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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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    My favorite orphan/pickpocket had dress rehearsal and parent night tonight, which is the night we can take pictures. It’s tech week. She’s had 26 hours of rehearsal since Sunday. So much hard work went into this and the kids did it all, including an amazing crew that built the set, made the costumes, advertised, did makeup and hair ... they have six shows in the next four days and Sophie is loving it. Tonight she said the people involved is the nicest group of people she’s ever met. Thankful for all the directors, teachers, high schoolers and parent volunteers who have dedicated so much time to this. We’re new to the world of theatre (aside from attending) and so thankful Sophie’s had such a great first experience. Celebrated my Grandma’s 86th birthday today ❤️ I feel like this image is such a great representation of life. (It’s also Frank Stella from MoMA, one of my Christmas gifts to Andy. He finished it today. One piece was missing. He has yet to finish a full puzzle in this house. There is always one piece missing. We’ve lived here 9 years. He blames the kids and pets. I blame the ghosts.) 🧡 Spent today looking at similar cheekbones across generations. My grandma made soup (even though I told her not to cook, I’d bring something), insisted on another dip of ice cream, and when I left said, when talking about memories, “you’ll always have today.” I will. This dreary Wednesday has been made much better by these gold velvet shoes with peacocks embroidered on them, which were delivered today. (James is appalled.) Although the West Hollywood Bodhi Bookstore closed in 2010 after more than 40 years in business, they’ve maintained an online commercial presence. That, too, is sadly ending (they’re having a huge sale if you’re in need of some smudge sticks or books on enlightenment). I bought some stones for the hell of it (Andy’s been surprisingly nonjudgmental about this). This particular one is supposed to “heighten mental clarity and stability in otherwise chaotic situations.” Between that one and my pocketed sodalite (also known as the poet’s stone it’s said to “ease communication and self-expression”) and nightly cappuccinos lovingly made by Drew, I am almost done with the big part of Honest Labour, a book I am super passionate about but have failed to finish editing for several years due to other work, children and life (procrastination is made easier when the author is dead). Maybe once done I can switch to my new yellow aventurine stone, which apparently will help me foster ease and balance. And then my yellow tiger eye stone as I move forward with “passion and determination” to convince y’all to buy it (seriously, it’s a book of essays—even non-woodworkers will love it). [Edit to add Andy just came up here to ask about James who can’t sleep, and I said not to worry, I gave him a stone to help. He’s now being judgmental about the stones. 🤣🧘‍♀️) That kid in the middle in the white scored a couple baskets today ... My own family regularly baffles me. Five people live in this house. I love age 9. But sometimes, especially when I’m working late at night, I look at this picture on my desk and I have this deep, primal urge to scoop those babies up and hold them to my chest. And it hurts. This picture is so accurate, in every way. The outfits, the expressions, Owen’s split ear (thankful for the dear friend at our party who also is an emergency medicine PA). This last decade has been kid-heavy, for which I’m deeply grateful. There has been great joy. Also, deep sorrow. But we’re not special. No one walks through time without scars. I’ve lived long enough to now know that sometimes the truths of the matter are the hardest to bear. And maybe it’s my background in journalism but I will always seek and desire those truths, no matter how hard. For they, along with all we share so publicly, is the makeup of life, real life. Smiles and split ears. All of it. Tonight I gave out many kisses, sad but mostly happy, knowing we get to turn several timeline pages—a year, a decade, 20 years. Today’s strong winds did not go unnoticed. Cheers ❤️ WinterFest Gebhart family Christmas ❤️ Cincinnati Ballet’s The Nutcracker in beautiful Music Hall where we were so impressed with Sophie’s good friend Morgan (a party boy) and James’s classmate Madeline (a cupcake). Dinner in OTR followed. It was a melting of both sides of the family—as my family arrives, Andy’s departs and we have more Christmas to come. Christmas Eve / Christmas morning / Uhl family Christmas ❤️ Santa ❤️ Merry Christmas ❤️ Christmas cookies, a tradition since Lizz and Andy were kids. They take almost all day to make, and when you join the family you have to work up to being allowed to ice—three flavors always: lemon, orange and almond. (I was a sprinkler for awhile.) These were Marty’s favorite cookie and every year he spent hours on the dough, cutting and baking. Andy took over last year. He said it was hard. It still is. But the cookies, and tradition, is still sweet. Bittersweet, I suppose, best describes it. Nonpareils everywhere (and plenty in the kids’ mouths).
    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

    Simple

    Changing Love

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