Hello, my angel! It's your second birthday today. We celebrated with the family yesterday in Spokane, and it was a wonderful time. Thankfully, the stomach virus that caused you to throw up last night and then in the car on the way home waited until after the party. That chocolate cake was probably better the first time, for which I apologize. You'll hopefully be able to keep another chocolate cake down when we get together with all your favorite Seattle people on Tuesday.
So, every middle class parent thinks their kid is gifted. You'll find this out as soon as you start preschool. However, I believe I'm right in thinking that you're rather brilliant. Because you're so bright, though, I tend to think that you're older in wisdom than you are, so I expect a great deal of you that is probably a little unfair to expect of someone who's only two. I need to reevaluate my expectations, I think.
In most other ways, you're a pretty typical toddler. You hate to eat at times that we designate, you collapse to the floor when we even slightly furrow our brows at you, you draw on the walls and you throw books when you're tired. However, that's pretty much the extent of your misbehavior. You're a wonderfully even-tempered child who is also pretty self-aware. I can leave you alone while I shower, as long as Sesame Street is on, and I know that you won't swallow a nail or climb the cabinets while I'm gone. That's been an unexpected perk. I'm waiting for the really bad behavior to begin. It'll be spectacular, I'm sure.
Viv, I love you. I say it all the time, I kiss you constantly, I ask for hugs more often than you would like, but I do it because I know the time is coming soon when you won't let me. So, I'm taking it now when I can, because I want to make sure you know that you are my sun and moon, that you are my life, and I love you.
Monday, November 15, 2010
About six months ago, Viv's sparsely populated head suddenly exploded and she, seemingly overnight, grew a fro. We let it go, wanting to see how it would grow and fill in. Recently, though, she started to get crazy ends to her curls that would stick out in all directions and catch on clothes and rings and fingers and break off, so we decided it was time to get a trim. As she despises anyone touching her hair (usually), I was dreading taking her to a salon, fearing a screaming fit in front of the very posh women who shop at U Village. Imagine my surprise when she not only allowed the stylist to drape her in a cape but mist her hair and TOUCH HER HEAD:
We had rallied the support team (Shelly and Angie) to come with us, to witness the big event as well as provide distraction, but the phone provided enough entertainment to keep her occupied when the cutting started:
The stylist must be considerably more gentle than I am with a comb, so I took notes on her technique to give my kid some relief as well as prevent CPS from coming to our door during our comb-outs. The screaming, oh God, the screaming. Anyway, she seemed the find the end result satisfactory, as she wanted us all to see how she looked in the mirror, especially as the stylist had dusted her with pink glitter.
To reward her for surpassing my very low expectations, we got her a chocolate cupcake, which she ate very sparingly, in her usual dainty fashion. I mean, how many kids leave cupcake for later?
I'm sure next time will be just as successful and easy.