I missed your last birthday letter. I imagine all will be forgiven, but as this month races past I have so many things I need to remember and write down, so to be sure I don’t miss another beat, Happy Eighteen Month Birthday, three days early.
Wow! Wow! You are talking talking talking all the time. There is not much you won’t say, between the words you know and the words you parrot. From your, “Wake Up, Sophie!” in the morning to your, “Nigh-night, DREAM!” in the evening, the day is filled with Rosy narration. “Booby Nigh-night” will forever be associated with Thanksgiving in Atlanta. On the really long days you simply stomp to the stairs, lay your head on one and declare, “Booby Nigh-night!” There is “Mommy back!” and “Mogurt” and “Morange” (yogurt and orange, respectively). There are the days when you wrap up in a towel and say, “Nice and cozy.” There is “Kwiss” (chris) and “John-fan” (johnathan) and “Tabby” (tabitha). And the way you talk to yourself like I talk to you: “Shoes on baby! Shoes on!” I want to remember it always.
Sophie was an early talker, so I was prepared to hear your voice sooner than later, but it still surprises me to hear your observations, your humor, your games. All from someone so small.
You are my best baby. Still happy to curl in my lap or rock in my arms saying, “Baby! Rosy baby!” When we were in Atlanta your aunt Su said, “Rosy, when I have a baby, if she gives me half as many kisses as you give your mommy, I’ll be very happy.” Truly. I am so lucky.
I missed your seventeen month letter because we were in Atlanta, cooking Thanksgiving for your grandparents who were tending to Great-Granny Ross. We stayed a bit longer than we’d intended, and spent a week making a daily trek to the hospice playroom, where you’d play with your grandmother while I visited with mine. It’s among the most treasured weeks of my life. A time when everything else went into hibernation so that we might attend to the most important matter at hand. Granny was the epitome of love, generosity, acceptance. Holding her hand that week reminded me of the week we waited for you to come into the world. Patiently, slowly, and together. A week when nothing else mattered. You brought so much love to that household, as you do every day. But it was a special kind of love, for a special time.
I won’t soon forget you in your ladybug hat and your sister’s fleece traipsing through the cemetery on a very cold day in December. You and your sister were rays of sunshine in the midst of it all. Your tiny voice saying, “Joe-Pop!” as he read the eulogy. Your outstretched arms, your silly dances. They were such good medicine.
Thank you for being my best best bug. My sweet “booful arina” (beautiful ballerina). My Rosy Roo. I couldn’t love you more if I tried. It’d be too much to bear. I’m so lucky to know you.
I can safely say that until today I had no idea how to identify snail poop. Sophie found this critter outside today and we brought it inside to “study him” for a while. We hoped he might show us some slime. And he did. We weren’t bargaining for the poop.
So goes the science at our house. We try to follow her lead. We model curiosity (because we really are curious!) She and John often “do experiments.” Stuff like seeing how long a bowl of ice takes to melt, putting celery stalks in colored water, leaving an egg in vinegar overnight (gross). She has sprouted seeds and is growing her first bean plant. We check out piles of library books about human anatomy, seasons, birds, and botany. She had a minor meltdown one day when a little friend tore a page from her seed catalog. Her special seed catalog!!!
Girlfriend has her own mind, full of questions about the world. It’s magical to see it unfolding, to see her making connections. Some are bittersweet. She’s figured out what it means to die, but not what happens afterwards. “Do you still have your skin when you die?” SHe can identify solids, liquids, and gases- “Farts!!” This week’s fascination is with muscles and bones. How fingers work. On our holiday wish list are a stethoscope and this puzzle, which is just brilliant.
I never liked science at school. Not until high school biology, when it all started to become fascinating. Occasionally we’d come to a unit on the solar system and I’d be engaged, but for some reason the “cool” bits, the biology and anatomy, were few and far between. I remember drawing a picture of the water cycle every year. I know we can give her more than that. In some ways, I think we already have.
When I have doubts or fears about this journey we’re embarking on, taking our ladies’ education into our own hands for at least the near future, I remind myself that we’re mere facilitators. We don’t need to teach. Our only job is to listen, to answer, and to occasionally demonstrate. With Sophie it’s a matter of nurturing her interests and showing her just a tiny bit more of the bigger picture. Curiosity is everything, the rest will follow.
I am relieved to say that Sophie’s princess phase has not been as lengthy or scary or obsessive as I’d feared it would be. I think it started with her learning the story of Cinderella. We tried to emphasize the KIND and GOOD part of Cinderella’s nature. I think more than anything she digs the pageantry and the tangential connection to dancing. Balls! Cinderella goes to balls! And it is a good story, with the fairy godmother and all.
So Sophie was a princess for Halloween. In a thrifted ballet costume with fake flowers. Rosy was her sidekick “baby princess.” In Sophie’s ballet dress. We whipped up the matching crowns Halloween morning, and admittedly I was thrilled that she was happy with my abstract fabric interpretation and didn’t insist upon a plastic glittery fire hazard. If this is as princessy as we get, I’m pretty pleased. And thank you, friends and relatives, for not calling my children “princesses,” now or ever.
Her current obsessions are Gnomes and Fairies. My sister and I had a brilliant pop-up Gnome book when we were little. I remembered it so fondly that I trolled Amazon looking for a used copy. We got it the other day and Sophie was as mesmerized as I was. She immediately latched onto the idea that gnomes help animals in the forest and collected gnome offerings all afternoon, in hopes that they might protect our house too. We’re animals too, after all.
Today we got Tracy Kane’s Fairy Houses book in the mail. It’s seriously wonderful. We read it at least eight times and had to look at every picture after each reading. She has grand plans to find fairy house material tomorrow and start building so that one day she can see fairies. I love that the book ties butterflies to fairies, as this whole nature-offering stuff began with the butterflies in Maine. I want her to have some magic, to believe in something that’s not spoon-fed or overly commercialized. I love this direction. I’m excited to see where it takes us.
Our first project of the day was this little mummy/zombie/ghost family inspired by, again, Zach Aboard. What would I do without them for crafty ideas? We glued old canvas pieces to some leftover dolls from Casey’s Wood (and some that we’d painted a while back). Sophie made a bride and groom and like all good decorations, they’ve quickly become her favorite toys.
We finished up with our papermaking too and thought we’d put up a few photos to inspire.
I used this tutorial (minus the starch) and used a sponge here and there to sop up particularly wet bits. Sophie was the official sponge squeezer. We found that it’s a fairly forgiving and flexible process- if you mess up transferring a piece to the felt, throw the whole thing back in! When it dries it looks and feels very much like a recycled cardboard container- fun for mounting photos, making gift tags, etc.
The girls went to town playing with the tub of pulp once we were done. They squeezed balls out of it and made tiny sheets of their own filtered goop. It’s a tactile good time. And I’m proud to say with the exception of the thrifted picture frame, everything we used was recycled! Next stop, homemade bubble bath.
We crafted today.
Wet-felted soap in the morning.
Papermaking in the afternoon.
When Sophie has a question like, “How do you make paper?” it’s easy to see the course our day is going to take. We raided the recycling bin and made three blender loads of “puuulp” (as she pronounces it!). One empty picture frame from the thrift store, and some old window screen later, and voila! Paper! Moral of the story- it takes a LOT of recycled paper to make a wee three sheets of new paper. Wow.
The world is truly our oyster with a few craft supplies and an internet full of tutorials, with video, for basically anything handmade. What a different education they will have with the internet at hand.
The felt soaps were inspired by Zach Aboard and were a test run for some we want to make using our friend’s handmade soaps. It was a fun process and the girls loved playing with the “rainbow wool.” I love the one that looks like a rock. It may just join our nature table instead of the vanity.
We carved a few pumpkins yesterday and after struggling with the owl/pig pumpkin, we learned that less is truly more. We may have to make a family of the round eyed ones.
In other news, Sophie took her first pony ride. It was thrilling, as was the butterfly garden and the city of playhouses that reside on The Little Farm, in Miami. It was well worth the trip, though I look forward to a Halloween pumpkin-picking that doesn’t feel like the middle of August.
Because I know this stage is fleeting, here’s the list, which grows exponentially every day.
More
Thank You
Please
Milk
Choooos (cheerios)
Shoes
socks
Bum
Spoony (spoon)
Moony (moon)
Bana (banana)
Booby
cereal
Car
Duck
Chicken
Dog
Cat
Meowmeow
Swing
Baby
Drink
Juice
Cacker (cracker)
Bath
Soap
PeePee
Day
Night
Down
Sit Down
Stand Up
Mama
Mommy!
Daddy!
Goonie!
Baby
Blue
Happy
Uh-oh
a Show (pointing to the TV)
BINK! (pacifier)
Bird
Sky
Bubbles
Stro-wer (stroller)
Bike
Stuck
Outside
all done
stop
No no no no non
Go go go
Bobby (body)
Nose
rock
scratch
toes
sophie
rosy
Growing up so very fast.
I don’t know what we’d do without our signing videos. We nearly burned up our portable DVD player going up and down the coast of Maine, playing “My Baby Can Talk” over and over again to keep Rosy occupied. Rosy is not a kid who sits still and ponders life. She needs constant stimulation. I’m more thoroughly convinced now then ever, that some of her baby grumpiness was simple frustration. Now that she’s moving, talking, and participating in our lives, she’s as happy as the sun is bright. Unless she’s strapped in a car.
That said, she loves signing. She can’t get enough, and she’s learning so fast. We started with the My Baby Can Talk series and have moved on to Baby Signing Time. I am here to say it- they WORK. They really do. For the past couple months we’ve played them at the same time every day (it’s our early morning ritual). Within a week, Rosy has each video memorized. At this point, she can anticipate the sign to come and starts before the video even gets there. This week’s favorites are celestial in nature: day, night, star, moon, sun, rain, wind, outside. Better even, she learns to speak the word with every sign, like some connection is happening with the doing and the speaking. It’s magic.
In the whirlwind of coming home from our trip (and preparing for our next adventure, next week!), I almost let a month’s birthday letter slip past me.
But don’t despair. I only almost forgot. How could I let this month pass us by- with all that’s happened? For one, we went to Maine. Which was so much fun. Something about the adventuring, or the lack of distractions to fight over, or friends to see- it brought you and Sophie together. Suddenly you are a team. I remember feeling closer to my sister when we were away together. You two are amazing, standing at my feet chanting, “Gummi, gummi!” Together, you emptied every cabinet in our Maine cottage. Tonight you had on pink and purple tutus, chasing each other in circles trying to steal the other’s balloon. John looked at me and said, “Something’s going to happen because this is just too good.” I find myself treating your new relationship with kid gloves. It seems so new and fragile. I have to remind myself that your bond is much deeper than anything a few tears could break. It’s now and forever, and it’s so incredibly special to watch it take shape.
Besides discovering Sophie, you discovered apples in Maine. Apple was one of your first signs and first words- “Ap-ful.” We were walking at WoodenBoat one day and found a crabapple tree. You couldn’t stop saying it and signing it and gathering as many as your tiny hands could carry. It’s like it was put there for you. SOphie found butterflies, you found Apfuls. I pulled half a dozen of them out of your mouth, all sour with tiny teeth marks. It was a thrill.
I won’t soon forget you standing on the Town Dock in Sedgwick, looking out to where our boat will be next summer. It’s like a light went off and suddenly you signed and said, “Boat! Boat! Boat!” Your first boats, in the Benjamin River. How appropriate.
My other favorites are “bobby” for body (with a raise of the shirt), and “booby” with a milk sign, in any number of public places (now I know why people call it “Chichi” and “Cook” and “Lulu”). Box and duck, ba-oon (balloon), da (dog), ah-choo, down, up, shuuuu, bath- so many words I’ve lost track. New ones everyday.
You are something else, sweetness. Cuter than the day is long. Happier than happy begins to say. So smart, so funny, so immensely full of life. You are becoming one of the big girls so quickly. Sophie leads you all over town, holding your hand. One of my favorite memories of our trip to the Children’s Museum was seeing you and the two Sophies crawl into bed in the Japanese house, all tucked into a sleeping bag on the bamboo tatami mats. It was a giant playhouse to the three of you, and you were truly playing with them, amusing them as much as they were amusing you. You walked out holding onto each of their hand’s, giggling all the way.
The glee on your face was something you could bottle and sell as an anecdote to any depression. It was perfection.
Thank you for being my beast. Happy birthday!
Love, mama
There are many wonderful tales from our time in Maine and I will tell all that I can remember, but the one that stands out as my favorite has to be Sophie’s butterfly adventure. Woodenboat Magazine and the Woodenboat School are located in Brooklin, ME, a stone’s throw from where we stayed for the week. Their campus is breathtaking and better yet, completely open to the public. Imagine- in Florida, there would be a big gate and an admission fee and all sorts of rules to use land as beautiful as theirs. But we were free to walk through their beautiful fields and do a little drooling over their boats. Sophie caught sight of a few yellow butterflies and disappeared over the fields, chasing them. She chased and chased through short and tall grass for nearly an hour. It was seriously the most running she’s ever done in her life. Completely unprompted, just because it felt good. She snoozed off her workout in the car while John and I drove all over Blue Hill looking for a butterfly net- anything to foster this crazy love for our fluttering friends.
We had no luck finding a net, but on our morning walk the next day, Sophie started collecting wildflowers and leaves for “a butterfly picnic.” She was convinced that if we could gather just the right things, and make honey sandwiches, with little acorn-caps full of water, the butterflies would come to her “and be easy to catch.” The logic of a three-year-old is just so brilliant.
So while Rosy slept, we collected a stroller-canopy full of mushrooms, autumn leaves, wildflowers and ferns. Oh how I wish I could take that walk every day. Our picnic was delicious and a great deal of fun, even though we forgot the pretty vase and had to use a water bottle. She chased a few promising specimens and then decided that they were too shy to come eat with us. We should leave their tiny offerings in the field and let them enjoy. Smart girl.
I was a little overwhelmed by it all, feeling like my love for all things hippie-Waldorf and “natural parenting” was coming to fruition. The picnic was enough to convince me that we are leading her in the right direction, and that Maine is where we belong. But as we were leaving our friend’s house in York a few days later, on a cold morning, John noticed a sluggish little butterfly on their front walk, still warming his wings. He carefully, carefully scooped him and up and came inside to show the kids. Sophie got to hold it, every so gently. She had caught a butterfly.
Now we are home and she is building fairy houses in tree roots at the park. It makes me feel good to know that with what bits of nature we can gather up, and what stories she writes in her mind (and there are lots of them), she can be entertained for literally days on end. Like the butterflies, her experience was everything we were hoping to find, and then some.
