Letters to My Daughter

Lessons (What I Learned From Peeing)

2011-12-14T17:18:00.001-05:00

Dear Chuck,

Last night I checked in on a favorite blog of mine. The author is an open-soul sort, the kind who realizes some of the things she does on a daily basis are a little embarrassing and posts them on her blog anyway because that's how she is. That's not all she writes about, but those are the posts I find most entertaining.

Today her post was about being out of her house for the first time since she had her baby two weeks ago, and how she laughed so hard she peed her pants, and she was pretty sure people noticed, because she was on a stage singing for a large group of people at the time it happened. Some of her commenters suggested she was either an idiot or had no shame for this post, and they wished she would post about nicer things than peeing on herself.

Your mother, in true-to-herself fashion, could only laugh. In fact, I chuckled so loudly I startled the dog out of a solid sleep, and he glared at me as only dogs can do. What tickles me so much about these posts and this author is how honest she is with her readers. There's a life lesson in that, and I wanted to share it with you.

When you write a blog, or keep a journal, or attempt to record any part of life, what you get are snapshots; moments that can be removed from an entire experience and reflect whatever side you want. Human nature tends to seek out the shiny, happy moments; ones we can enjoy as light pleasantness without getting broader, more complicated emotions involved. It doesn't just happen in blogs, though. It happens when we answer the question, "How are you?" with "Fine," even if everything is not. It happens when we avoid making eye contact with the homeless person sitting on the sidewalk, or refuse to see a doctor regularly "because what if he finds something?". Feigning ignorance of all things unpleasant is a way many of us go through life, and I think that only serves to alienate us from each other further. When all you can see around you is shiny, happy perfection (whether it's real or not), you can start to feel like the less-perfect stuff you're going through means you don't measure up; like the something that is wrong is never, ever going to be right again and your life is a miserable failure.

Repeat after me, Charlotte; perfection is plastic; those snapshots aren't real. You are never alone in the world. When your life seems dark and scary, and you've peed your pants onstage in front of a bunch of people, the best thing to do is share your imperfections and laugh, because that's what life really looks like, and who knows? You might help someone who is going through the same thing realize they aren't alone either.

I love you, my ornery marker-wielding darling.

Love,
Mommy

An Apology, and a New Start

2011-12-10T21:39:00.000-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

It's literally been years (just over 2, in fact) since I've written to you, and for that I'm sorry. So much about you has changed since I last posted a message, and part of me wishes I'd taken more time to write some of those moments down for you. I say "part of me" because the rest of me was busy living those moments with you, and I'll take participation over observation any day. Tonight though, I'm feeling nostalgic and a little emotional, so I'm writing to you in the hopes that this letter will provide some measure of comfort to you when you're in the same boat.

As I write this, you're singing along to Barney and Friends on Netflix, and finishing the better part of a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. You're three and a half now, and while you're not quite riding the pro circuit of potty training, you're an enthusiastic amateur. That's a pretty bad metaphor, but it's all I've got, so cut your mom a break and go with it, okay? You're a funny kid, and you are bursting at the seams with personality. You have an opinion about every. single. thing. you could possibly have an opinion about, and your laugh is as quick to bubble to the surface as your temper. You're also smart as a whip, and you are just overall one hell of a kid. I'm so proud of you every day.

Today you asked me to knit you a pretty pink bracelet of I-cord, and I happily complied, because both Daddy and I wear I-cord bracelets too and I would knit you a Winnebego if you asked me. Then you asked me to make one for Aunt Christi (you LOVE her, by the way) and that later led to Aunt Kate (you LOVE her too) asking for a bracelet too. So tonight I'm knitting I-cord bracelets for people, and that's what led to this letter.

It's no secret that I knit, or that I love it. I post about it on Facebook occasionally, and every now and then I post a photo of a finished work. I carry a bag of small knitting with me everywhere, and I've been known to knit at train crossings and whild waiting in line at the bank. The thing about me is I'm a process knitter. I enjoy the actual act of knitting more than I care about enjoying a finished piece. The repetitive motion and busy work for my hands is a soothing meditation for me. When I'm at my most emotional or most off-balance, knitting is what soothes me and gets me back to rights. And every time I pick up my needles, I think about the person who taught me to knit.

My mother actually taught me to knit first, but my Mamaw taught me to purl, and she taught my mom to do both, so I say that my Mamaw taught me. She was a big influence on me for a large part of my life, and I feel like more of me is like my mom and Mamaw than anyone else. You should know that you come from a line of strong women, who tend to face adversity and downfall head on and use the bull-headed stubbornness they're born with to their advantage. When I knit, I think of my Mamaw, and when I'm feeling bad, I remember that I'm like her, and I find a way to get through whatever's bothering me.

What's bothering me now is that my Mamaw is sick. She has pneumonia, and she's fallen a couple times, and now she's in the hospital and it looks more and more like she won't be going back to her apartment, but to an assisted living facility instead, if we're lucky. She's 86, and as long a life as that seems, I'm still not ready for the hard stuff that's going to happen. I also realize that if she lives to be a hundred (which she won't be happy about) she will not see you graduate high school. Of course, neither will your beloved dog Tug and that's just the circle of life, blah blah blah, but I can't help feeling like you're going to miss out on a great lady. You're a lot like her, because you're a lot like me; I'm a lot like my mom, and she's a lot like her mom. And everytime I pick up my knitting, I think about her, and how hard things are right now. And it occurs to me that I don't think she knows how much she impacted my life, how much of an influence she had on who I am, both directly and through the daughter she raised who raised me. I'm going to tell her, and I'm going to spend the time I have left with her doing what I can to make sure she understands how much of me is because of her, and because of my mom.

But it also occurs to me that maybe you don't know how much of an impact you had on my life, and how much your existence and who you are has changed who I am, for the better. So I'm going to try to make sure I tell you every day, and for the you that could be reading this some day, I'm going to try to tell you too.

I love you, Charlotte Ophelia Hurst. You bring sunshine to my life.

Love,
Mommy

A Poopy Day

2009-11-13T22:01:00.002-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Tonight, you handed Daddy your poop. I realize I should probably back up and explain the entire story, so here goes:

To start with, I was having a pretty terrible day. I woke up with a sore throat that felt like I'd been swallowing large, sharp rocks. Then I realized it was Friday, but the glee was short-lived because I realized I would be going into work both Saturday and Sunday; meaning there was really no weekend escape from work after all.

Then I got home, and I discovered that not only was your doggie being a pain in your daddy's behind, you also had some pain in your behind, in the form of a nasty, festering diaper rash/yeast infection rash. Oh yes, your poor, blistery red tushy was miserable, and so were you.

So after some serious research and some advice from your beloved Mamaw, I sent you and Daddy to the store to pick up some anti-fungal cream, aka Lotrimin or Monistat. Except when you got back, poor Daddy had no anti-fungal anything, and thanks to a well-meaning pharmacist, was thoroughly confused as to what he should do to help you. We ended up fighting, and there was crying, and then I went to Kroger and picked out some cream for your injured butt.

When I got back, Daddy and I made up (poor Daddy; he's really under a ton of stress trying to be a superhero, and I feel bad that he doesn't think he is one), and then we proceeded to let you run around the house in your tunic top and no diaper. Cuz injured tushies need to breathe. When you're older, you'll understand.

So I'm in the kitchen, feeling sorry for myself because I don't feel good, and feeling sorry because you're injured, and Daddy's feelings were hurt. And I thought to myself, "You know, this has been a really poopy day." And that's when I turned to see your Daddy holding something in his hand, a horrified look on his face. And I said, "What's that?" And he said, turning slightly green, "Your daughter handed it to me. It's poop."

That's right. It's as if you heard me thinking, and in your own, cute little way, thought, "Poop? I have poop. Here you go."

And that's when I realized, standing right there in the kitchen with the poop, that there's nothing quite as bad as being handed poop. And if that's the worst thing you're dealing with, then maybe, just maybe, everything isn't that poopy after all.

Thanks for putting that in perspective for me, Chuck. I love you.

Love,

Mommy

Looking for Help

2009-08-04T14:03:00.002-04:00

om tāre tuttāre ture svāhā (Praise to Tara)

Dear Chuck,

Last night Daddy looked at me and said, "You haven't blogged for Charlotte in awhile." The excuses flew off my tongue: "I've been too busy. I have too many other things to do. I've run out of inspiration, and I'm afraid of writing things like, 'Dear Charlotte, today you took a wagon ride and played with your hair.' I don't want her to read stupid things like that."

The last thought stuck with me, and it's still nagging at me. It's true; for the last few months, I have been feeling like I have nothing to offer you, no pearls of wisdom or witty insights that you would possibly want to read as an adult. As a result, my letters to you have been few and far between, full of forced one-sided conversations that don't do my thoughts justice.

Ah, my thoughts. My thoughts are like raindrops. In the quiet, they splash down in random patterns, slowly at first, and then they increase in number and speed until they pour down and my head is so full I can no longer distinguish one individual thought from another.

When I log into this blog to write you a letter, I find myself staring at the blank screen, picturing you as an adult. When I was a girl, I could only see my mother in one dimension; as a mother. I suppose that's how all children see their parents. In my view, there was no past for my mother; there was no future, no existence outside my own. She was, very simply, my mother. I understand more now. I see my mother as a complete person, and I find I am intrigued by the woman who wasn't my mother, but who was a person, struggling with the same paths and decisions that I struggle with. When I log into this blog, I imagine you as an adult, my age now, reading these letters. I wonder who you will be, what life you will be leading when you are 25. I wonder where I will be, and what I will be doing, and what will have happened to all of us. Most of all, I wonder how you will see me. Will you understand who I am as a person? Will the things I have done in my life intrigue you, or will you be ashamed of me? These questions circle in my head when I see the blank page in front of me, and the chicken in me emerges and closes the browser window, convinced I will never be able to show you the truth and wisdom you need to help you along your life's journey. I should have known the universe would show me the way.

As a joke a couple weeks ago, Dan and Warren brought me a treasure newly dug up from our latest OS&D shipment at work. It was a Buddhist magazine called Shambhala Sun. I put it in my purse, secretly delighted, and just today got around to reading it. The front of the magazine portrayed a beautiful golden statue, a woman ornately sculpted. The first thing that caught my eye when I turned the page was the editor's entry. The title at the top said simply, "Looking for Help".

The statue in the picture at the top of this blog is the female Buddha Tara. Tara is a symbol of wisdom, and Buddhists of all schools turn to her for guidance. The editor posits to us that, "...we have the wisdom, compassion, and intelligence to handle life. And not just handle it, but live joyously, lovingly, sacredly, wisely.....[Tara's] wisdom, compassion, and skill are always present in us, no matter how confused, angry....fearful, or stupid we may be at any moment."

The wisdom of Tara is right, Chuck. Right now, I am simply your mother. I hope to remain that for many years. But someday, in your eyes, I will also be more, and I want you to have the chance to experience that. It's true, I'm flawed, wonderfully so, but hopefully that makes me someone you can relate to better. And hopefully I can find a way to pass some of the wisdom I hope to acquire in this life to you. But it will never happen if I don't write.

So I write. And I hope the wisdom finds me. And maybe through me, you.

I love you forever, sweet baby.

Love,

Mommy

You Come By It Naturally

2009-06-29T23:07:00.002-04:00

Dearest Chuck,

Years from now, when you sit back and reflect on your life, I hope you know enough about your daddy and me to be able to see the parts of you that came from us.

On that note, there's something you should know about yourself. Something we've been able to see in you since the day you first tried to roll over.

You're kinda stubborn. Stubborn that's really more tenacity and an absolute refusal to fail at something. A lesson now, sweet Charlotte. When those traits are exhibited during a solo attempt at something, society calls it "an iron will". When they're exhibited during an event involving two or more people, it's called, "competitiveness".

Girlfriend, whatever it's called, you've got it in spades. Which brings me to the point of my post.

When you read this blog for the first time, I want you to mark this one, and bring it up to your father as soon as you see him next. Tonight, Charlotte, I destroyed your daddy in a game of Wii Virtua Tennis. That's right; your mother is the all-time video game tennis champion. Daddy wasn't very happy about losing. In fact, he's probably not going to be thrilled that I'm recording my victory for the next generation.

But hey, at least you come by it honestly.

I love you. Fighting spirit and all.

Love,
Mommy

Way, WAY back there

2009-06-15T12:35:00.000-04:00

Dear Charlotte,

I got behind again. It's been 3 very long months since I posted. A whole quarter of your life has gone by that I haven't written you, and I'm sorry for it. You are now a whole year old, growing more independent and charismatic by the week, the day, the hour. There is so much that has changed in your life; encompassing all of that in a single post would be impossible, even for your Mama.

That's right, you say "Mama" now. It started out as "Na-na", but then you learned to put your lips together and make the "M" sound. It was really kind of the best day ever for me, because you've been delighting everyone with your perfect pronouncement of "Dada" for a few months now, and my tiny Mommy ego was feeling crushed as only a mommy ego can. Don't get me wrong - as a normal person I delight in the fact that you and your daddy are so close and inseperable. I didn't have that with my dad, so to see how amazing your daddy is with you is the single best thing I could ask for and get.

Notice I said, "normal person."

Mommies are not normal people. We're a rather exotic breed, with amazing ability to conjure any number of fantastic scenarios that spin normal situations into dilemmas the best team of fiction writers couldn't come up with. For example, letting you nap in a t-shirt instantly injects the fear that you will somehow wrap that shirt around your head and suffocate. Same goes for the idea that you will choke on the no-longer-existing tufts of fake fur on your crib-buddy Joe the Giraffe's little knobby horns. And I will unfortunately admit that my fantastic conjuring of scary scenarios includes one where you don't need me or want me. When those thoughts happen, I'm less likely to be thrilled that you get mad at me and reach for your beloved Daddy. Or Mamaw. Or really whoever happens to be in your reach that you find interesting. I'm happy to report that Mommy's insecurities about being a good enough mommy have receded towards the "normal" category, but don't let that admission fool you; I'll never be fully rational when it comes to you. Someday, you might understand.

You don't walk yet. That's okay, because I'm content to keep you adorable and tiny and baby-like forever. The days I can see you growing up by the minute are the days I understand why Michelle Duggar has 18 children (and counting). I can't get enough of you as a baby. I know that as you grow up, you'll most likely turn into the moody, dramatic, independence-seeking, parents-are-the-new-enemy teenager that I was, with a nice dash of your Daddy's charm and stubbornness thrown in for extra oomph. I can't wait to see what kind of adult you'll make, but I don't want to lose the honest, exuberant, scrambling mass of almost-toddler that you are. Life is an adventure for you, and you lack the ability to hold anything back. When you're sad, you cry. When you're happy, your whole body radiates that emotion, and life is simple. You're content with some Cheerios, a little Elmo, and your beloved Tuggie near you. Music makes you dance. Twirling stars above your crib make you smile. Bathtime makes you fairly explode with laughter. Bliss is the window rolled down on a bright, warm Saturday and Miri Ben-Ari on the mp3 player as we cruise down the highway, a noisy toy clutched in your hands.

Can I tell you a secret? You make all of those things the same way for me. You are my bliss. You and Daddy and Tuggie and Livvie have the incredible ability to put my life into perspective, and show me what's really important. Not work; that has its place, but it's okay to let go when the day's over. Not worrying about the stupid little details that don't matter, like if the dishes are done or what your neighbors think about your car or if you picked out the right present for someone. Life, Charlotte. That's what is important. It's a symphony. One you only get to hear once. Don't be focused on getting to the next part. Enjoy where you are now.

I love you, sweet girl.

Love,
Mommy

Fleeting Time

2009-06-13T20:40:00.002-04:00

Dear Charlotte,

Today you are a year old.

Happy Birthday, my sweet baby.

Love, Mommy

The Sweet Life (and Bad Knees)

2009-03-17T10:34:00.009-04:00

Rub a dub dub

Dear Chuck,

I have been noticeably absent in writing to you, and I apologize. You should know that you have been eating up every possible second of life in the almost-month I haven't written. Bathtime continues to be one of your absolute favorite sensory experiences, and jumping on the bed with Daddy is an extremely close second.

You are also Baby Mobile Extraordinare, and nothing in the house is safe from your wandering-ness. There is nothing you won't attempt to do. You, my pixie-haired fireball of baby chatter, are fearlessly unstoppable. In fact, just the other night you decided to climb through one of our dining room chairs. Perhaps you aspire to be a future gymnast. Or perhaps you were looking for Narnia. Whatever reason your little brain cooked up, you boldly approached your task with your usual "I will do this!" attitude. The optimism faded, however, when you realized you were stuck.

You were not hurt in your attempt to hurdle the chair. It would be more accurate to say that you were rather angry. Mommy apologizes profusely for not rescuing you immediately, but you'll understand if you have children of your own that sometimes, just sometimes, your progeny will do something that simply requires you to document it. It should also be noted that this setback did not deter you from attempting exactly the same feat several times during the following days. In fact, the chairs now seem to attract you like a magnet, and I'm sure you're at home right now giving Daddy gray hair.

Speaking of Daddy, you have begun addressing him as "Da-deh". He is over the moon about this (as am I), so I have decided to ignore evidence that you are simply working out a new sound without knowing its proper meaning. It is the cutest thing, to hear you look at him and say, "Da-deh" with your little baby cheeks puffing out and tiny rivers of drool escaping through your 6 teeth (yes, you have 6!). The wonders of your developing brain never cease to amaze us, Charlotte.

We're still waiting on our new living room furniture. I hope you inherit someone else's patience, Chuck, because you're not getting any from either of your parents. Though I think waiting 4-8 weeks for something you have spent a rather large amount of money on is pushing the limits of anyone's patience anyway.

The other amazing thing you got to do at the end of February was go to a wedding! Uncle Jesse and your new Aunt Kate got married! Daddy, Uncle Jim, and Aunt Amy were all in the wedding, and we certainly couldn't be left out, so we put on our finest duds, and away to Dayton we went! You were the belle of the ball (next to the bride, of course!), and everyone just loved you to bits. You were far to busy to pose for too many pictures, but I managed a couple:

Mommy also had a funny fall, and ended up injuring her previously-not-injured knee. Not to worry - it's just a little boo-boo, and just a minor surgery, so aside from Mommy being gimpy for a few days and having to do some special exercises, nothing will be different. It won't be like when Mommy had her gall bladder taken out and she was gone for a whole week.

The best part of the year is coming up, Charlotte. SPRING! And Spring leads to Summer, which I think you will also find quite enjoyable. Summer is swimming and playing outside, and it's the smell of sunscreen and barbeque and staying out late to catch fireflies after the sun goes down. It means napping with the windows open, and running around in your diapee just because you can. Spring is different. Spring is flowers and rain showers and rainbows and long walks and most importantly, Spring is Garden Planning time. Well, in our house anyway. This year, we are doing zucchini (for yummy bread), and a pot with tomatoes, and we will have sunflowers, and a Morning Glory vine, and pretty Moss Rose, and pink tea roses, and hanging Nasturtiums, and sunny Marigolds. I cannot wait. Even the inside plants got new pots, and Mommy has a brand new baby Philodendren plant for your room. We might even find a new houseplant to bring home, who knows? And if Daddy lets Mommy get the baker's rack she's been looking at, who knows what could happen?

It's the sweet life, Charlotte. It doesn't get better than this.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy

Serious Thoughts

2009-02-23T22:47:00.002-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

I don't have any fancy words for you tonight. I don't have cute pictures, or funny stories, and I can't tell you that anything spectacular has happened to us in the last two weeks.

What I can tell you is that this afternoon, I watched you fall asleep in your crib with your thumb in your mouth, snuggled between snow-white fleece and the blanket I made you. I listened to your little baby snores, and I watched your eyelashes flutter like tiny butterfly wings against your soft pink cheeks. I kissed your downy head, and then I went across the hall to Daddy's and my room. Your daddy and his poor injured body were taking a nap. And I watched him sleep. I listened to his much louder snores, and I watched his eyelashes flutter against his soft cheeks. I kissed his nose, and then I lay down next to him and fell asleep too.

When I woke up, the light in the room was different, and your daddy had taken most of my covers, which I suppose is fair since I took his pillow. Your doggie and kittie were curled up against each other and wedged between us at the foot of the bed, and your baby monitor on the bed next to me was silent. That's what struck me the most when I first awoke; the quiet.

Our house might not always be the quietest. We may not always get along; we might forget about what's really important in life and get sidetracked by the things we want and the things we think we need. We may not always be so certain that everything we do is the right thing, or that we're heading in the direction we want to go.

What I can tell you, Charlotte, is that when I woke up from our nap today, there was peace. And I was never more certain at any moment in my life that right here with you and Daddy is exactly where I am supposed to be. It's easy to let that get lost amidst all of the chaos of everyday life, but it's the one thing that should never, ever be forgotten. You and Daddy are the best part of my life, and I am so lucky to be his wife and your mommy.

I love you, sweet girl.

Love,
Mommy

Naked Rainbows

2009-02-12T18:16:00.004-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Two things happened yesterday that have to do with the sky:

A rainbow, and a full moon.

Love,

Mommy

Frustration

2009-02-04T08:35:00.004-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

For the past few days, I have been trying to write a very special letter to you. You will understand more when you see it, but suffice to say it is probably going to be one of my very favorite posts on this blog.

The reason it hasn't appeared yet is because we tried to save money. We switched from cable TV to satellite TV because it would cost less, and costing less is a good thing when you're trying to get out of debt and save money to buy space of your own with windows in the kitchen for growing things and for silly sunbathing terrorist cats and a bathtub big enough for the tall people to not feel crunched up in and a big backyard for the crazy dog who hates rain but loves snow and always hogs the bed. So we switched, and I called the cable company to cancel our TV, except that they canceled our internet too, and now it will be awhile before they can send someone out to re-connect us. Which is okay, because now we're temporarily saving even more money, and we have plenty of stuff at home to keep us busy while the computer is on vacation anyway.

Except I can't blog without the internet. So I tried to hijack my work computer to do a little blogging, and every time I try to load more than one picture, the whole thing crashes and I have to start over.

I hate starting over. Unless it's in a video game or a brand new clean apartment with bare walls that I can paint.

So I'm going to patiently bide my time until our own personal internet comes back, and I will give you a tiny hint and post one fabulous picture that will hopefully tell you a little more about the blog I hope to post in the near future:

I think you're gonna like it.

Love,

Mommy

Daddy. Camera. Naptime. Bad.

2009-01-27T21:18:00.005-05:00

The First Sign of Trouble

Dear Charlotte,

Sometimes, when you're not listening, I call you a little demon. I don't mean it to make you feel bad. In fact, the idea of you running around with little horns on your adorable head makes Mommy giggle, and that may just be your next Halloween costume.

But I digress. When I call you a little demon, it is usually after people tell me that you're the sweetest perfect angel. They don't believe me when I say you've got a nice little wild streak of attitude in you, and that the sweetness is just an act you use to recruit people to the Charlotte Ophelia Fan Club. They don't see it. You reserve that special little streak especially for Daddy and me, and while we're grateful that you love us enough to share that specialness, we're tired of people giving us funny looks cuz they think we're making up stories about you recruiting them to the Dark Side.

Stories no longer, Chuck. Someday I may use this photo for blackmail, but for now it's just evidence.

I love you, my sweet perfect little demon.

Love,

Mommy

Princess Frogtush's Bathtime (Vogue Edition)

2009-01-21T23:21:00.008-05:00

Hippo Tastes Like Chicken

Dear Charlotte,

I love that you love bathtime. You come by that honestly, you know. Daddy might compare bathtime to being one carrot short of human soup, but you and I know better. Bathtime is a warm, joyous, splash-filled wonder! It's a festival of floating hippos and princess ducks! It's a post-Nakey Game extravaganza!

And it's the perfect excuse to lounge around in your hooded bathrobe.

I love you, Chuck. And your little frog tush too.

Love,

Mommy

Charlotte's Weekend at Grammie's

2009-01-18T19:23:00.002-05:00

Peek!

Dear Charlotte,

You just got home from a weekend at your Grammie's.

Apparently, you had a marvelous time.

Mommy and Daddy missed you dearly, and we are so happy you're home.

But we're thankful for Grammie. And the giant Elmo.

Love,
Mommy

New Eyes

2009-01-14T23:10:00.001-05:00

My Little Buddha Baby

Dear Charlotte,

I thought I should tell you a little bit more about why I started writing this blog. This is the beginning of 2009; trust me when I say that blogging is like bread. That is, everybody knows what it is; it's a very basic thing, but some varieties have a more interesting flavor and texture, and some will downright knock your socks off and leave you craving more, like any good fix should. (The yang of that is that some kinds will make you believe there is a hell and you are in it.)

So yeah. Blogs = bread. Still with me?

When I met Daddy in 2005, I truly didn't expect my life to be where it is as I write this. You have to understand, Mommy's life was really different then. I had just moved back from my very first venture out of my home state. I was working two jobs with crazy hours, and living with your Aunt Kindra and Uncle Jason. All of my focus was laser-beamed on regrouping, both financially and personally, and getting the hell back out of Dodge as soon as I could. I wanted Pittsburgh. I needed Pittsburgh, and all of my new liberal swimming friends, and my new freedom.

Then I met Daddy. And for awhile, the Stephanie train still wasn't derailed. It was all work, all the time, and thoughts about what my next move would be. I had already screwed up pretty good with my last plan, and I wasn't anxious to repeat those feelings of disappointment. (If you haven't noticed yet, Mommy is very big into to-do lists and plans and chess move-like stuff. Daddy finds it hysterical that I made a to-do list for Mario Kart.)

The, one night in October, Daddy and I decided to go out. The details of that encounter, and the wackiness that ensued is another post, but suffice to say things worked out, and right now the three of us (plus Tug and Terrorist Cat) are in the middle of our Happy Ever After.

My story, Charlotte, is about you. Before you were born, I was working on trying to figure out the W's; who I was, where I was going, what I wanted, why I exist. All of those crazy philosophical questions that will actually drive you crazy if you take them too seriously. And I took them entirely too seriously.

You changed all of that.

You gave me a new way to see the world. I realized that life truly is just a one-time deal, and while we might not have control over how long we get to take this ride, we can control what we get from it. I don't want to waste a second of this life, Charlotte. I'm learning to sort out what's important in life from what isn't, and adjust my day accordingly. For instance, I can accept that me working full time is a necessary thing. I'm okay with getting up every day and trekking to work and bringing home dock dust and a weekly paycheck. Thanks to you, I also realize that there are days, when it's cold outside, and the house is dark and quiet and the alarm goes off at 5:30 but Daddy puts his arms around me and snuggles close to me....those occasional mornings, Chuck, it's okay to hit the snooze button. The every-now-and-then "sorry I'm late boss" speech and the extra ribbing your coworker gives you about getting a watch is absolutely worth the extra half hour (or hour, whatever) of cozy snuggle time. Just like sometimes it's worth having a messy house when it means you get to giggle and play with your daughter, or you get to watch her try with all her might to crawl across the floor and pick up her favorite toy.

The point, Charlotte, is that you gave me new eyes. I live every day for every single bit of joy I can get out of it. I try not to waste time on the things that don't matter, and I look forward to having a reason to wake up for the rest of my life.

Thank you for that amazing, precious gift.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy

The Good Ship Wackiness

2009-01-04T22:55:00.016-05:00

Chilling out, as always

Dear Charlotte,

Mommy, as usual, is behind. After our hodge-podgey, Hannukah-modeled Buddhist Christmas-mash holiday, I took the four days I had off for New Years and did absolutely nothing. As in slept. Woke up. Had food. Played. Slept more. Shopped a little. Basically, I modeled my days after yours.

I rather like your life. Except that it means nothing gets done. Including blogging.

So to catch you up, here is how Christmas and the New Year celebrations went at our house:

Food

Playtime

More Food

Play? Or Food? Or BOTH??

Definitely play

Sleep

Mommy hopes you enjoyed the holiday wackiness as much as she did. And she is very, incredibly, truly unhappy at the prospect of leaving the wackiness and resuming boring work tomorrow. Because that means less time with you. And nobody, especially Mommy, wants that.

I love you Chuck.

Love,

Mommy

A Buddhist Christmas

2008-12-24T09:59:00.004-05:00

Your First Ornament, Courtesy of Mamaw & Nama

Dear Charlotte,

Today is Christmas Eve!!! Mommy is at work right now, but only for a little bit, and then she'll be home. We're going to do so much today, little one. We've got songs to sing along with, presents to wrap, dinner to make, Christmas movies to watch, and then it will be off to bed before Christmas with the Hurst family tomorrow! And then Christmas with Mamaw and Nama, and Christmas with Grandpa and Grams! It's a good thing you travel well, even with your first cold and your first teeth happening at the same time. You're a busy kid.

What's important to remember about Christmas, Charlotte, is that even though we don't celebrate a Christian Christmas, we celebrate the spirit of the season. That's important. We call it a Buddhist Christmas.

We do interfaith hybrid holidays in our house.

Daddy and Tug are technically Christian, though not affiliated, you and I are Buddhist, and the cat is Jewish (and sort of a bombing-the-dog's-water-bowl-with-a-glass-jar terrorist. Which puts her in league with the Demon Tree. Though we're still not really sure what they're protesting.) And all of that is perfectly okay and normal in our house. We celebrate all manner of holidays and important dates. And we forgive the protests and glass jar-bombings.

You are the luckiest child, Chuck. You are loved beyond measure, and you are surrounded by family and friends who would do anything for you, simply because they care unconditionally for you. There are people in the world who don't have that, and it's important to understand that, and never take it for granted. We have the ability to see the people we love, and to remember the people we can't see. We have a warm, safe place to sleep, and we know without a doubt that we will have something to eat when we wake up. There are people in the world, Charlotte, who don't have that. Many people. I tell your Daddy every day that we are not alone in the world, and that it's not just about us, and it's true. That's why, at Christmas, and every day, we try to do things for the people around us. We try to spread the love and fortune that we are lucky enough to have.

I am so excited to share this holiday, and this life, with you, my daughter. I feel blessed to have every single thing in my life. I am lucky enough to have past memories to look back on, and future memories to look forward to. You have a great-grandfather who can't be with us anymore, and who Mommy remembers with great joy this time of year. He would have been over the moon about you, Charlotte Ophelia. He was a great man, and he lived his life as honestly and proudly as he could. Oh, he wasn't a perfect man by any stretch, but he tried to do right by his family, and he is well-loved and remembered. You have a good bit of his spirit, and nothing is going to make me happier than to introduce you to his memory when you're old enough to understand what I'm saying.

Happy Christmas, sweet child.

Love,

Mommy

The Aftermath

2008-12-23T00:09:00.003-05:00

Tug, the Conquered

Dear Charlotte,

After a dinner party, even the doggie is exhausted.

I couldn't resist.

Love,

Mommy

La Cage aux Follies

2008-12-22T23:13:00.006-05:00

A Table Well Spent

Dear Charlotte,

Tonight was our dinner party with your awesomely rowdy uncles Jim and Jesse, and their much calmer, civilized counterparts: Aunt Amy and Aunt Kate.

First off, it should be noted that while I say "awesomely rowdy" and "calmer, civilized" to describe these people, they are the people who, along with Aunt Kindra and Uncle Jason, Daddy and Mommy hold as their dearest friends and loved ones.

That being said, tonight was probably the best night of Mommy's life, not taking away from the day you were born and the day Daddy and I met. You have had a highly eventful and busy week, and every time Mommy expects a meltdown befitting any normal 6 month old, you surprise me and have the time of your life and behave like you're light-years older than your age. (I told you all of this while you were snuggled in my arms upstairs, but it's worth telling you again and again and again).

Someday when you're older, you might understand the reason tonight was the best night of my life. When I moved out on my own, I was a loner. I didn't have much of an interest in roommates, or feel the need to party with large groups of people. You and I are very much alike in the sense that we prefer to absorb and take in what's going on around us, almost to the extent that we forget to participate.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

As I've made my way through the world, my biggest desire and dream has been to throw the kind of dinner party I've only ever seen on television. As usual, my dreams and expectations far outweighed the possibilities of reality. I always pictured the same thing in my perfect vision; a musical composition full of lights, sparkle, and cheer; people bustling in the door and shaking off the cold; plates piled with food, glasses of wine passed and conversations floating, and all of it decorated with a fine mist of holiday cheer.

Tonight, my wish came true.

Tonight, I saw from my viewpoint at the end of the table the vision in my dreams. My dearest friends sat around my beautifully decorated oak dining room table, sipping wine, drinking beer, and (hopefully!) enjoying some homemade chicken alfredo with all the little accoutrements. The demon Christmas tree sat in the background, precariously standing, but standing and cheerfully glowing nonetheless, and my amazing little family sat among them. I sat in my chair, soaking in the atmosphere, and I realized the simplest truth of them all:

I am the luckiest woman on the planet. Tonight, I had friends to cook for, a family to adore, and a simple wood table to hold them all.

There is a scene in the movie "The Birdcage" where they are all dancing and singing before dinner, and one of the lines is, "I could have danced all night."

Charlotte, I hope you will get to experience the feeling that happens when your simplest wish comes true in spectacular fashion. Cuz baby girl, I'm still dancing.

I love you.

Mommy

Daddy's Revenge

2008-12-20T01:16:00.000-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Daddy would like me to point out that your beloved Demon Tree not only threw itself to the ground in protest, but later that night, when Daddy was walking past it, the Tree decided to take its revenge and mug your father by falling on him.

Directly.

On.

Him.

And now the Tree has been reprimanded twice, and is very sorry. We tried to cheer it up by placing pretty unwrapped presents beneath it. For now, it seems placated.

Love,

Mommy

Demon Tree

2008-12-19T11:34:00.003-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Mommy is sorry she hasn't written in several days. We've been held hostage by the tree above; to be fair, when I took that picture, it looked like a normal, cheery, naked Christmas tree, waiting for the decorating that would make it magical and cheery.

Little did I know it would turn out to be a pine-scented, scrooge-emulating, DEMON TREE!

Here's the long version:

Mommy and Daddy put the tree in its stand on Saturday, and on Monday night, after plenty of settling in and resting and temperature acclimating and such, we broke out the lights, ornaments, and glittery garland with which to be-deck our fabulous tree. You stayed up just long enough to witness the be-sparkling:

You LOVE the Tree: the texture, the sparkly bits, the great height, and the wonderment of the mystery. I think if you could sleep in the tree, or eat it, you definitely would do both. And the Tree seems to love you back, just like every. other. single. thing. you come in contact with.

So we settled in happily with our magical tree. And then Mommy took you to Walmart yesterday for some Christmas shopping, and the Tree was apparently so unhappy it couldn't go with you that it threw itself to the ground in protest. And it broke Daddy's new ornament in the process.

So now we're cleaning up Tree casualty, and we're admonishing the Tree to never do that again.

And Mommy's contemplating switching to a tree made out of gingerbread next year. Though finding a pan large enough may be a challenge.

Charlotte, when the herbacious species start to control the house, you know it's time to re-evaluate your leadership abilities.

Love,

Mommy

Crafty Mommy

2008-12-15T07:39:00.005-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

plus

equals

Love,

Mommy

...and the Snowy Mountain Disaster

2008-12-12T21:34:00.003-05:00

"Disaster on Snowy Mountain: Gumdrop and the Gang's Desperate Attempt to Survive a Night of Terror"

Dear Charlotte,

So I decided while I was at the store that it would be fun to make a gingerbread house. I found a handy kit that had everything inside, and I brought it home.

Such was the beginning of my demise.

Apparently, my karma faery wasn't the only one drinking on the job today. My artistic faery seems to have taken leave of her senses as well.

So much for "Weekend at Snowy Mountain".

Here endeth the lesson, along with my attempt at making a cute gingerbread house.

Love,

Mommy

Falling Behind the Tree

2008-12-12T14:48:00.005-05:00

A Typical Face

Dear Charlotte,

This has been an incredibly busy week at our house. Mommy has been superhero slammed trying to get ready for Christmas. Which usually entails stacks and stacks of lists of the things to do, buy, and organize before we start making the rounds to visit all of our families. Which reminds me. They should invent a gift-wrapping machine.

This year is a little different for us, because you'll be part of the family road trip equation. If you thought Thanksgiving involved lots of family and driving, Christmas is going to blow your mind. We're talking the Hurst family re-enactment of 8 Crazy Nights. Cuz that's what it is. 7 Christmas celebrations in 8 nights. (Note to future you: if ever, EVER, the word divorce crosses your mind, just think about how many different families you grew up having to visit on holidays, and don't inflict that on your children.)

I read another blog this morning while I was sipping my raspberry tea at my desk at work, and it mentioned Christmas trees, and how they bought the huge tree, but also more, tiny Charlie Brown trees for each of the kids to decorate however they chose. That inspired me to do the same for you when you are old enough to decorate your own tree. Or age one, whichever comes first. You are already proving that once you get an idea stuck in your head, you don't let it go until you've mastered it. And once you've mastered it, watch out.

I could easily be the happiest person in the universe spending my every waking moment playing on the floor with you and Daddy and the dog, buying Christmas presents, and taking baths with Lush's amazing bath bombs. But since I haven't figured out how to convince the world that money is overrated, I cannot stop earning it (which would free up all of my time to perform said activities above), and thus I will continue my days trying to find the happy in everything I do. And I will continue to try and see everything through your eyes, with their magical ability to find joy in every little speck of life.

Love,

Mommy

Popcorn is Best in Moderation (Or Not)

2008-12-07T14:07:00.004-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Last night we went to your Aunt Kindra's annual popcorn ball party. You had such a blast! You were there last year, of course, but you don't know it, as you were barely a multi-celled organism in Mommy's tummy at that point.

You got to see all of your cousins and aunts and uncles. When we were getting ready to leave, Aunt Kindra's mommy Barbie told us to plan on the same time next year for the party; that got Mommy to realize that next year, we will have three toddlers and a school-age child at the party with us (if not more children!). This year, we had two toddlers and two babies. Last year, it was a toddler and a baby.

This makes Mommy feel old.

Today, we are supposed to be working on Christmas decorations, but everyone is tired from the big hubbub last night, so Mommy is going to work on cleaning the poor neglected house, and then she is going to work on Christmas presents for everyone!

Hooray, Christmas!

Love,
Mommy

Finer Points

2008-12-03T15:47:00.003-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Daddy would like me to clarify a few things about the Christmas story I told you regarding Mommy the Magical Elf. Mommy believes that these technicalities would muddle the overall intent of the story, but Daddy seems intent on making fun of the story otherwise. So, much to my displeasure, here are some rather obvious disclaimers:

Technically, Daddy doesn't glow.

Neither does Mommy.

Though she would like to.

Technically, you have FOUR Grandma Elves.

None of whom are actually called "Grandma".

None of them glow either.

Technically, we shouldn't call Mr. Casper "Casper", because, well, it's not a very nice way to reference the oddly pale color of his skin.

Crankshaft, however, doesn't mind being called Crankshaft because, well, he is.

Technically, you, as Duds the Littlest Elf, aren't able to actually speak so much as focus your laserbeam gaze on me and project your thoughts into my head.

(That last one might have been a tad overreaching)

So there you have it.

Love,

Mommy

Because It's Freaking Christmas, Casper Scrooge!

2008-12-02T20:23:00.006-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Once Upon A Time there lived an elf named Mommy. Mommy lived in her little hut with Daddy the elf, and Duds the Littlest Elf. Every day, Mommy went to her job with her boss, Crankshaft, and her co-worker, Mr. Casper. Everything was normal until one day, a magical sound rose through the air. When the sound reached Mommy's ears, a funny thing happened.

Her toes twitched

and her nose itched

and a warm glow started to spread

from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

And when Daddy saw it start, he smiled. He'd seen this before; it happened every year, at just the same time. "It's almost time," he winked to Duds the Littlest Elf. "Soon you'll see."

And when Grandma Elf saw it, she smiled. "It's coming," she whispered to Duds.

"What is it?" Duds asked.

"Christmas!" Grandma said. "Soon you'll understand."

And as time went on, the glow started to spread. Duds watched as Daddy started to glow; then, Grandma started to glow! Duds wondered when she would glow too. The sound was everywhere now; all around Duds, other elves were glowing, though none as brightly as Mommy.

Then one day, Mommy took Duds to work with her. Duds was so excited! She wanted to see Crankshaft and Mr. Casper glow just like Mommy. Would their noses itch, and their toes twitch? But when she and Mommy arrived at work, something strange was going on. The sound wasn't here. And when Duds saw Mr. Casper, she gasped. He was gone! In his place was a terrible, shrunken gray man with a scowl on his face.

"Where is Mr. Casper?" Duds asked, horrified. She clung to Mommy's shirt.

"That's Casper Scrooge," Mommy whispered. Her glow was completely gone now.

Duds thought Mommy's work was strange. There was no glow, no happy sound. Crankshaft seemed to be oblivious to everything around him, while Casper Scrooge scowled and complained all day long. And Duds missed the sound; when she snuggled up to Mommy real close and pressed her ear to her heart, she could hear the sound, very very faintly. Several times, Duds watched as Mommy's toes started to twitch. The first few times, the toes stopped on their own. But as the day wore on, the toes refused to stop. Then Mommy started to hum under her breath. Duds looked carefully, and the glow was back! It was in Mommy's eyes, creeping out along her cheeks.

But just then, Casper Scrooge looked up and glared at Mommy. "None of that!" he screeched in a gravelly, whining voice. "You cannot ignore our deal! Until the month is past, those toes cannot twitch, that nose cannot itch. There will be no glow here!"

Duds watched, heartbroken, as the glow retreated back into Mommy's eyes, and the toes stopped twitching. A small sigh escaped Mommy's lips, and she went back to work. Duds watched all the rest of the day, but the glow never returned.

It was like that for a long time. Days and days. Mommy would leave every morning, the wonderful glow surrounding her, but when she returned from work, the glow was gone. Daddy would take Mommy in his arms, and the glow would slowly return, but never as brightly as the first time Duds saw it.

Then one day, Mommy came home from work, and she was glowing more brightly than Duds had ever seen! She swept Duds up in her arms and danced her around the room.

"Oh, Duds, can you feel it? Do you sense that something is in the air? It's Christmas! It's coming so soon! Just 23 days." Then she set Duds down, and continued to spin. Then she showed Duds a photo. It was the prettiest tree Duds had ever seen. It sparkled and shone bits of red and spots of gold. And atop it all, there was a miniature snowman. "That's the tree at my work that I decorated today," Mommy sang. "And it sits atop the filing cabinet, and shines and shines."

"But Mommy," Duds said, both dazzled and confused by this new transformation. "What about Casper Scrooge?"

"We don't have to worry about him anymore," Mommy answered. "You see, Casper Scrooge hates Christmas. He feels no joy for it, and thus thinks that no one should feel any joy. Many months ago, he forced me to make a deal with him. I promised that not a word of Christmas, not a twitch nor an itch, would appear in our office, until it was time for Christmas. Casper Scrooge thought he had me beat, but he forgot one thing. The time for Christmas is now! It's December, the month of Christmas! So this very morning, I strode purposefully to the storage closet, and I took out my little Charlie Brown Christmas tree, and I decorated it beautifully so that it sparkled and shined! And when Casper Scrooge saw the tree, he shouted, 'No! You must honor the deal! There can be no Christmas here!' but I said, 'Oh yes, Casper Scrooge, there is Christmas here! The deal is done! The month of Christmas is here!' And then, Duds, then I could feel it!"

My toes twitched

and my nose itched

and I started to glow

from the top of my head to the tips of my toes!

And Duds saw the glow. And she heard the sound. And she knew that Christmas was finally, at last, here.

Listen to me now, Charlotte. There will always be the Scrooges of the world trying to take away your glow. But you hold tight! There is magic, and love, and I can't wait to put up our Christmas lights at home so that you can see it all firsthand.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy

Chuck's First Week of Life (and Other Stories)

2008-11-30T22:58:00.010-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Mommy was so incredibly happy to see you today! It seems like you've been gone for longer than 3 days, and your neurons are definitely firing on all cylinders now! You've learned so many new skills just since I saw you last, it's hard to imagine what you'll be doing in a month at Christmas.

The photo above is your very first photo taken with Santa. Gammie took you to have your picture taken this weekend, and we were all so impressed when you weren't afraid of Santa one little bit! You have always been my social butterfly, from the day you were born.

In fact, when you were 8 days (mere days!!!) old, you attended your cousin Lilly's first birthday party. Aside from the birthday girl herself, I think you were the most popular person there! Not that you knew it, of course. You slept the entire time, waking up only long enough to have something to eat. Then it was right back to your favorite activity of the time.

I LOVE these pictures of you. It's hard to believe you've grown so much, so fast.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy

Social Injustices of the World

2008-11-29T22:40:00.003-05:00

Dear Chuck,

*giggle* Daddy hates when I call you that. I'm not 100% sure why, but he claims it just hasn't grown on him. I'll admit, you don't exactly resemble a Chuck to me, but then again, our original name for you was either Isabella or Ava. I like to think we hit the nail on the head with Charlotte.

In absence of your presence, Daddy and I braved the mall today to purchase presents for your cousins Lilly and Jaden and your Uncle Jason. While we were there, Mommy got her hair cut, and spent a good while talking to the nice man who was cutting said hair.

The nice man, it turns out, is gay; a few days ago, his car got broken into, and some nasty words were left for him. Words that you should never have to know. And this made the nice man sad, because he has never been a mean person, and he has never done anything to justify people hating him for being who he is.

And that made Mommy think, as things like that usually do, about the kind of world you're going to grow up in. Charlotte, people are going to say mean, terrible things to you sometimes. It happens to everyone. The world is full of people who disagree on everything from religion, to sexual preference, to how you wear your hair and whether or not you should have your ears pierced. It really is a crazy place out there. And you, my darling child, are likely to be on the receiving end of that kind of criticism far more than others your age, simply because of your family. And there are days that kind of criticism is going to hurt, and you aren't going to understand why people are so hateful.

What you need to know, my dear, sweet Charlotte, is that none of that matters. The hurtful things that people say do not matter one little bit. It doesn't matter that Mommy and Daddy's parents are divorced; it doesn't matter that Nama isn't a man, and that Mamaw loves her anyway. It doesn't matter if Mommy has a hundred tattoos, or that Daddy has none, and it doesn't matter what religion you choose to follow, or who you fall in love with. What matters, sweet girl, is that you are loved. You have been loved since the day you were born, and that love will follow you until you take your last breath, and it doesn't matter what choices you make in life. I will love you every single moment of every single day, and absolutely nothing you or anyone else can do will make me change my mind.

Still missing you. I can't wait to see your smiley face tomorrow.

Love,

Mommy

Penny and Bolt

2008-11-28T22:57:00.003-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Daddy and I went to dinner and a movie tonight. Mommy cried, because the dog and little girl in the movie reminded her of you and your Tuggie. Minus the cool gadgets and the super bark.

I miss you. See you Sunday.

Love,

Mommy

Why Bibs Were Invented

2008-11-27T21:12:00.008-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Today you experienced your first Thanksgiving, and all of the exhausting effort involved in eating way too much and seeing practically everyone you know.

Mommy also woke you up late and accidentally packed your clean bibs for the trip today, so you ate your cereal in your white onesie. Soon after, you attended an emergency meeting of the bathtime club, and Mommy learned never to take bibs for granted again.

Mommy also cried today; you are staying at Gammie's house for three whole days and nights, and when we left you were crying in your pack n' play because it was noisy and you were exhausted, and all I wanted to do was snatch you up into my arms and take you away and hug you so close and breathe in your baby scent and tell you that everything was alright and that I would make it all better. But instead I swallowed my tears and kissed your downy head and whispered that I loved you more than anything in this world, and that everything would be alright.

Because I do, and because it will be. And 'cause even though I miss you already, and won't know what to do with my empty house and your mournful doggie for three days, I have that sweet baby scent locked in my memory. And until you're back snuggled in my arms, your Tuggie and I will be regrettably sleeping in late and missing our sweet little baby.

Goodnight, my angel.

Love,

Mommy

What is Thanksgiving?

2008-11-26T07:15:00.009-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving! I know in the snug little world of your blankie, you don't have any idea what that means, and that's okay; when you're older, you will appreciate the time you have with your family the way I do now.

Thanksgiving means a lot of different things to people. For you, me, and Daddy, it means traveling. A lot of traveling. It means two meals spent with different sides of the family on Thanksgiving, and two more meals in the weeks before,which is a lot of food, if you think about it.

Thanksgiving means naptime.

Thanksgiving means that Daddy works a ton of long days during the week leading up to Turkey Thursday, and then gets up at 2am the very next morning after all that food and traveling so that he can go to work and get overrun by the crazy Black Friday shoppers. Black Friday is another holiday, one that means absolutely nothing to you right now, and shouldn't until you're much older and acquire your first set of riot gear.

The biggest thing about Thanksgiving is family. You are so lucky; you get to see everyone in your family at Thanksgiving. Oh, we have to spread it out a little so that everybody gets some time (and who can really eat four turkey dinners in one day, really?), but it's still really awesome that you get to see everyone who loves you. Because they do. They (and we) love you an incredible amount; so much so that it's hard to describe with words that already exist. We love you a gigantiferous amount, and I hope you spend the rest of your life secure in that knowledge.

Your daddy and I believe that it is our duty as your parents to make sure you know you are loved, and loved immensely. We believe that we owe you the chance to know your family while they are still alive. Because someday, they won't be, and memories and photos will be all you have left. We owe you those memories. I have a secret for you, my darling baba. Parents aren't perfect; we make incredible mistakes over and over again and pray to the gods at night that our children will forgive us for them. Grandparents, however, are a different story. Grandparents are angels on earth, perfect in the eyes of their grandchildren. You will learn this someday. And your da and I owe our parents the chance to be those perfect grandparents to you.

You don't know it, but you've already had two Thanksgiving dinners. Two! Poppaw was mighty impressed when you ate your entire container of carrots without hesitation or complaint. Mommy won't even eat cooked carrots without complaint, so that's a big check in the plus column for you.

When you're older, if you decide you will no longer eat cooked carrots, I won't be upset. In fact, I might be a little relieved. And you know what? You will still be my amazing, precious daughter, eater of cooked carrots or not.

Love,

Mommy

Thanksgiving

2008-11-25T23:34:00.004-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

I know Thanksgiving is two days away, but I don't care. Here are the things I'm grateful for right now:

I am grateful for the little herding dog with the mile high ears. I am grateful for the sweet, innocent laughter that you filled my ears with while we played on your Winnie the Pooh story quilt. I am grateful for your daddy, just like I am every single day. And I am grateful for a co-worker who understands what it's like to have kids, and who doesn't mind when you come hang out in our cramped office and take a nap on my desk chair because Daddy had to go for a job interview in Lancaster.

Mostly, I am grateful for you, little one.

Love,

Mommy

Chuck and the Amazing Superdog

2008-11-25T22:48:00.009-05:00

Dear Chuck,

I never thought when we named you that I'd write a letter to you starting with "Dear Chuck". But, that's what we've sorta started calling you. Your Mamaw and I got into a mini-discussion yesterday and today about your nicknames, and which ones we think are winners. Daddy has called you Duds from about day one, when you nearly ended his diaper changing career right there in the hospital. Who knew that such a sweet, innocent baby could make such a stink? Daddy sure didn't. I have called you Face more than anything, because those were my very first words to you as you were being born. Gammie likes to call you Charlotte O, after another famous lady who had O for a middle inital too; Mamaw is more partial to Little Girl or Miss C.

Nama hates all of those and secretly calls you Charlie.

Your newest nickname is a bit unusual, though it's no more strange than the others you've acquired. My friend Nick at work has a butt-load of trouble spelling your name correctly when we instant message each other at work. Who knew that Charlotte could be spelled so many different ways? Finally, he gave up, and he now calls you Chuck, because he can remember how to spell that. Because he calls you Chuck, I've started to call you Chuck, and now that's spread to your daddy. A tiny part of me desperately fears that when you're fifteen, you'll hate Daddy and me for this. But right now you're content to respond to just about anything we call you with a toothless, drool-filled grin, and we continue in our secure, new-parent knowledge that we're the moon and stars to you.

Well, next to the dog, that is.

Tug is probably your best friend in the entire world, and you are most certainly his. His whole mission in life is to make you the cleanest, safest, most giggly baby you can possibly be. When you spend the weekend at Gammie's, he is lost. When I am rocking you to sleep at night, he is at my feet, chewing happily on his bone that he dragged all the way up the stairs especially so he can have something of his in your room. When you wake each morning, he is beside your crib, ready to share your blanket, your ticklish toes, and your mashed sweet potatoes (which you kindly smear across your face and hands so he can clean them off for you). At night, when you cry in your sleep, he is nudging your door, whining frantically at me to save whatever is causing you hurt, as if I do not already want to do that enough.

I love you, sweet girl. And your little dog, too.

Love,
Mommy