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Becoming a 4-Year-Old

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March 30, 2008

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March 30, 2009

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March 30, 2010

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March 30, 2011

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March 30, 2012

“If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up! Not me!” —J.M. Barrie

Related posts:

  1. Becoming a 3-Year-Old
  2. Becoming a 2-Year-Old
  3. Becoming 1-Year-Olds
This entry was written by kara, posted on April 30, 2012 at 11:12 pm, filed under All and tagged 4 years old, birthday, Sophie. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.
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    We are not morning people. worth that attic trip Me, 6 years ago: “How is it possible I’m registering her for kindergarten?” Me, tonight: “How is it possible I’m at her middle school parent meeting?” (I’m told these questions keep coming, only faster. Painted ponies. Golden hours. Turn, turn, turn. Grateful but also, a quiet sigh.) I just learned from a friend, who wrote a lovely post, that Harold, “the Mayor of Grant Street,” died today. Here’s a piece I wrote about him 7 years ago, shortly after his wife died. And here’s a picture of the two of us, taken last May, when he told us about his cancer. Andy’s dad took that picture. I have so many fond memories of Harold, especially from when we lived on Grant. He lived life so fully, riding his bike all over town and dancing every week at Hofbrauhaus right up until he couldn’t. Sigh. http://www.pleiadesbee.com/2012/05/a-conversation-with-harold-on-my-front-porch.html Unlike the Sea Dragon (viking ship) at Funland at Rehoboth Beach, I left no half moons from my fingernails on Andy’s arm! #proudofmyself Grateful I’ve known and learned from these strong women, my grandmas, all my life. Grateful my daughter is now doing the same. They are, honestly, not a big deal but I love finding these during a copy edit. I believe 7 is my record but, alas, I don’t have photographic evidence. I'm going to brag about one of my kids here (I accept all eye rolls and my apologies – stop by unannounced at any time for the unedited version of our life). ((Actually, don't do that.)) Woodfill's Variety Show – which I truly love sitting through every year – was Friday night. James was slated to work back stage (a job he took very.seriously). Sophie was in two acts. Owen was a member of the audience with a great clap. Tucker died on Friday, around 2:30 p.m. The Variety Show started at 6:30 p.m. I honestly didn't know if Sophie would perform. But she did. She taught herself "The Cup Song" a few weeks prior and she sang it, using a spray-painted plastic Kona Ice cup, despite the lyrics (which by that point had taken on a whole new meaning: "When I’m gone; When I’m gone; You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone; You’re gonna miss me by my hair; You’re gonna miss me everywhere, oh; You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone"). (This shows a clipped version of her performance.) And then she sang Miley Cyrus's "The Climb" while two friends performed a beautiful dance. In my proud/worried mama eyes, she nailed it. (She did not get her singing voice from us. A huge thanks to Mr. Rockel, Woodfill's music teacher, who is always seemingly happy to arrive at school early and stay late to lead choir, and help the kiddos audition for, and then prepare for the honor and all-state choirs – he's helped Sophie so much on a subject we are quite clueless about, and we are grateful.) Even March snow doesn’t make me grumpy. Went to see dinosaur bones Sat, and finally let the kids watch Jurassic Park Sat night #distraction Our 12-year-old lab, Tucker, died today. People say their dog is the best dog but Tucker, really, was the best dog. He has been a part of all.the.things in our lives, big and small. We got him pre-kids and he chewed and had the saddest middle-of-the-night whine and chewed and peed on everything and chewed. He was so gentle with our babies and so patient with our toddlers and the perfect playmate for our children. He loved pancakes and popcorn and apples (core and all) and anything in the trash. He had a great tail wag. He was big, so big he scared everyone but that made him a great trickster because he wouldn't hurt anyone – even Jupiter, our cat, who nibbled on Tucker as a kitten. There's a picture I didn't include, one in which Sophie, a newborn, is swaddled and lying on me. Many mamas would look at my face in that picture and say, "Oh." (PPD) In that picture, Tucker's chin is resting on my legs. He knew. He always knew. Any.single.time I was sad or scared or overwhelmed he knew, and he would simply come over, give a little tail wag and rest his chin on me. Andy's a mess. This is so.hard. Tucker's lived a long life but today was totally unexpected. Both Andy and I were with him. When Owen ran in the front door from school today, he went over to hug Tucker, backpack still on, as he always does. But Tucker wasn't there. Owen said, "Ah, is Tucker outside?" and ran to the window. Telling them was awful – the very worst part of loving a pet. Still, it's worth it. It's all worth it, puffy eyes and all. We loved him so much. A perk of having thick, coarse, curly hair? You get offered a free blowout in return for being used as a teaching tool when it comes to straightening difficult hair! I could never accomplish this at home so don’t judge me when my hair is still straight (and therefore unwashed) days from now. (Thank you for recommending me, @nickels513!) 40 Yesterday all the shelves at all the stores that once held the easy cartoon/unicorn/emoji/comes-with-a-tattoo Valentines were all empty. (I sent a few curse-filled texts to Andy.) So my sister saved me by sending links to a bunch of free printables (I’m not crafty). Sophie, who loves loves loves to make (honestly quite good) slime immediately fell in love with labels for jars that say “BE MY VALEN-SLIME.” And so here we are, at bedtime, Feb. 13. She says she’s halfway done. Oh! And she says we get to make a box! Thankfully I like shoes. Last Wednesday night we were in a hotel in Louisville with Sophie (she made all-state choir!) and it was late and nothing was open and she was starving and because we, as parents, are poor planners we had no food for her so we ordered her a hamburger via room service, something we've never done before and something that thrilled her. Mind you, she wanted a plain burger – just a bun and a burger. This, of course, cost about $1,000. It was delivered on a silver tray on a real plate covered in a silver dome accompanied by real silverware and a cloth napkin. Next to it were three tiny glass jars of condiments. This all also thrilled her, especially the tiny glass jar of ketchup, which she insisted we save so she could gift it to Owen. (Owen is that kid who puts ketchup on everything, including things that shouldn't have ketchup on it.) So anyhow, Sophie gifts the little glass jar of ketchup to Owen, which Owen loves SO MUCH that he takes it to his classroom's show-and-tell the next day and tells all his classmates the story (thank you for your patience, Mrs. Jones) and now it sits on his desk next to his other beloved items. I guess I can only hope that tiny glass jars of condiments always bring such joy to my children. Father/Daughter Dance (last night) Me, many moons ago: “We will not own Nerf guns.” Andy, many moons ago: “We will not get a cat.” I’ve told my kids to close their eyes, tilt their heads to the sun and breathe it all in so many times today they’re now ignoring me.
    TAP

  • Favorite Essays

    Choosing Compassion in a Culture of Fear

    Seeking the Bigness in the Everyday

    The Love in Trying

    The View from Up High

    Season of Innocence

    The Huffington Post guest post: Apologies to the Parents I Judged Four Years Ago, a TIME's top 10 opinion piece in 2012

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    Changing Love

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