Now that you are 5

Dear Sophie,

A couple weeks ago you turned 5 years old and I can't believe where the time has gone. Each day feels like a marathon and I can barely keep up with my life (let alone keeping my letters to you reasonably up to date).  There are some things about you now at age 5 that I really want to remember.

You recently saw the remake of the Ghostbusters movie with an all-female cast and you have been hooked. You especially love Jillian Holtzman!  You got a Ghostbuster uniform from Emmett's family for your birthday and you regularly wear it around the house in addition to a squirt gun with a backpack attachment that serves as your "proton pack." You bust ghosts every chance you get.  The other night when I was making dinner you asked me how long it would be before it was time to eat. When I responded "5 minutes" you said you'd be busting ghosts until then.

You regularly change your mind about what foods you like and what foods you don't.  The type of cheese you'll agree to eat varies daily.  With the exception of cornbread, you've lost interest in most breads all together.

Alesiah and Elyssa are your best friends. You love to play outside and investigate every plant, bug, acorn, pinecone and rock you can find. Frequently you can hear thuds and rattling from the backseat of our car, and it's from the nature finds you have stashed in the nooks of your car seat and in the storage compartment in the door next to your seat.

You also love ghosts, taking your Trolls' heads off, wearing dresses EVERY SINGLE DAY, going on "nature walks" with your brother, holiday gel clings for the windows, anatomy books, making elaborate creations with paper and scotch tape, swimming, and being thrown on the couch by your father.

You love to sing and are very good at remembering song lyrics. You are also quite creative at ad libbing your own.

You think it's hilarious to randomly cry out, "I want a margarita!" in public places. And you have so much energy that you will jump in place for 30 minutes straight. 

Somewhere along the way in the last few months we have started a tradition of you sleeping in our bed on Friday nights. You love it dearly and remind me about it every week. Even though it makes sleeping more difficult, I confess that I love it, too. I gaze at you while you sleep, sniff your hair, gently rub your back, and nuzzle into you.

Even now, after 5 years of being your mama, I am still astounded that you are actually here. The little girl I desperately wanted. And you are my mini me in more ways than I can possibly describe.

I am very conscious of my own clear memories from ages 4 and 5, and I often wonder which memories of our day to day lives you will carry with you. Sometimes at particularly happy or tender moments, I telepathically will you: Remember this. Remember this moment right now and know how much your mother loved you.

I love you Sophia bug. You are my favorite--my favorite who is, was, and ever will be. I don't know where I'd be without you. I work hard to make each for you better than your last, and this new year of your life will be no different.

Love,
Mama

Spilled milk

On Friday evening, I was ecstatic.

Your father and I have both been feeling burned out at work and exhausted.  I looked forward to hanging out at home with the two of you, having barbecue chicken sandwiches for dinner, and sipping a glass of wine.  As the 3 of us sat down to watch a move together, you spilled your glass of milk.

I had warned you repeatedly about bumping against the table it was sitting on, and about waving your arms around in the vicinity of it.  When you realized what you'd done, you looked down with shame and my annoyance softened when I saw your face.  I put on my calmest voice and directed you in cleaning it up from the table and floor.

We soon discovered that the milk had also spread under the Lego house you'd built on the table. Your father was getting frustrated, and I could see your unhappiness at knowing that your spilled milk was the cause.  I used every bit of patience I had to overcome my fatigue and continue to talk you through cleaning it up.  You did a good job.

Afterward, I opened my arms to you and said, "Come here, baby."  You sagged against me and said in a small voice, "I'm sorry I ruined the evening, mama."

(Oh, my dearest heart!  Any bad evening with you is better than my best evening alone.)

I hugged you and kissed you and told you that you hadn't ruined anything--that it was an accident and you did a good job cleaning it up, and we were all here together.

Sophia in the morning

Dear Sophia Bug,

Sunday was Father's Day, your father's 41st birthday, and the first day of summer.  You were over the moon about your dad's birthday.  At 6 am, you came running into our bedroom--you only seem to operate at a full-speed run first thing on weekend mornings--and announced:

It's daddy's birthday!  It's not MY birthday.  It's daddy's birthday.  We are picking up a cake at Dairy Queen.  I blow out daddy's candles!

Yesterday morning was a Monday, and I'd had a terrible night of sleep.  I'm anxiously awaiting word on whether our grant is getting funded--news that determines whether I have a job for the next five years.  I was finally dead asleep when you bounded in at 6 am this morning. This time you silently climbed into bed next to me, clutching your pink stuffed owl and favorite blue blanket.  I whispered, "Mama's going to sleep a little longer."  You nodded and snuggled in next to me to wait patiently.  For the next 20 minutes, I dozed in and out.  I would awake to find you staring intently at me with the tip of your nose an inch from mine.

When I finally relented and shuffled off to the bathroom, you hastily bounded out of bed and our cats Freddy and Daisy were hot on your heels.  All four of us ended up in our tiny bathroom while I was still bleary-eyed and trying step around all of you to get to the toilet.  "Mama.  Say good morning to my owl?"  you asked hopefully.  It took a moment to register in my fuzzy brain, but I smiled and put on the best cheerful morning greeting to your owl that I could muster.  You hugged it to your chest and smiled sweetly.

It's hard to be so tired all the time.  But I have to keep reminding myself that I will miss this one day--your eagerness to get the day started, to know exactly what we're doing and when we're doing it, to be next to me no matter what I'm doing.  For now I will keep stealing naps in my car during my lunch break.

Love,
Mama

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