Mommy/Sophie games

You and I have at least two games that only we know and understand.

One of them goes by the name of "Don't Fall Off."  Despite what it sounds like, it's a singing game.  I don't even know how or why it started, but I do recall that it started in the car.  From your carseat in the back, you would call in a sing-song voice, "Don't fall off!"  and then I would sing it back to you.  Soon you began saying it in a myriad of voices:  high-pitched and squealy, low and gravelly like a monster, whispered quietly, shouted out like some punk song.  Each time I echo it back to you in the voice that you used.  It is silly and nonsensical, but it makes us both laugh and we go through a good 12-15 rounds of "Don't fall off" until we are over it.  If I mention "Don't fall off!" at any other time, you get a big, knowing grin on your face.

"Diaper Monster" has been around for us for a long time.  I hold up one of your diapers and pretend it's a crocodile--"cocodrilo" to you because you have enjoyed a lot of Dora the Explorer.  I make it snap it's jaws open and closed while roaring, "DIAPER MONSTER!" and making it eat your head, face, and any flailing limb that I can manage to grab.  You love the game, and run around screaming and squealing and giggling.  Only recently have you begun to initiate "Diaper Monster" on your own.  You were so sweet and restrained about it that it took me a minute to figure out what you were doing.  Standing in front of me, you wave the diaper in my direction with a quiet little, "Rawr!"

Three things you love at this very moment

Things you love:

1.  Clean nightgowns!  Nightgowns are relatively new to you--our long winter is finally over and gone are the fleecy or footed pajamas to keep you toasty.  You have several pretty little nightgowns that you love, and you generally want to put one of them on as soon as you get home from school and wear them all weekend, too.  One evening when you were cranky and I was trying to soothe you, I said, "Let's go upstairs and take a bath and put a clean nightgown on and you'll feel better."  From then on, you always refer to them as 'clean nightgowns' instead of just nightgowns.  I hope you never stop.

2.  Saying 'good-bye' to absolutely everything.  It started with stinkbugs.  We had tons of them in our house in April and May.  They didn't do much--just hung around mostly.  But you always noticed them and began looking toward the walls and ceilings for them whenever you entered a room.  You'd cry, "Bug!" and point.  I'd say, "Yes, there's a stinkbug up there."  You would respond with, "Stinky bug!"  Soon whenever we left a room, you'd notify them of your departure by waving (sometimes blowing kisses) and saying, "Bye bye, stinky bugs!"  Since then you've started saying good-bye to your school, good-bye to your diapers when we take them off, good-bye to your nightgowns when you are getting dressed ("Bye bye, clean nightgown!"), good-bye to your used Band-aids when they are put in the trash can ("Bye bye, new kitties!"), good-bye to your shoes and socks when you take them off, good-bye to your green turtle sandbox on the front porch when we leave for school in the morning....and on and on.  It is very endearing.  It also seems quite neurotic, but you ARE my daughter and that is to be expected.

3.  Band-Aids (a.k.a.) "new kitties."  On one of the first very warm days in late May, I took you to the Tugboat Depot playground in Star City.  It doesn't have the swings you love best, but it does have an awful lot of interesting things to climb on that you enjoy.  You got brave and attempted to go down one of the bigger sliding boards by yourself, but unfortunately the sun had made the plastic slide a bit too got.  You got a small slide burn under one of your knees and you cried.  We washed in and put a Hello, Kitty Band-Aid on it and you were enchanted.  You wanted one on your other leg, too.  And when it was time to take the Band-Aid off you were so sad and protested, "Kitties!" I reassured you that we would take a bath and then put on "new kitties."  Soon I started adding other boxes of Band-Aids to our collection--Dora the Explorer, Mickey Mouse, the Smurfs (whom you eye with suspicion and immediately request removal by saying, "Off.  Off.  Off?"  But no matter what kind of Band-Aids you are wearing, you still refer to them as "new kitties."  They are part of our daily wardrobe now.  Even at school, if they see that one has fallen off of you during play they give you a new one.  One morning when I dropped you off I heard a teacher ask you, "Sophie, what kind of Band-Aids do you have one today?"  You proudly showed them.

A new life: Your twenty-sixth month

Dear Sophia,

I have not written to you here for a long time.  It was too painful for me to reflect on much of this.

Our life looks very different now than it did nearly 14 months ago when I last posted and almost all of it is for the better.  I tried so very hard for so very long to find a job so that we could remain in the San Francisco Bay Area, but it did not work out.  I made the choice to move us to WV (where I grew up) where the job prospects were better and where we had family who could help us get on our feet.

It was unclear for a period of time whether your father would choose to join us because your older brother is still in CA.  In the end he did.

On May 24, 2013 he drove us to the airport. We said our goodbyes and you and I flew across the country to begin our new life.  I took this picture as we drove across the Bay Bridge for the last time, on our way to SFO.  About 15 seconds after I took it, you had your first of many bouts of carsickness that made the remainder of our drive really, really smelly:

I was terrified to fly with you.  I was scared of being stuck on a long flight and being THAT MOM with the kid that everyone complained about and shot dirty looks.  But you couldn't have been better-behaved.  You were curious and easy going, and thrilled with the snacks I packed and the odds and ends I regularly plied you with from the dollar store to keep you occupied.

In the beginning of our time in WV, I was in complete shock for at least a week.  I cried constantly and at the drop of a hat.  I couldn't stop asking myself, "What has happened to my life?"  But seeing you explore your new surroundings and meet family and friends you'd never met helped to comfort me.

One evening I sat in the swing in my father's backyard.  He and Kelly were working in the yard, and you were happily exploring.  I knew I'd made the right decision.  You might not have the childhood I'd originally envisioned for you, but I could give you one closer to mine--the good parts.

Within six weeks of our arrival I got a job in research at WVU that I was thrilled with.  Soon after that your father arrived.  You were thrilled.

We stayed with family in the beginning, but my job allowed us to get on our feet quickly.  We bought a car and rented a house in Morgantown.  We moved into our yellow house at the end of a dead-end street on September 22, 2013.  Nearly everything we had was second-hand--couch, dining room table, bed--but we didn't care.  Our cat Freddy flew from Nana's house in San Jose to join us.  Finally we were all together and starting a new life after such a difficult and painful struggle.

Things were still not so easy, but we made some wonderful memories.  And watching you grow and learn and discover was the best part of all.  You are my best girl.  My Sophie Bug.  My world.

At Christmas you met Santa for the first time right after a hearty poop at a Christmas party.  You weren't quite sure what to think while sitting on his lap and were much more interested in the present for you that he was holding.  But after your turn was over and it was time for other kids to have a turn, you decided you loved him.  You ran back to the stage and photobombed others' photos multiple times.

You knocked over his white wicker reindeer and made off with his basket of candy canes.  I was mortified and chasing you and laughing and trying to take pictures all at once.  We looked like the heathens of the party.

Eventually when Santa saw you return to the stage again, he sighed and said, "Hi, Sophia."

You are smart and funny and joyful and active.

You are sweet and stubborn and silly and curious.

You are loved immensely.

Somehow you are now two years old.  You love your two blankies more than anything in the world.  And now you have two stuffed rabbits that also join us everywhere.  More often than not your first and last word of the day is "rabbit" as you try and account for your critters just before and just after sleeping.

I let your mamaw plan your birthday party.  I brought the birthday girl and the cake.  You had a fabulous time running around with your cousins.  You had exactly zero interest in cake and ice cream, but you did enjoy the cheese.

You don't care for using the potty much, although you do enjoy using it as a chair and as storage for your jewelry.  I've bought you many pairs of sweet little "big girl panties."  You love them!  Mostly because you are partial to wearing them on your wrists like bracelets--with your arms shoved through the leg holes.  You love stickers passionately.  There was a time when I was bringing home extra stickers from work that promoted STI testing and they allowed the wearer to boast, "I got myself tested!"  You stuck them to all of our canned goods.

You have an excellent appetite and eat most foods most of the time.  You especially love "sketti with me-balls," avocado, beans, cheese, hot dogs, pot roast, yogurt, pancakes, bananas, and dried apricots.  Your mamaw and I had a bit of a tense discussion recently over your food intake.  She feels you eat too much.  You are perfectly happy and healthy, and I maintained that you know when you are hungry.  You eat healthy food.  It is a pleasure to watch you enjoy your meal.

After months on waiting lists, you started full-time daycare on April 7, 2014.  It has mostly gone well.  You definitely get sick more often, but you get to be with other kids and learn all kinds of new things.  You come home with new words and phrases all the time.  The other night you strutted through the kitchen chanting, "Hup, two, three, four! Hup, two, three, four!"  Apparently they are teaching you how to march.

It is a joy to be your mama.  Although it is admittedly very tiring.  You regularly cry, "Boogies!" and hand me a booger freshly picked.

You love to take sips of my coffee and aren't pleased when you polite, "Pwease? Pwease?" is denied.

You love your mamaw and regularly ask for her.  When I pick you up from daycare you plead for Freddy, Dada, french fries, and/or Cheerios.  You are lovely and expressive and make me laugh every day.  Even the bad ones.

It was very special to me when we planted herbs together on our front porch this spring.  I planted them with the encouragement of my friend Charra last year in California, and cried when I had to abandon my first tender young plants because we were moving away.  I comforted myself with the thought that I would plant more--this time with you--the following spring.  And we did.

We are several weeks into the beginning of your third year in this life.  I can't wait to see what it brings.

Love,

Mama