A newsletter for me. Good lord, I’ve been alive 456 months, lets pretend there’s 24 months in a year – that makes me only 19 years old…

Dear Becca,

This month your hair grew out just enough to be at that awkward in-between short and long phase where you have to wear a clip so it stays out of your eyes and you stop looking like Carol Brady:

You revived your book club and got everyone together to actually discuss books…and beer – but mostly books.

You finally figured out which circuit breaker at work controls the library so every time your illegal and totally unsafe space heater under your desk trips the breaker you can turn the electricity back on.

You finally found the owners manual for your car (that you bought TEN months ago) and realized what you already suspected – that the ‘maintenance required’ light is Scion’s way of needlessly scaring owners in to getting their oil changed. Ingeniously you borrowed a Hello Kitty sticker from Lucy and fixed the annoying problem.

You joined weight watchers and lost 5 pounds and then realized it was your birthday month and spent the next two weeks putting it all back on. The shear quantity of wine and pancakes that you consume really helped out.

You were bored one day and flossed your teeth. You did approximately 900 loads of laundry. You painted the kitchen and your bedroom. You went to your yearly physical three years late.

You’re favorite things right now: day light savings time, online banking, Lucy, finally moving back in to your bedroom, mint chocolate chip ice cream, your husband (not in that order).

You are totally ah-mazing.

Lucy,

Weekday mornings, after getting dressed, you like to sit on the kitchen counter while I make your breakfast. When I get the milk out for my coffee you hug it and say ‘Oh milky, milky – I love you” and you hold it close until I take it away from you. You never want to drink it. It’s really cute but really weird.

You are in a phase when you can only love one of us at the same time. So, if I do something that makes mad, or say ‘no’ to you, you’ll look at me and say “It’s okay Mommy, I love Daddy.”

You are obsessed with knowing who made everything (probably because your grandmothers are always knitting or quilting you something cute). Every time you put on a piece of clothing you ask “who made this for me Mommy?” and if I say “the people at the store” you’ll need to know who bought it for you.

Sometimes you ask “Who made me Mommy?” and I’ll tell you that Mommy and Daddy made you and you will say to me with complete solemnity “Thank you Mommy.”

You are super cute, but you definitely have a cranky side to you. It’s probably our fault for spoiling you but you do no like to hear the word ‘no’  – you will pout and whine and cry and put yourself in a time out. Your father and I are trying to ignore this behavior in the hopes that it will end on its own, but until then we are calling this the reason there is so much wine in the house.

You are a really good talker and there’s not much that you say that we can’t understand anymore. You can spell your name and recite the alphabet and count to 20. You know many nursery rhymes although you don’t understand why humpty dumpty couldn’t be put back together again or wrap your head around why anyone would live in a shoe. There are things that you say that are adorably cute – you call mud puddles (or any puddle) ‘muddles’  and you say ‘Polka Bots’ instead of polka dots and ‘dictioner’ for conditioner.

You are very finicky about your socks. You have very particular ideas about what you will and wont wear and if you end up in the wrong ones you completely break down and cannot go on. Your favorite pair has Dora on them, but we only have one pair of Dora socks, so you are often disappointed.

This month I lost you in Target and I experienced a fear that I have never known before. At the time you did not seemed much phased by the experience but ever since it happened you have been extra vigilant about staying within eyesight of me whenever we are out and about.

You are an amazing little girl and I am in constant awe of you.

Love, Mommy