kara

Thanks David, Jessica and John, for letting me play with your old tunnel tent toy. I love it!

“I’d rather be in a tent than in a house.” —Mary Leakey

Now that the weather’s nice, Sophie feeds our backyard birds almost every day.

Her great grandpa Mangan would be proud.

“In order to see birds it is necessary to become part of the silence.” —Robert Lynd

Sophie loves lining up objects. And if you walk by and casually move something out of the line, she notices—immediately—and puts it back. Andy has expressed concern over this. But I’ve read that at this age it’s normal (and, as someone whose clothes are arranged by color and sleeve length, I empathize with her desire—and apologize if this is my fault).

“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” —Flaubert

The babies are doing great. Baby A weighs 2 lbs., 9 oz. and Baby B weighs 1 lb., 15 oz. (I, however, have gained 28 pounds!) I was a little concerned about Baby B’s rate of growth compared to Baby A but apparently the weight they come up with after viewing the babies via ultrasound isn’t all that accurate. Both hearts are still beating strong. I was lucky to have my dad and both of Andy’s parents there with me for the ultrasound. I go back in two weeks for an appointment only.

Baby A is still head down but now Baby B is breech. I thought this would mean I’d be scheduling an ultrasound but apparently if Baby A is head down and Baby B is smaller than Baby B I can still do a VBAC even though Baby B is breech. Everyone seems to have a different opinion on VBACs with twins, though, so we haven’t made any final decisions yet. For now, I’m just happy they’re happy with staying put.

And, as you can see, Sophie loves my now built-in pillow.

“I begin to love this creature,
and to anticipate her birth
as a fresh twist to a knot,
which I do not wish to untie.” —Mary Wollstonecraft

Dear Sophie,

Because you love to cook, this year I let you help me make your double-layer chocolate cake with homemade chocolate icing. You loved licking the icing spoon—a couple times.

For awhile we thought you’d be celebrating your birthday in a T-shirt—and no pants. But Gramma somehow convinced you to wear your very pretty ladybug dress with your favorite cherry red patent-leather shoes.

We decorated the dining room with purple streamers and purple balloons as purple seems to be your favorite color as of late.

We also bought you flowers.

And, of course, we hung the birthday banner. On the mantel you had two cards from your great grandmas.

You celebrated your birthday with all your grandparents, and Mia and Tucker.

You’re still not sure about your birthday hat, which is OK—it makes for a lovely table decoration.

We made your favorite food—three homemade pizzas and a fruit salad with strawberries, blueberries, grapes, apples and bananas. You asked for “more strawberries” (with an added “please” if prompted) over and over again during dinner.

Waiting for dinner to cook is easier with grandparents around.

Carrying on a Gebhart tradition you got the red plate for your birthday.

You were most excited, though, for presents.

But first we sang “Happy Birthday” to you …

and helped you blow out the two sparkly star candles on your cake.

We took a family picture …

and a quick one with Pop Pop and Nini before you got too upset (presents were waiting, after all).

And then you opened your many gifts!

Pop Pop gave you your very first baseball bat and, although I’m not sure why, you love to push it around the house like it’s a vacuum cleaner.

He also gave you your very own baseball to throw on opening day.

The Wonder Pets toy from Greg and Suzy was a huge hit. In fact, we had to distract you from it so you’d open more gifts!

We got you a Buzz doll that talks. You slept with him that night.

Uncle Kyle and Aunt Christina sent you a very cool book called Swing, and Aunt Lizzie sent you a set of the very cool The Young Mad Scientist’s First Alphabet Blocks.

After opening two cute outfits from Nini and Pop Pop, we took a cake and ice cream break. You love cake and ice cream, and often ask for it for breakfast (unfortunately you get served oatmeal or toast or fruit instead).

Then, if you can believe it, more presents—activity books, sticker books, your very first board game, fruit you can “slice” open and a perfectly sized Sophie chair from Gramma and Paw Paw.

We then brought up your brand-new play kitchen (which I was so excited to find on Craigslist).

Nini and Pop Pop gave you your very own set of pots and pans to use with it.

Paw Paw taught you how to “cut” your fruit on the cutting board.

You played with your kitchen for a very long time.

Happy birthday, my love. You have given us so much joy these past two years—it’s amazing how much you’ve grown. In addition to loving you we now really, truly, play with you and have conversations with you and every day we learn more and more about you. We can’t wait for the years to come.

Love,
Mom

“We turn no older with years but newer every day.” —Emily Dickinson

March 30, 2008

March 30, 2009

March 30, 2010

“The years teach much which the days never knew.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few weekends ago Gramma introduced Sophie to ice cream in a cone.

She loved it (and the visit with Gramma).

This week has been a tough one for Sophie and me. Sophie will be 2 on Tuesday. I’ve never liked the phrase “terrible twos.” I don’t want an entire year of my child’s life labeled as “terrible.” But I’m beginning to understand why the label exists. It’s tough to know when to fight battles and when to let things go. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know where I stand on things. Some things, yes. I want my children to be kind to others. I believe consistent discipline, even at a very young age, is good and necessary. However, I don’t want to constantly say “no” for fear the word will lose its power. I think screaming back at a child is childish (even though there are times I really want to). I don’t believe in spanking. I want my children to be more often happy and content than frustrated and mad.

Some things are easy. When I found Sophie standing on her tip-toes on the toilet seat in order to get into the bathroom cabinet I had no hesitation in firmly saying “no” and pulling her down. When she purposefully pulls the power cord out of my laptop, smiles at me and then sticks it in her mouth, well, she knows that’s an automatic time-out. But what about the whining? When I say, “Sophie, don’t whine,” does she even know what “whine” means? Or the constant “Mommy, hold you!” (which means hold me)? Am I denying her love and affection by not comforting her every time she asks or, by telling her to wait, am I teaching her independence and better preparing her for when the babies arrive? And my favorite, usually uttered when she’s being disciplined for something else: “No, Mama. No talking.”

She’s independent. She’s bossy. She talks back, which is infuriating, but she talks back in complete sentences, using words I don’t even know how she knows, which is amazing. Her love for me overwhelms me, daily. She’s egocentric. She’s fickle. She’s way more complicated than any story I’ve ever written or any magazine I’ve ever edited. Figuring her out, helping her grow, mothering her is the most tedious, fun, difficult and rewarding job I’ve ever had. And yet I don’t have a degree in it.

I let our bad days get to me. When she misbehaves I feel as though I have failed. And then I slide down that slippery selfish slope and start thinking truly absurd things, like my own daughter doesn’t love me.

Wednesday was a particularly bad day. The fact that she’s no longer napping in bed (a topic for another post) didn’t help. So, around 4pm, I loaded her up into the Subaru and we drove to Graeter’s. She requested a scoop of chocolate. I had two scoops of peanut butter chip. She was thrilled with this treat.

We took a long time eating our ice cream on outside picnic tables overlooking the city. It was there we made up. I can still picture her perfectly, sitting on her knees, spooning chocolate bite after chocolate bite into her little mouth, smiling more contentedly and happily than I had seen all week.

As our bowls were nearing empty I started coughing. Sophie looked at me, with deep concern and asked, “You OK, Mom?” I stared at her. This was not textbook toddler egocentricism. This was her love. For me. So clearly evident. “Yes,” I said. “I’m OK.”

And I was.

We finished our ice cream and she willingly held my hand all the way back to the car.

She fell asleep on the three-minute drive home in part because she had a full belly and in part because she had had no nap. So I pulled into our driveway, cracked the windows and turned off the car. Andy came home, an hour later, to find Sophie sleeping in her car seat and me, sitting in the driver’s seat, reading Buddhism for Mothers: A Calm Approach to Caring for Yourself and Your Children, a book my mom recently gave to me and one I sometimes believe was written for me.

Sometimes I feel like we’re both just fumbling along—Sophie learning how to live this life, how to grow, and me learning how to help her live her best life possible, and grow. Sometimes I wish I had a style book for our particular lives, our particular situations, alphabetically arranged, indisputable answers clearly stated. And then, sometimes, I realize a time-out, for both of us, and two bowls of ice cream, are all we really need.

“Your love is better than ice cream
better than anything else that I’ve tried
and your love is better than ice cream
everyone here knows how to fight

and it’s a long way down
it’s a long way down
it’s a long way down to the place
where we started from

Your love is better than chocolate
better than anything else that I’ve tried
oh love is better than chocolate
everyone here knows how to cry

it’s a long way down
it’s a long way down
it’s a long way down to the place
where we started from …” —Sarah McLachlan

Andy and I recently made the trip to Athens, OH to help surprise Bill for his 30th birthday—Sophie spent the night at my parents’ house (and visited her great grandma!).

Lauren and Nick

Jack

Greg and Jenna

Cristi

Jason and Megan

Bill with Mandy, who knows how to throw an amazing surprise party, complete with custom T-shirts and Bonbonerie cake!

The C.I.

I felt very pregnant, and very old in The C.I., from the moment the bouncer stamped my hand while simultaneously waving my ID away, indicating he didn’t want—or need—to check it. It was such a strange feeling, walking the same brick streets I walked 10 years ago, then with what felt like a million and one possibilities ahead of me and now with my life seeming so, well, set. I often wish I could take that feeling of expectation so prevalent in my early 20s and stick it inside myself as a reminder that despite marriage and a mortgage and mouths to feed and a minivan on the way, there’s so much possibility, life surprises, goals to reach and achievements to come. I loved college. But I hate when people claim it as the best years of their lives. Because it was only four years. And already so long ago. And I’d like to think my favorite moments are calendars away from now, patiently waiting, and when they come and go, new ones—better ones—lie ahead.

Or maybe, thoughts like these are simply the result of my pregnancy hormones getting the best of me while trying to mesh in a college bar. So enough of that. Happy birthday, Bill. We were so happy to be able to celebrate with you.

“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sometimes, craft projects require a monster costume.

“Inside all of us is a Wild Thing.” —Maurice Sendak

Sophie spent several days insisting on wearing her cherry red patent-leather shoes—without socks—from Gramma and Paw Paw.

This, of course, resulted in several days of mismatched outfits (but one exclamation of “Oh, I LOVE your shoes!” from another little girl at the grocery store).

As you can see in the last picture, Sophie also is getting more particular about having her picture taken. She often buries her head and says, “I can’t smile mama!”

“When in doubt, wear red.” —Bill Blass