per week on book fairs, tee shirts, very specific gym clothes, even more specific gym shoes, cheerleading outfits, birthday presents, ER visits, lost lunch money, backpacks, stuffies, valentines to give anonymously, valentines to give publicly, fines to the library, lost glasses, lost retainers, oh-and lunch off-campus at McDonalds, of course. 

All of this, made totally worth it, of course, by the hugs and smooches and an occasional "I love you Mom!"  Nevertheless, since you won't get a chance after the baby is born, take the opportunity whilst your feet are hoisted up in the stirrups to gently nudge that handsome egg-wielding doctor right in the teeth with your stiletto.  

Wait - you don't wear stilettos to the OB/GYN?

Why You Want Toys (and I Won't Buy Them)

Darling Daughters:

You girls have already become addicts to advertising.  Yes, I let you watch TV a little bit each day and I know you'll be in years of therapy because of it.  For the most part, I let you watch what you want unless or until I see gratuitous violence or content that I think is beyond your years.  Lately, I'm more inclined to put on a video rather than let you watch the tube, but there are those days when you want to see some new Scooby Doo or Dora, and therefore, you are exposed to the wonderful world of TV Advertising. 

To make matters worse, I get a few catalogs in the mail just about every day, and you girls love to hang out on the black couch in the living room, poring over the glossy pages and commenting on the toys, books, and pretty things you'd like to have for yourselves.  Sophie- as young as you are, you've figured out how to justify any purchase, a skill that, while annoying at the moment, will come in handy someday!  Izz - you're more particular, but you want things that are well beyond your years.

The thing I find so interesting is that the ad exec's have figured out how to draw you in already.  You girls love to see commercials and ads because they make you believe your life is incomplete without the thing being hawked in the ad.  I get that.  Me too, sometimes. 

A few months ago, I finally broke down and bought you guys these ridiculous waxed strings  that were advertised to be the next best thing to crayons.  You're supposed to sculpture the strings by coiling and bending them into literally unlimited small creatures, food items, pasties, vacation homes, and alternative fuel vehicles.  OK - I didn't buy those claims, knowing that you girls were unlikely to build anything particularly useful, but I admit to believing they might just be "hours of fun!" 

The thing that really annoys me is that, as an adult, I should know better than to believe that anything that sticks to itself well enough to sculpture and hold it's shape is not likely to be "mess free."  I'm irked that I read and re-read the package about ten times, looking at that phrase "mess free" over and over again, and still bought the item after you begged me incessantly for months and I was out of ideas for keeping you occupied. 

We brought them home, unsealed the package, and I started to separate the waxed strings from the cellophane.  Low and behold...the wax not only left an icky, slimy mess on my hands, but by the end of the play session, you not only failed to build the Taj Mahal, but there was icky, slimy stuff all over my kitchen counter tops, your hands, faces, and clothing.  Furthermore, the smell was awful. 

Now, being the normal children you are, you didn't care about the mess or the smell.  You were, however, disappointed that your artistic efforts resulted in tangled masses of odd-colored spaghetti and meatballs instead of perfectly executed, color-appropriate couture fashion.  (Yo - Project Runway - I feel a challenge coming on!) 

It was me who, packing up the remainder of waxed string to "donate" to an unsuspecting charity, was chagrined at the fact that the company claimed it to be a no-mess toy that turned out to be, well, messy.  They didn't completely disappoint me, though, since I thought the "mess" would be crumbled wax all over my floor, and that did not happen.  No - it was the sticky ick that turned out to be the messy stuff. 

OK- changing gears for a minute.  The government went after the makers of Pom pomegranite juice this week, for claiming health benefits from their product that have no scientific proof.  There will always be the "it" items that may or may not work, depending upon your chemistry and the company's desire to sell it's product.  Many of them don't do what they are advertised to do.  Some will.  But, why is the government spending thousands of our tax dollars going after a product that won't likely ruin our lives, rather than investment companies, tobacco manufacturers, drug companies, and their own failed programs?  Really - isn't that sort of a waste?

Yes, I have a point.  Let me get to it now. 

Your desires can sometimes supersede your common sense.  But, common sense is not only instinct, but also intelligence based upon history and knowledge.  The "knowledge" I'd like you to start with is this:

-  All ads are meant to get you to buy something.  I don't care how sincere the pitch, or what the product claims to do.  Just because something is shiny and new doesn't mean it works. 

-  Claims are just that, claims. 

-  The people in ads or infomercials are always, always paid.  Those folks may, in fact, benefit from the product, but you have no way of knowing, so ignore that advice and look for other types of evidence.

-  When you choose to purchase something, do it because you have the disposable cash, and because the product may enrich your life.  Know what your budget is.  Take advice from friends and family.  Do the research. 

-  Keep mental track of what you buy that doesn't work, and stop supporting those companies with your dollars.  There are certain mascara manufacturers that I won't buy from anymore because they re-package their products every year and make new claims about how luscious your lashes will be, while showing you computer-enhanced images of false lashes that grow magically before your eyes instead of showing you real lashes with real results. 

-  If an ad claim seems so good you can't resist it, try to resist it. 

-  Know that you are fallible.  Ads are meant to appeal to your innermost desires, and ad companies do a stellar job at it.  Even with the best education and  brain smarts, you will make purchasing mistakes.  Just try not to repeat yourselves.  

So, I'm sorry I won't be buying the sand that never gets wet, or the clay that stays fresh for decades.  I might purchase a doll or two, but not the really expensive one that talks in a cute voice, sings, poops, and really does love you.   I won't lay money down for any ride-on toy that has an accelerator.  I won't buy the deluxe makeup set and hair salon so you can start your own business and be an entreprenuer by the time you're 8.  I will not buy any moresets guaranteed to teach you how to read by the time you're out of diapers, or to have you speaking Mandarin before you can say "Mommy."   I will not believe any ad that says a battery operated machine can make an authentic French croissant, cotton candy, or real snow cones that don't taste like stale freezer air.   I will turn a blind eye to anything that is both a pet, a pillow, a sleep sack, and also doubles as an easy-fold, multi-room tent.  And, I'm cancelling the movie club right after I fulfill the purchase requirement. 

By the way, Izz - I think it's very clever that you told the high-pressure hermit-crab seller that you wanted to purchase a few to take home and eat.  That's really the only good reason to bring a live crab into the house. 

Your loving, over-protective, and really mean Mommy