Friday, February 09, 2007
Quasi-Haircut
I cut her bangs. They were jagged and wispy. I cut her bangs. And guess what, 3 times after that she has STILL BEEN MISTAKEN FOR A BOY. I left the curls in the back. I dress her in pinks and purples and reds and yellows. I need to shape the rest of her growth, but I am afraid to touch it for fear she will always be mistaken for a boy until I have a french braid reaching her hiney. I cut her bangs. I am not sorry I did so, but I am sorry she still gets mistaken. I will post a picture this weekend. To me she just looks more defined, not grown up, just defined. I know, I'm goofy. You all love me.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
"Myself"
We all see little parts of our history reappear from time to time and when that happens we experience the joy of reminiscing or the fright of reliving a disaster. Jeremy and I find time to do this often in our life - even more so now that we are seeing parts of our lives reappear in the form of a 2 year old. Yes, that's right. Emma will be 2 this month. We cannot believe it and I am sure that most of you are feeling similar, both about Emma and about your own children. Our parents were right. The time does just fly by.
My most recent moment of history reappearing was with Emma at the dinner table about 2 weeks ago. She is becoming rather independent with numerous things that she is determined to be stubborn about. She wants to try everything that she sees Mommy and Daddy do. "I do it! I do it!" We find it rather cute and most of the time oblige because we would like for her to practice most tasks.
However, the phrase changed to eerily familiar sound for me the other night while she was attempting to feed herself with a fork. She added a pronoun at the end of the phrase to make sure that I completely understood who was going to do it.
"I do it, myself!"
You see, most of you will find that adorable and laugh about it. However, I must give you the background. You see, this phrase has haunted me all of my life. My mother had spent the majority of my life reminding me that I proved to be a challenge for her in my upbringing because of my determination to accomplish tasks on my own. (aka stubborn) The way in which I would let her know that I was seeking to perform a said task without assistance resonated in my head through the voice of my daughter.
"I do it, myself!"
It began the same way. It is happening. My daughter is becoming me - not just in appearance, but in demeanor and attitude as well. I am almost positive that my mother is having a giggle fit about this in Heaven. I also think this won't be her last giggle fit either. I love you, Mom!
My most recent moment of history reappearing was with Emma at the dinner table about 2 weeks ago. She is becoming rather independent with numerous things that she is determined to be stubborn about. She wants to try everything that she sees Mommy and Daddy do. "I do it! I do it!" We find it rather cute and most of the time oblige because we would like for her to practice most tasks.
However, the phrase changed to eerily familiar sound for me the other night while she was attempting to feed herself with a fork. She added a pronoun at the end of the phrase to make sure that I completely understood who was going to do it.
"I do it, myself!"
You see, most of you will find that adorable and laugh about it. However, I must give you the background. You see, this phrase has haunted me all of my life. My mother had spent the majority of my life reminding me that I proved to be a challenge for her in my upbringing because of my determination to accomplish tasks on my own. (aka stubborn) The way in which I would let her know that I was seeking to perform a said task without assistance resonated in my head through the voice of my daughter.
"I do it, myself!"
It began the same way. It is happening. My daughter is becoming me - not just in appearance, but in demeanor and attitude as well. I am almost positive that my mother is having a giggle fit about this in Heaven. I also think this won't be her last giggle fit either. I love you, Mom!
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