tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69327554121870394612024-03-13T06:04:45.678-07:00From the Mouths of BabesEvery child says something cute sometimes. Every child says something that absolutely embarrasses his parents too. The magic is in capturing the moment and pulling greater meaning out of the simple words of a child.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-63458807730821029512011-03-28T13:40:00.000-07:002011-03-28T13:40:03.298-07:00Know What You Want<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><i>Mommy: Where's your milk?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Sophie: Ummm, I don't think I'm thirsty right now, but I'll want it when I do.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TT9ATjj9ZmI/AAAAAAAABUg/oZAuPxf84uo/s1600/DSCF0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TT9ATjj9ZmI/AAAAAAAABUg/oZAuPxf84uo/s320/DSCF0001.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>These were words that should have warned us of the trouble to come. Spoken by a two year-old, they were words of independence, confidence and self assurance. <br />
<br />
At the time, they were just funny; cute and memorable. The fact that I laughed and tucked the phrase away to remember with fondness is proof that Sophie is our only child. If she had been the second, alarms would have gone off and flags would have raised themselves high.<br />
<br />
I think it's outstanding that the young lady knows what she wants and when she wants it and I hope that never diminishes. I hope she develops a desire to set goals and reach them. Someday.<br />
<br />
What happens these days, however, isn't encouraging her in the notion that she can get what she wants when she wants. The opposite is taking place. Much to her chagrin and irritation, many times the lines to a song that she has yet to hear in full gets sung to her when she says that she wants something (and now).<br />
<br />
<i>"You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes; you get what you need."</i> ~ Rolling Stones<br />
<br />
Yes, we aren't beneath singing classic rock to our youngster in order to make a point. And it drives her crazy. But she listens. Most of the time. Now that her television watching includes stations with commercials (shudder), the "want vs. need" conversations have been ratcheted up a notch or two. We watch advertisements for absolutely inane and downright stupid toys and, of course, she wants them...NOW. She wants them until we discuss what the toy really is; the fact that the commercial makes it look as though the 'super hero' is alive and can do all those nifty things, when if fact, it just moves its arms up and down.<br />
<br />
"But Mommy," she'll respond after hearing a true description of one of those gadgets, "McDonald's toys do that and they're free and break all the time. I don't want that."<br />
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Ah, from the mouth of babes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-1457967220720202422011-01-25T13:15:00.000-08:002011-01-25T15:01:50.151-08:00Is Chocoholism Genetic?<i>Upon retrieving a half-full bag of M&Ms from her candy basket, Sophie walked past me on her way to the living room, clutching it to her chest and said,<br />
<br />
"Praise God!"</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TT85ttEXNbI/AAAAAAAABUY/yFsYrR96e9Q/s1600/DSC00311.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TT85ttEXNbI/AAAAAAAABUY/yFsYrR96e9Q/s320/DSC00311.png" width="294" /></a></div>I dislike chocolate quite a bit. This wasn't always the case because I have fond memories of sitting on my parents' front step while in high school and munching through a bag of M&Ms with my best friend while we contemplated life and watched the world go by.<br />
<br />
My husband considers my dislike of the confection near blasphemy because my father (and I for that matter) was born in France and my mother in Belgium; two nations filled with chocoholics.<br />
<br />
When we adopted Sophie we were faced with many genetic unknowns that other families don't face. For instance; like my parents, my eyes stayed sharp and clear through my youth and young adulthood. Now that I'm approaching 50 and use the computer, I am following in my parents' footsteps and wearing glasses; sometimes. My hair is graying late in life; like my parents. My two center bottom teeth overlap; just like my mother's do.<br />
<br />
We have the joy of surprise with Sophie. None of these little things are knowns for her. As each appears, it will be a fun discovery for all of us. We only have the evidence of straight, even baby teeth to go on as we wonder what her adult teeth will be like. We have no idea if she'll have a tremendous singing voice or will be relegated to the shower. All we know for now is that she loves to sing (and that's good enough for us).<br />
<br />
Another thing we know is that Sophie loves chocolate. Sophie adores chocolate. Our daughter is a chocoholic. It turns out that chocoholism must be genetic because she sure didn't develop the love from us. Before she came along the most chocolate we would have in the house was a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough, which Doug would eat before I could even bake cookies.<br />
<br />
While those who don't know that Sophie is adopted think that she got her dark eyes and hair from me and her tallness from her father, they'll also think that this chocolate addiction skipped a generation and she has it directly from her grandparents. You see, both of them are avid lovers of the stuff.<br />
<br />
In fact, if you ask Doug, he'll share with you a story in which my father looked very much like Sophie; clutching a bag of chocolate that had been given to him at church as a Christmas present and making a beeline for the exit so he could enjoy the confection in the privacy of his home office. Trust me, we never saw a morsel of it.<br />
<br />
Is the love of chocolate genetic? If you look at me and my father, the answer is no. If, however, you look beyond the scientific bond to the love bond, the answer is definitely yes. I think Papa and Meme loved chocolate into little Sophie. That's a good thing.<br />
<i><span id="goog_531927524"></span><span id="goog_531927525"></span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-55743294957080780402010-10-23T07:44:00.000-07:002010-10-23T07:44:44.482-07:00Visiting the "Library"<i>This shout-out came from Sophie, who was in the bathroom:</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"Do you have a newspaper that I can read while I'm in here on the potty?"</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TMLtgJImi8I/AAAAAAAABBY/SNqYx2aW-og/s1600/DSCF0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TMLtgJImi8I/AAAAAAAABBY/SNqYx2aW-og/s320/DSCF0001.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>One of the laws of human nature is that women are quick and men need time. Yes, there are exceptions to every rule, but that's the general law. In fact, we've taken to calling that special room the library because one of us does leave his books in there "just in case."<br />
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It doesn't surprise me at all that Sophie is intent on breaking this law of nature and walking her own road. It started early on, where she was apparently training for more than just using the big potty. She was training for proper toilet reading.<br />
<br />
It has progressed. Now that she's on the big potty, she's following the "man-style" feeling obligation to let everyone in the house know when she's going to go "poop and pee" as well as requesting reading material. This particular shout-out came while I was at my desk and even though I tried to keep the laughing quiet, it was impossible, which just fed the fire.<br />
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Unfortunately, or not so much so, there is no deeper meaning that I can draw from this situation. It is what it is.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-15205675369678455452010-10-17T10:15:00.000-07:002010-10-17T10:15:50.343-07:00Two Things She Can't Do<i>Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a mommy just like you but I want five babies."</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TLYuy6fbAbI/AAAAAAAAA_o/1olBsuJnqXE/s1600/DSC00207.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TLYuy6fbAbI/AAAAAAAAA_o/1olBsuJnqXE/s320/DSC00207.png" width="209" /></a></div>Are there any other words that can cause a mother to both feel very proud, very humbled and very scared all at the same time? I feel honored that from Sophie's point of view I'm a good enough example of what a mommy is that she would want to be one herself.<br />
<br />
Another thought that races through my mind is one that embarrasses me and that I chase away as quick as I can. It runs along the lines of, "But don't you want to be something more than that; like a doctor or a scientist?" Isn't that horrible. Being a mother is my primary responsibility. I don't believe that it's a "lesser" occupation at all. In fact, I work harder now than I ever did out in the "work force" as a project manager.<br />
<br />
Lately, however, another thought goes through my mind. It's comes as a result of a situation that happened to some friends of ours. Their son got in some trouble that involved the police and could go to court. This comes on the heels of their second son, a college student, who has several DUIs under his belt right now.<br />
<br />
Why I bring that up is that there are two jobs that my daughter and I can't ever aspire to, even if we wanted to. The first is President of the United States. I was born in France and she in Armenia. Because of our international birth we're automatically rejected as potential presidents (thank goodness). The second thing that we'll never be able to do is be elders in our church because we're women. Our church has decided that in this one instance, the words "man" and "husband" used in 1 Timothy 3 should be taken literally and globally, thereby excluding women.<br />
<br />
At this point, because our church is amazing in so many other areas, I'm able to deal with mismatch in theology beliefs and move forward. As long as no one tries to teach our daughter that this is absolute truth, we won't have an issue. However, where I do have problems now, is that the father of the two boys who have now both been in trouble with the law is an elder at our church. In the same passage in 1 Timothy, Paul teaches, "one who rules his own house well, having his children in submission with all reverence (for if a man does not know how to rule his own house, how can he take care of the church of God?)."<br />
<br />
How do I explain to my daughter that our church has decided to pick and choose which rules for eldership are literal and which are ok to ignore? How do I explain to her that while our reason for not being allowed certain areas of leadership is centered around something we have no control over those that are controllable but not followed can be ignored? Or that even though we are equal image-bearers and may have been given the gift of leadership or teaching, because of this one uncontrollable item and men's Bible interpretation, we're being told our gifts and equal image-bearing don't matter?<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, this isn't the only instance where these "rules" of eldership have smacked me in the face. The last church we belonged to had an elder whose son was caught flushing another child's head down the toilet. One of the elders was a single man (no wife, no children).<br />
<br />
I grew up in a church where the lead elder was a woman. Since the elders were the pastor's accountability, in essence, the head shed of this 13,000 member church was female. She was and is incredible. She walked with God, had humility, wisdom, strength and compassion. I want my daughter to know women like that; Women who are allowed to use ALL their gifts in the church, whether it be the gift of serving to wash a toilet or the gift of leadership or teaching, which still enables them to wash a toilet when needed.<br />
<br />
I want my daughter to be a mommy if she gets the opportunity. There's no greater joy or responsibility. I pray that she will be a part of a church where she is allowed to use the gifts that God is already building inside her. I also pray that she never wants to be president.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-29583416407117633932010-08-16T10:22:00.000-07:002010-08-16T10:22:59.578-07:00He Knows If You've Been Bad Or Good....<i>Sophie: Do you think Santa will bring me a new high chair for my babies for Christmas?</i><br />
<i>Mommy: What do you think he'll think about the fact that you broke the old one?</i><br />
<i>Sophie: I'll hide it. He won't know. And you won't tell</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TF8JDfZMkYI/AAAAAAAAAv4/_9cjqEnSseI/s1600/NewsletterChoice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TF8JDfZMkYI/AAAAAAAAAv4/_9cjqEnSseI/s320/NewsletterChoice.jpg" /></a></div>For anyone who thinks that babies are innocent, I beg to differ. The first morning after we brought Sophie home from the orphanage she threw up on me. Even at that young age she was devious enough to know which parent couldn't handle spit-up and would start gagging immediately.<br />
<br />
Every parent has seen it happen. Babies wait until that moment during a diaper change when the "protection" is off and the parent's back is turned while they're either disposing of the disgusting Pampers or pulling out a new one in order to pee a river all over the changing table (or worse, the bed).<br />
<br />
As they grow older, it just gets worse. Who among us hasn't opened a closet and found a broken item that's been missing for months. For me, it was opening a drawer in the living room and finding a half-eaten Pop Tart. They start out devious and it just gets worse as children get older.<br />
<br />
Sophie's solution to her high chair dilemma was fast and well thought-out. I watched her mind process the problem and come up with the solution within seconds. There was just the faintest pause between each short sentence as she thought of each problem and immediately came up with the corresponding answer to it. One part of me was impressed with her fast processing, but the other part was sad at how easily she came to the conclusion that deception and cover-up would be the best solution (I'd make a politician joke here but that would be too easy).<br />
<br />
Even with this, there are moments of sunshine when Sophie's honesty brightens the room. We're working on a method of stopping the thumb sucking entirely. She only does it when watching television or in bed, but it's time for it to go away completely. So, there's a chart on the refrigerator and every day that she doesn't suck her thumb she gets to put a sticker on the chart. She can choose a trip for lunch at McDonalds, Wendy's, or Cici's. She can also choose a tattoo or an item at the dollar store. At the end of the day we ask her if she's sucked her thumb at all. Amazingly, if she has she tells us. I don't know if she'll realize some day that a lie will get her what she wants or not. Maybe she's already thought that through and decided that we'll just stop believing her if she says that she hasn't. Plus, she still believes that I have eyes in the back of my head so she might even be thinking that our asking is just a test.<br />
<br />
We definitely realize that the art of lying and deception will be fed by peer pressure as Sophie grows older and will work against what we're trying to teach her. It's already happened. She had a playmate that's a good bit older than her at the house and they didn't realize how well sound travels from her room to my office. At one point I heard the friend say, "...and don't tell your mother." I didn't know what the situation was but I immediately called both girls into my office and had Sophie stand next to me.<br />
<br />
Very gently and with lots of love I explained to her how she can always tell me anything. I told her that if she has even done anything wrong I would be more saddened and upset that she tried to cover it up or hide it than by what she had actually done; and that when (not if) I found out, the discipline would be more than it would have been without the lie. Her friend was watching the two of us talk with an open mouth. Her parents may have a different way of handling discipline (I'm being politically correct; I KNOW they have a different way), but my mom dealt with us by talking through things before discipline was meted out simply to make sure that any was necessary and to what level it should be given.<br />
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As time goes on and I'm not there to hear the whispered words and watch Sophie see others lie and deceive, I hope that this is building a strong enough foundation that she'll be confident in her choices to do the right thing. Hopefully her strong will can influence others instead of her being influenced.<br />
<br />
Fortunately the One that sees if we've been bad or good is also very forgiving. She knows who He is too, thank goodness and that's the strongest and most stable foundation we can ever hope for.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-80814335715141067212010-08-03T10:44:00.000-07:002010-08-03T10:45:05.626-07:00Everyone Puts Their Pants on One Leg at a Time<i>"Mommy, will Santa come in the bathroom to poop so he'll see my snowman night light?"</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TFg9VfQTukI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/iRyrF5UiX68/s1600/IMG_0452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TFg9VfQTukI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/iRyrF5UiX68/s320/IMG_0452.jpg" /></a></div>The whole idea of Santa is one that my husband and I had many "animated discussions" about when Sophie was a baby. I was raised in a family that treated Santa as any cartoon hero that you know doesn't really exist but look up to anyhow (for me it was the original black and white Superman show). Christmas was first and foremost about the birth of Christ (and then the presents). My husband was raised believing in Santa. Since we both ended up pretty much normal and well-balanced and my brother, who is a psychologist, told me to lighten up when we presented our case to him, I decided to go with the "let her believe Santa is real" option and just see what happened.<br />
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Last Christmas was the first year that Sophie truly understood the concept of Santa and she embraced it totally. Life began revolving around making sure Santa knew what she wanted, where he was working, if he was going to be able to get everything done, etc. I have to admit that playing the "Be good or Santa will see you," card was used a few times by me. Santa was<br />
<br />
When we decorated the house, we put up a Santa night light in the bathroom so our young lady would be able to see where she was going if she needed to go potty at night. It wasn't until a couple of days later that the question about whether Santa was going to see our Christmas decoration in the bathroom was brought up.<br />
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After a good laugh and running to write down what she said before I forgot it, it hit me that even though Santa was bigger than life to Sophie, she realized that he still went to the bathroom. He does this HUGE job, but when the rubber meets the road, he's just a guy and he needs to poop too.<br />
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How different our perspective of those we hold in such high esteem would be if we first remembered that they have to poop just like us. Lately it's happened to some big heroes in various venues. The football world saw that Michael Vick poops; and in a different way the golf community saw that Tiger Woods does as well. (Is it ironic that my daughter just walked by and let me know that she has to go poop?)<br />
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Unfortunately, there are those whose stars rise so high that even they seem to forget that they poop like the rest of us and when it happens, they do it in front of the world and the crash is one from which they never recover completely. Mel Gibson is one of those, as is Brittany Spears. For me, the worst scenario is the ones who <i><b>we</b></i> hold so high even though we are well aware of their shortfalls (sorry, I'm getting tired of the poop analogy and I think you know what I mean by now). We are willing to turn a blind eye to the stink and only focus on the glitter and glam.<br />
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This was the case for me in 1982. The person in question was my favorite comedian and actor. He was very, very funny, especially with physical comedy. He was also a local boy who made it big; having gone to my high school. I actually met his older brother because his mother had worked at the same pharmacy as me and once the family moved to California, the brother came in to chat and tell us what the movie industry was like. My hero was John Belushi and he died in 1982 of an accidental overdose. I remember where I was when I heard and I cried my eyes out.<br />
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These popular icons seem unable to learn from their fellow artists, athletes, etc. Whether it's an accidental overdose, suicide or a different kind of fall (aka Rob Lowe and Hugh Grant), it continues to continue. Marilyn Monroe, Billie Holiday, Anna Nicole Smith, Jim Morrison, Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Michael Jackson....this list doesn't end.<br />
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I want my daughter to have heroes. I'd like them to include people of quality and character, but I am not that naive. So, when she has pictures of whoever replaces Lady Gaga by the time Sophie's a teenager, I hope that in addition to admiring the artist's style and voice, she still remembers that when it's all said and done, her hero poops just like she does. Human is human after all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-28472883673595278522010-07-19T11:32:00.000-07:002010-07-19T11:33:17.740-07:00It's All a matter of Perspective<i>Mom peeking in the rear view mirror: "Sophie, are you sleeping?"</i><br />
<i>Sophie: "No, I'm just resting my eyelids."</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TESHK7SosLI/AAAAAAAAAro/qqkzo82l0_E/s1600/DSC00020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TESHK7SosLI/AAAAAAAAAro/qqkzo82l0_E/s320/DSC00020.jpg" /></a></div>My parents live 800 miles north of us in a west suburb of the ever-expanding shadow of Chicago. On trips like that, or even on the 4-hour trip to my in-laws house we pray that Sophie will sleep....a LOT. It saves a lot of pain all around. When she's awake and stuck in the car for long periods of time she can get.....fussy. When she's fussy, we suffer.<br />
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In truth, even when she's awake and bubbling with joy and goodwill, her curious mind lets loose an endless stream of questions, comments and observations to which she requires an answer or comment to every one. After an hour or two, it can be a little tiring, especially if you're someone who relishes peace, quiet and silent reflection.<br />
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On the flip side, when we take shorter trips, like to our zoo which is an hour away, the last thing we want on the drive home is for Sophie to fall asleep and take her nap in the car. If she does that, we're robbed of a couple of hours of getting things done around the house once we get home. Those short car power naps are all that it takes to recharge her batteries and energize her for the rest of the day. So we are constantly making sure that she doesn't fall asleep by talking to her, tickling her, giving her food; whatever it takes.<br />
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The day she gave this response to our attempt to keep her awake was the day we realized that we'd hit another milestone; one that would require us to stay on our toes even more than before. We have a politician on our hands. She's three years old (at the time) and she knows how to spin.<br />
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I think that being able to spin a situation or statement is an incredible art form. It amazes me that I can read a piece on Fox News' site, go over to MSNBC and see the same situation described in an entirely different way, with an opposite conclusion; both sounding very plausible.<br />
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Perspective is merely spin to your advantage. Unfortunately, it's not always honest. While I applaud our daughter's ability to use her creative mind to quickly come up such a witty response, she'll need to learn and heed the point at which spinning passes simply sharing her perspective and becomes lying.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-19984667790492157102010-07-14T16:57:00.000-07:002010-07-14T17:00:30.926-07:00DYKWIM?<i>"Yea! We're going to the A B C D Y to go swimming!"</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TD5BaVTOKNI/AAAAAAAAAqk/mZjbwicfYQg/s1600/DSCF0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TD5BaVTOKNI/AAAAAAAAAqk/mZjbwicfYQg/s320/DSCF0002.jpg" /></a></div>We have a beautiful lake across the street from our house. In the winter the cold blue sky is reflected on it and the bare brown trees provide a stark contrast to the blue. In the summer it's exploding with wildlife. There are hawks that live in the area and they scream to each other over the water as they look for mates and proclaim their territory. We have turtles and snakes and other creepy crawlers there. Canada geese arrive in formation and take over the beach area, calling to each other and squabbling like little children night and day.<br />
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Which is the reason that we don't usually go swim in the lake. It's nice to look at and the beach is a fun place to play....as long as you avoid green goose droppings. Even though the lake is tested regularly, come mid-summer, there are weird globules of algae floating around and the bottom has that slimy suck-you-under sediment that's uncomfortable to walk through.<br />
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Which is the reason that we decided to look into getting a membership at the YMCA even though we have a lake with a beach, a dock and a slide right across the street from us. My husband took our daughter for a tour the first time and she loved being in the kids' room while he examined the weights and other areas she didn't care about. The nice people at the Y gave us several free passes so we could get a feel for whether we wanted to join or not. The second time we went was to go swimming. Once we were all dressed, we moved down towards the car, which is when Sophie let loose with her exclamation. It was cute, but it also reminded me of one of my least favorite things; acronyms.<br />
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There was a time when acronyms were used only for long names of things like YMCA, MRI, and FDA. For most of us, we don't even remember what they stand for, but the acronyms have become the product or program.<br />
<br />
With the advent of text messaging acronyms have been taken to a new level. I'll read something on Facebook or a friend's blog and see a series of letters and have no idea what they mean. For instance, one friend writes about her HHBL. Any idea what an HHBL is? According to the Urban Dictionary, it's hunka-hunka burnin' love. I'm assuming that's her husband.<br />
<br />
What's even worse to me how acronyms have bled into notes and e-mails we send. Over the past thirty years our society has gone through an amazing transformation. We used to wait by the mailbox for that personal, hand written note from a loved one because hand writing was really the fastest way to write something, even though there were typewriters. In the early 1980's word processors came along and people started typing out their correspondence even though they still had to mail the letters (and the United States Post Office sincerely misses those days). Entering the middle 1980's AOL (eek, an acronym) changed everything. E-mail and instant messaging were born and handwriting all but disappeared.<br />
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Today it's not good enough that a thought can be transmitted instantaneously via e-mail, text message or blog. Even these messages have to be abbreviated as though the person on the other end is so busy that they can't take the extra five seconds to write thank you but instead feel it necessary to use ty instead.<br />
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If you haven't guessed, I'm not a fan of abbreviations. If I write to you I won't use them because I think you're worth taking the time to write out the whole word for. When I sign my name I won't put c or cp, but I'll let you know that I'm Christiane.<br />
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Our daughter is growing up in this age and will most likely look at this and think I'm an old fogey. but, I'm sure that when she's in college and opens her mail box and finds a personalized, hand written note from her mother in there, she'll say TYVM. DYKWIM?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-14938636106720704282010-07-05T10:09:00.000-07:002010-07-05T10:09:15.044-07:00Appearances Can Be Deceiving<i>Sophie: Mommy, your brownies and poop are the same color.</i><div><br />
<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TDICj8k0KuI/AAAAAAAAAo8/-mjlr11fWFI/s1600/DSC00311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/TDICj8k0KuI/AAAAAAAAAo8/-mjlr11fWFI/s320/DSC00311.jpg" /></a>I am one of those rare people who don't like chocolate. It's beyond the, "I just don't care for it," stance and all the way to the point where I just won't eat desserts that have chocolate in them (though I have been known to make an exception for cheesecake). My husband enjoys chocolate but can go without it and doesn't go out of his way to find it.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>Proving that the chocolate addiction is a gene thing and not just a habit that's picked up from being around others with the same need, our daughter (who, remember, is adopted) is a die hard chocoholic. I don't think she even had a piece before she was two simply because I hoped that feeding her fruit early on would create a love for that form of natural sugar, but upon the first bite of chocolate, all that changed.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Since our little lady did develop a taste for this nasty thing, I knew that I'd be making desserts here and there with it. Since my husband does like brownies, those end up being my go-to treat. Even if not using a box, it's pretty hard to mess them up.</div><div><br />
</div><div>One day sometime after having a brownie as a treat, I went in to help Sophie finish her "business" and she came out with that gem of a quote. The fact that it's true is a bit horrifying. The fact that I've used brownies to make a litter box cake even more so (though I didn't tell her that).</div><div><br />
</div><div>The truth of the matter is that appearances can be deceiving, especially in a society like ours that is so easy to use stereotypes so easily. A friend of mine once told me about an exercise that he had to do with a group of others. They walked into a room and were presented with an arrangement of cardboard cut-out men and women ranging in age, race, economic status, etc. Each person was asked to go stand by the person with whom they thought they would feel most comfortable going out on a date. After everyone had settled next to their cardboard man or woman, the leader of the group started reading descriptions of these real-life personalities. Some women had chosen to stand next to a well-dressed, handsome man in his early 30s who was actually a rapist. Men stood next to a woman who had beaten her child to death because she had a beautiful smile and looked so nice. We just never know.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Deception has gone far beyond face-to-face though. Working with an Internet technology company, I am more than aware of the dangers that social networking sites present. I have three friends on Facebook who have an extraordinary amount of friends; 1,943 1,066, and unbelievably 2,658. I find it hard to believe that these three people really know those "friends" yet they continue to post personal information about their lives on their page; travel plans, concert attendance, dinners out, etc. Why not just post a sign out front of their house that says, "Hey thieves, we're not home"? </div><div><br />
</div><div>It's sad that we have to teach our daughter that appearances can be deceiving and that she needs to be wise and aware at all times. The days of heading to the park on her own are over. Even playing in the front or back yards is supervised and she knows not to talk to strangers no matter how nice they appear to be. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Some say she's shy as a result, but appearances are deceiving. She's just smart.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-5397602737005469222009-12-11T07:23:00.000-08:002009-12-11T07:42:40.558-08:00No Retirement Home For Us<span style="font-weight:bold;">Sophie</span>: <span style="font-style:italic;">Daddy's not very old.</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mommy</span>: <span style="font-style:italic;">No, Daddy's not old.</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sophie</span>: <span style="font-style:italic;">But someday he will be.</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mommy</span>: <span style="font-style:italic;">Yes, he will.</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sophie</span>: <span style="font-style:italic;">But we can still keep him.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SyJmFZVx8vI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ud_585rNHps/s1600-h/sophiedaddy.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SyJmFZVx8vI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ud_585rNHps/s320/sophiedaddy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414001944940376818" /></a>It's been an incredible experience watching a three year-old try to get a handle around the concept of time, whether it's the fact that there are still two weeks until Christmas or that tonight is still today or that even though I'm old in comparison to Sophie, I'm not at all when compared with her Papa.<br /><br />Conversations like this one tend to pop up out of the blue, so I can only figure that the wheels have been turning for some time before the conclusion that can finally be shared has been drawn. <br /><br />I'm guessing this thought process came up as a result of culling Sophie's clothes one day. We made two piles; one of clothes that were too small but good enough to give away and one of clothes that were too small, but were so old and worn out that they needed to be thrown away. Sometimes there's a bit of separation anxiety when an especially loved item is about to make its exit. We're going through it right now with a pair of pajamas that Sophie adores even though we can see three inches of stomach peeking between the bottom of the shirt and top of the pants and the pants themselves meet all qualifications for being dubbed high waters. The knees are worn through and there are several holes along the seams that have been mended and re-mended to the point where there isn't enough material to grab and hold with the needle and thread. In spite of that, Sophie's adamant that the pajamas will not be thrown out but given to a two year-old friend because their tremendous comfort worth far outweighs their nasty appearance. Even though they're old, she wants them to be kept.<br /><br />It's wonderful to know that Sophie sees her Daddy in this same light. I hope and pray that as we do get older and she follows her own path; begins a career and maybe her own family, she'll look at us with our worn knees, mended bodies and threadbare minds and insist that we're still worth holding close to her heart because she loves us so much.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-7191403193193873832009-12-03T11:37:00.000-08:002009-12-06T19:03:13.017-08:00Biding the Law<span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sophie</span>: Daddy, do you like my cute little boobies?<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Daddy</span>: Sophie, by law I am absolutely not allowed to answer that question.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SxgW6zBYR4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/POa0ZAbRPVk/s1600-h/decent.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SxgW6zBYR4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/POa0ZAbRPVk/s320/decent.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411100151669868418" /></a>Some time ago I read a news piece about a couple whose children were taken away from them for a short while by social services after an employee of large chain store developed family photos, including some shot in the bath because that employee deemed them to be sexually explicit. Not long before that, our pediatrician told our Sophie during her three-year check-up that no one except her mommy or the doctor should ever touch Sophie "down there." Understand, this includes her father. <br /><br />At first it was very funny to me when I overheard this conversation between Sophie and her daddy. It was so innocent and wonderful. However, soon after that, the extent of what Doug was saying sunk in and I was saddened by what our society has turned us into. <br /><br />The unfortunate thing is that while we read the very rare story about a parent accused of sexual impropriety where they were simply doing something innocent, more often then not we're broadsided on a regular basis by stories about young children being mistreated by a parent or some other trusted adult. So, while I hate that we've come to this, I appreciate and applaud both our pediatrician and my husband for erring on the side of caution and choosing to remain blameless, even from the standpoint of conjecture. I remember someone telling me once that Billy Graham would never be seen in a room with only another woman because he wanted to give no reason for anyone to start a rumor or story about him. <br /><br />So, while our daughter goes through this phase where everything is about boobies or poop and until she learns completely how to wipe herself after using the potty and til that day when it's safe for her to bathe or shower alone, my husband will make himself scarce and I'll be the one handling the toilet paper and wash cloth.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-56199558092194935362009-10-27T10:22:00.000-07:002009-10-27T10:43:42.951-07:00Preschoolers Against Napping<span style="font-style: italic;">I don't like naps. I don't know how to sleep.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SucssRaXxJI/AAAAAAAAADA/rzj0mbHKT3c/s1600-h/napping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SucssRaXxJI/AAAAAAAAADA/rzj0mbHKT3c/s320/napping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397331817526707346" border="0" /></a>There isn't anything a parent fights more in the growth of their child than the loss of the afternoon nap. The infamous "they" say that naps disappear between the 3rd and 4th year. I agree. Sophie's naps are starting to go away and she's going on 3 1/2.<br /><br />However, naps are still very much needed.....sometimes. We're learning to discern when the young lady does and doesn't need to sleep. We're also trying to make sure that when we put Sophie to bed for a nap it's not because WE need her to take one, but because she's actually tired. Ok, we're not trying that hard on that one, but we we're working on it.<br /><br />It's been interesting (and sometimes fun) to watch nap avoidance techniques evolve as Sophie gets older and wiser. What used to be just the cut and run, had become practice for a future in debate. Sometimes we get the cut and run while debating over her shoulder, but I think she's realized that she will never win the running game. Of course, there are other techniques being tried, including stalling and getting up after the door closes, but the debate technique is in full force as language skills increase.<br /><br />This statement was the first time that Sophie's actually given the statement about not liking naps and then included the reason as back-up. I was impressed. I probably shouldn't have laughed, but she laughed with me and it ended up being a great hug moment for us. We've tried hard to explain a lot of the things that she and we have to do simply because she hasn't had enough life experience to know those things for herself yet. There are times when it's important that she obey then and there and she's learning that as well (especially when safety is concerned), however as we continue to treat her as a little person instead of following the antiquated adage of "children should be seen but not heard" she will learn more and faster.<br /><br />Eventually Sophie will have a better reason than she doesn't know how to sleep for not wanting to nap, and as a result of that she will be able to stay up instead. That day's not here yet. After she said this wonderful statement, she went to bed and we didn't hear another peep for hours.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-2366010671045575662009-10-09T07:55:00.000-07:002009-10-14T09:18:13.710-07:00I Can't Have It All<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sophie</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">How much are you asking for Mommy?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mommy</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">(singing Queen's song) I want it all.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sophie</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">You can't have it all Mommy.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Ss9QmpJa2FI/AAAAAAAAAC4/D-O-GhA_WEQ/s1600-h/shopping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Ss9QmpJa2FI/AAAAAAAAAC4/D-O-GhA_WEQ/s320/shopping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390615903796385874" border="0" /></a>It's another phase we're going through in the house. The love of shopping at the grocery store. If we can't actually be in a REAL grocery store, Sophie will set one up in the family room and we are given opportunity after opportunity to buy things. In this instance, Sophie wanted to know how many eggs I was looking to purchase. When I told her that I wanted all of them, I was summarily told the truth we all learn at some point in life; I just can't have it all.<br /><br />While I'm not sure when and where Sophie learned that I can't have it all, I'm positive that she has no clue that she can't have it all yet. Many times conversations with our little lady start with her saying, "I want...." Beyond the fact that we're working to change those two word to a better four-word version; "Can I please have...." we're also trying to teach Sophie that even if she asks nicely she just will not always be able to get what she wants.<br /><br />One thing that we have learned throughout the work of changing the "I want it all" mindset is giving a full explanation as to why she (and we) can't have it all. Whether it's reminding her that she already has a half-dozen baby dolls and so no, she doesn't need the one she sees at the store or that dinner is in 30 minutes so no, she can't have a cookie right then, it's obvious that she appreciates it when we take the time to tell her why we've made the decision about what she can't and can have.<br /><br />Sophie will continue with the "you can't have it all" learning process for quite a while, but somewhere along the line, probably in her 30's or so, the lesson might be forgotten. I know that because I've seen it lived out on the news and somewhat in my own life. Forgetting that we can't have it all means running up high credit card balances in the attempt to get it all even if we can't afford to. Forgetting means scamming millions out of your company and leaving your employees with nothing and then getting caught and losing it all anyhow.<br /><br />Even this morning Sophie showed us another lesson that can be learned from not being able to have it all. When she told me that she wanted something and I had to tell her that she couldn't have it, her next question was, "Can I have it another day?" Delayed gratification. What a wonderful lesson.<br /><br />Sophie, it's a different song, but the same principle; "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find, you get what you need."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-2366611170945706772009-10-08T06:31:00.000-07:002009-10-08T06:52:20.398-07:00Taking a Cooker Down a Notch<span style="font-style: italic;">Daddy: Daddy's a good cooker.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Sophie: Yes, but did you remember that you spilled the flour?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Ss3sZGvHgmI/AAAAAAAAACw/e-R5lq-ClcU/s1600-h/pancakes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 223px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Ss3sZGvHgmI/AAAAAAAAACw/e-R5lq-ClcU/s320/pancakes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390224245081473634" border="0" /></a>If you read any of the earlier posts, you'll remember that Sophie often remarks that I'm a good cooker after a particular meal that she's enjoyed. On occasion, Doug will take over kitchen and prepare pancakes for us. I was at my desk working while Doug and Sophie were making pancakes one day and while I couldn't see them, I had no problem hearing what was going on. As per usual, when it comes to the both of them in the kitchen, it was a bit like listening to Abbott and Costello.<br /><br />At one point, it was obvious that something had been spilled and an attempt was being made to clean up. Sophie, being three and having learned the all-important three-letter word, kept asking her Daddy why he had spilled and it was obvious that while he was trying his best to be gentle, the question was getting old. But he persevered and soon there were golden delicious pancakes on the table for us to have for dinner (if you've never had this breakfast treat for dinner, you've been missing out, trust me).<br /><br />We all sat down to eat and were commenting on how good the pancakes tasted. Since Sophie wasn't coming out with her trademark compliment, teasingly Doug decided that he would initiate it himself and so proclaimed that, "Daddy is a good cooker." Without losing a beat Sophie took on the job of taking him down a notch and helped him realize that compliments work best when they come from someone else, not from the same person being complimented.<br /><br />We're working hard to teach Sophie that it's generally not appropriate to take people down a notch, but what she said did hit home for me. Sometimes the mistakes we make on the way to the end of something we're doing stick in others' minds more than the accomplishment. It's human nature to look for the negative, and that's a bad thing. Sophie needs to learn that everyone spills flour, or sugar or baking powder, but what we concentrate on is if they were able to clean it up, recover and create something delicious and beautiful.<br /><br />When it comes to pancakes, Daddy IS a good cooker!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-76054952595414623702009-10-02T08:45:00.000-07:002009-10-07T12:26:17.172-07:00Raising a Child to be Color Blind<span style="font-style: italic;">"Mommy, Imani's kind of brown."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SszoybSHinI/AAAAAAAAACo/ag_NI4ZQpWE/s1600-h/imani.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SszoybSHinI/AAAAAAAAACo/ag_NI4ZQpWE/s320/imani.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389938807070493298" border="0" /></a>This comment about Sophie's best friend came totally out of the blue as Sophie and I were coloring together one morning. Imani's been a part of Sophie's life for almost two of her three years and this summer was the first time that the question of differences between the two of them came up. Imani is our next door neighbor and is seven years older than Sophie, but the two adore each other. Imani's the one who taught Sophie the importance of a sense of humor, especially in making others laugh.<br /><br />I wonder how long Sophie had been thinking about the fact that Imani's more brown than she is. We're in an integrated neighborhood and some of our close friends are African American but it's not something we ever talk about because there's nothing really <span style="font-style: italic;">to</span> talk about. It just is.<br /><br />We want Sophie to grow up color blind because color is just another tag that gets put on people and the less tags she recognizes, the more unimportant she'll understand they are. We had a conversation about the different colors people are and decided that even though Imani's more brown than Sophie, she's not a whole lot more brown than my father, who spends a good amount of time in sunny places and enjoys soaking up the rays. Being of Mid Eastern descent, he has the olive skin that turns him a deep brown the minute he steps outside.<br /><br />When we were in high school my parents took my older brother and me on a trip to Israel and sent my younger brother and sister to stay with my aunt in Michigan. When we returned all we heard about from my younger brother was a guy named Charlie that lived in the apartment complex. Charlie did this and Charlie said that. He seemed to be a wonderful guy and he treated my siblings as his own kids. It wasn't until months later that we were talking about it to my aunt and she mentioned something about Charlie being African American. It had been such a non-issue that it hadn't ever even crossed my brother's mind to mention that to us. It was great and it's what I want for Sophie.<br /><br />Understanding what color is but being color blind will also serve Sophie well once she's old enough to understand that she carries a tag or two as well; being a female (especially once she hits the workforce) and being adopted.<br /><br />Imani <span style="font-style: italic;">IS</span> kind of brown, but she's all high spirited, funny, kind and a great friend for Sophie and those are the things that count.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-77325704544375227482009-09-27T06:45:00.000-07:002009-09-27T07:13:06.377-07:00Every Breath You Take<span style="font-style: italic;">"I need to rest. I ran out of my breath."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Sr9xjR-DmwI/AAAAAAAAACg/0VFi09SvoB4/s1600-h/drama.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Sr9xjR-DmwI/AAAAAAAAACg/0VFi09SvoB4/s320/drama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386148530291448578" border="0" /></a>The truth of the matter is that Mommy and Daddy run out of our breath way faster than Sophie. Ever since she stopped waddling around like a drunken sailor and learned how to walk and then to run, she hasn't stopped. The only time she ever slows down her stride is when it's time to go to bed. Then it can take 45 minutes to take the 20-foot walk down the hallway to her room.<br /><br />a favorite activity is chase, whether it's just a romp around the house or running away from monsters (usually Mommy or Daddy Monster). We always need a rest before Sophie's ready to stop and have to beg her for a break. This time, however, Sophie decided to have a practice at it and it was a very dramatic presentation. She stopped, leaned against the wall, took a couple heaving, deep (and very fake) breaths and said, "I need to rest. I ran out of my breath."<br /><br />Isn't this the way it is with everyone who tries hard to pretend to be someone or something they're not? They just get it a little off. Junior high and high school seem to be the time that young people are most tested in who they are and who they want to be. Unfortunately, when they try to be something they're not, the results rarely end up being a cute line that's quoted by proud parents. Instead, the young person is teased mercilessly, rejected and hurt.<br /><br />While Sophie is stretching her boundaries and trying on adult sayings, she is still has a firm grip on who she is and marches to the beat of her own drummer. We're going to work hard to encourage her to do that all her life. I hope she is able to stay true to the independent spirit she has, that she keeps her own style instead of thinking that she has to change it in order to fit in, and that she never loses her sense of drama (it just provides too much comic relief).Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-83375003989250145092009-09-20T15:46:00.000-07:002009-09-25T09:21:57.835-07:00Do Tires Get Cold?Driving home from somewhere, an SUV with the spare tire on the tailgate pulls in front of us and Sophie starts to giggle, then says,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"That tire must be cold. It has a coat on. That's goofy."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Srzj7KAakQI/AAAAAAAAACY/wuYJ8V-zJ0c/s1600-h/car.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/Srzj7KAakQI/AAAAAAAAACY/wuYJ8V-zJ0c/s320/car.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385429859866153218" border="0" /></a>Sophie has long been fascinated with the fact that some vehicles have spare tires on the tailgate. We're constantly surprised at how observant she can be and it's caused us to be much more aware of what surrounds us when we drive because we never know when she is going to point something out and ask if we've seen it.<br /><br />What I'm glad about is the fact that Sophie didn't ask WHY (the three year-old's favorite question) the tire had a coat on, but that she came up with the explanation herself. I'm glad because I have no idea what my response could have been that would have given such a needless accessory relevance. So far our little lady hasn't felt the need to accessorize her look other than the barrette that she's required to wear when she goes out in public or eats food (otherwise she tends towards a distinctive Cousin It look) and neither of us leans towards excess in the way of jewelry or other trinkets so I'm sure at some point the question of why will come up.<br /><br />What I'm also glad about is the fact that Sophie decided that a tire with a coat on is goofy. Tire covers average around $50 for a new one. Even while a person is providing advertisement for whatever brand vehicle they are driving, they have to pay in order to do so. Amazing. Fifty dollars can do so much more than keep a tire warm. At orphanage in Uganda (www.moh-uganda.org), you can feed a child for almost two months with $50. You can buy a toilet for a Habitat for Humanity home with $50 (www.habitat.org).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrzhHKNFnuI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-Brv2ty5-eI/s1600-h/troll.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 163px; height: 210px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrzhHKNFnuI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-Brv2ty5-eI/s320/troll.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385426767542853346" border="0" /></a>When I was a little girl my family had the opportunity to spend a few years in Beirut Lebanon. During that time my parents were wise enough to show us snapshots of lives that were much different than ours. One of those snapshots was a trip to a Palestinian refugee camp. I had a red troll with me, my favorite one at the time and when we got out of the car I was carrying it. We were immediately surrounded by a crowd of dirty, smelly children in clothing that my parents wouldn't have even kept as rags. Somehow, in spite of the fear I had at being crowded so closely and having all these little hands reaching out and touching my hair and clothes, I locked eyes with another girl around the same age as me. Somehow we became friends in that instant. In a moment of un-childlike selflessness, I held out my red troll to her. She took it gingerly at first, then clutched it to her chest and ran off, I assume to the drainage pipe that she probably called home. Considering the fact that we watched children use orange rinds as boats in filthy ditch water, I'm pretty sure it was the only real toy she had.<br /><br />I don't know that we'll have the opportunity to show Sophie those kinds of snapshots that she can hold on to when given the chance to spend money on helping others or keeping tires from getting cold, but I do hope that we're able to instill in her what's right and what's just downright goofy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-50931246323648060762009-09-17T15:01:00.000-07:002009-09-17T15:21:43.031-07:00Emeril, Move Aside<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sophie</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Mommy, you're a good cooker!"</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrK1aOTOSOI/AAAAAAAAACI/R8B8JPCSLOM/s1600-h/DS1CF0004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrK1aOTOSOI/AAAAAAAAACI/R8B8JPCSLOM/s320/DS1CF0004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382563966781114594" border="0" /></a>Once upon a time my mother tried to get me to stand by her side and watch her prepare the traditional, family Armenian recipes that she's so good at making. Since I was a high schooler and knew much more than she did, I refused. For many years it didn't matter that I knew how to boil water and push the buttons on the microwave, but then one day I discovered the absolute joy that is the art of cooking.<br /><br />Now, if I could go back in time, not only would I stand with my mother, pen and pad in hand, but instead of wasting time in college on a subject that I didn't follow anyhow, I'd have gone to the Culinary School of the Arts and become a chef. I'm not talking about Paula Deen cooking here, though I do agree that everything tastes better with full fat milk, cream and butter. I know how to open a can and push microwave buttons already. I love the cooking that I see on Iron Chef America and watch the show simply to see the choreography that is professional cuisine.<br /><br />Being in the kitchen is a catharsis for me. Pondering a new, difficult recipe, shopping for the ingredients, doing the prep work and then watching it all come together relaxes me and re-energizes me.<br /><br />Unfortunately, I need to amend the first sentence in the paragraph above. Being in the kitchen USED to be a catharsis for me. That was the period of time we have labeled, "Before Sophie." Post Sophie cooking consists of a stool by my cooking area, the constant fear of tender young skin getting burned, and the stress of having to answer why I do every single thing I do and use every single ingredient I use, not to mention what everything is as well.<br /><br />Even though these kitchen times aren't as relaxing as they used to be, they've become something else. Through the opportunity to share my love for cooking with Sophie, she's stayed open to trying new foods once she knows that she's helped cook them. My hope is that as the years pass she will absorb a love for the art of cooking and not see it as simply a tedium, or necessity. I hope that she will continue to stand by me, even after she doesn't need a stool and never adopts the high school attitude that I had and with which probably hurt my mother.<br /><br />I still make the advanced dishes I made Before Sophie, but I have a new audience and there is nothing that will make all the preparation, heat and steam more worthwhile than sitting down at the table and hearing the words, "Mommy, you're a good cooker" come out of my little girl's mouth.<br /><br />Emeril, you may have a show, but my Sophie thinks I'm a good cooker and that make me think I've come out ahead.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-86473436634674767472009-09-16T17:23:00.000-07:002009-09-16T18:00:00.242-07:00On Being Dutch<span style="font-weight: bold;">PapPap:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">You're Dutch</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Sophie: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">No I'm not. I'm Sophie.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrGGPxWjF9I/AAAAAAAAACA/cpOcsnpxwHw/s1600-h/DSCF0003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrGGPxWjF9I/AAAAAAAAACA/cpOcsnpxwHw/s320/DSCF0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382230635188525010" border="0" /></a></span><span><span>When Sophie was learning to talk, her grandparents had a really tough time understanding what she was saying. Well, we all had a really hard time, but since they didn't see her as often as we did and weren't around the jibberish-turning-into-words, it was even tougher for them.<br /><br />My in-laws are from Pennsylvania and there's a saying that's come out of there; "You're Dutch."<br /><br />I don't know where it comes from, but whenever Sophie would say something that obviously made sense to her, but didn't to her PapPap, he'd say she was Dutch. It took a long time, but the day came when Sophie said something silly and PapPap told her, "You're Dutch." Sophie immediately responded, "No I'm not. I'm Sophie."<br /><br />The days of being Dutch are long gone because Sophie has made it clear that she is NOT Dutch. Another thing that's clear now is her speech so there's really no reason for that cute exchange between grandfather and grand daughter anymore.<br /><br />It's a pretty young age for a person to have such a sense of self. I hope that she will always remember that she's Sophie and what a wonderful thing that is to be. I hope that when she's confronted with someone labeling her because of a specific trait or quality she's able to face them and strongly say, "No I'm not. I'm Sophie." We too often allow labels to attach themselves to us and end up losing sight of who we started out as and who we had dreams of being.<br /><br />Sometimes when we're out somewhere I make the mistake many parents make when they try to get a youngster to talk to an adult when the young person doesn't want to. I say, "she's shy." I think I'm going to keep this Sophieism close to my heart so that before words like that can slip out I can see Sophie staring me down and saying, "No I'm not. I'm Sophie."<br /><br />Thank goodness she is.<br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6932755412187039461.post-71638692866885014732009-09-15T18:48:00.000-07:002009-09-15T19:04:00.791-07:00The Babe with the Mouth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrBHhtlC4nI/AAAAAAAAAB4/P-7n5j91GDI/s1600-h/IMG_0339.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 198px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aaFqMj98EnI/SrBHhtlC4nI/AAAAAAAAAB4/P-7n5j91GDI/s320/IMG_0339.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381880199203971698" border="0" /></a><br />Sophie is our three-and-some year-old daughter. It's hard to believe that parents find the need for any other form of entertainment when a child is in the house and we've found that during the "Sophie awake" hours, if the television isn't on a show like Max & Ruby or Lazy Town, we're being constantly entertained by a constant flow of commentary.<br /><br />When Sophie was 6 months old we brought her home from an orphanage in Yerevan, Armenia after spending a month in the country finalizing the paperwork. While she was still only at the babbling stage, she already had a curiosity and independence that didn't bode well for an easy life for us down the line. Staying true to form, one of the highlights of our little girl is that independent spirit, that desire to learn and the tenacity to keep trying until she gets it right. The downside is that Sophie contains the firey Armenian spirit that can result in an explosive temper and lack of patience.<br /><br />Throughout the years we've listened to this little girl go from saying "la-nana-nana butter" for a banana with peanut butter to using the word ferocious in its proper context. Through the continuing transition Sophie has taught me much with her 3 year-old wisdom and I thought it important to write it down so I don't forget. Hopefully someone else can glean a little insight from her sometimes brutally honest words as well. As well as a little humor.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12752458901614211514noreply@blogger.com0