I Voted

So Grace is obsessed with the President. She calls Barack Obama her President.

Sometimes asks to call him at the White House because he is her President and she wants to tell him something. Although when pressed, she will admit most of the time the call would be placed just to say hi.

She's slowly been making a presidential montage over the last year. This fine original acrylic is my favorite piece.

It is called "President Barack Obama Stands by the American Flag".
The bumper sticker is mine.

And today, much like most of America, she is excited. And nervous. And outraged that 5 year olds aren't allowed to vote.

Don't worry though baby, Daddy and I have you covered.

And no matter what CNN tells us tomorrow, he will always be your President.

Signage

While baking with Maga was a treat, it is not an unusual practice in our house.

The kitchen is the center of our home.

The girls jockey for position to help cook meals. Part of the reason why vegetables have made such a big resurgence on our dinner plates is that the girls can easily help prep them. Peeling corn, snapping beans, picking tomatoes and prepping salads are all proven and fulfilling toddler-preschooler activities.

But just in case anybody forgets the drill, Grace has taken it upon herself  to create some signage.

Oh, and as an afterthought.....

To bad the person they are directed at can't read yet.

Fallen

Two and a half weeks have flown by since we lost Lil’ Rick.

Matt picked up his ashes from the vet yesterday. I guess they will mingle with my good crystal until spring rolls back around and we can give him a proper burial. Returned to the earth under rose bushes dedicated in his name.

He was such a part of our routine. The first few nights I kept calling him, annoyed that he didn’t answer.
‘Come on dude, it’s time to go out. I want to go to bed!’
I’d go to grab a cookie, to shake the glass lid that housed them to rouse him from slumber upstairs, and the jar would be gone from the counter top. I’d freeze, futilely fighting the burn at the back of my throat. He’s not coming downstairs because he is no longer here.

We were grateful that Grace really didn’t ask questions about Rick’s where-a-bouts. She would mention him in passing when going through lists of family and things that she loves.
‘We’re going to go to my happy birthday party. You and Me and Daddy and Clare and Maga and Unkey Jer and Ricky!’
‘Ricky isn’t going to your party Love.’
‘Oh. OK. He’s a dog. He can't go.’
And then she would start talking about Curious George or the leaves she picked up off the ground that morning or what she ‘wants for eat’ that night.

We didn’t correct her. It was still too hard of a thing, and we figured why bring pain to her if she’s not specifically asking questions. The other day she asked. Or she said something about him that made us think she should tell her.

‘So Grace, you know how you haven’t seen Rick in awhile?’
‘Yeah. Where is he?’
‘Lil’ Rick had to go away Love.’
‘Oh? Where did he go?’
‘Well, he was really old – way older than you or me or even Maga – and he went away and isn’t going to be able to come back anymore.’
‘Where did he go? I want him to come back.’
‘He died sweetie. You know how the leaves are falling off the trees right now? It’s because the leaves are old and the tree can’t keep them attached anymore. The leaves die. The tree has to let the old ones go. Ricky was kind of like an old leaf.’
‘Oh, OK…. Ricky fell off??’
‘Kind of Grace. He was old and tired and ready to go to heaven.’
‘Oh. OK. I will miss him. Can I have another cookie?’

She’s mentioned him in the same passing ‘things I love’ way a time or two since that conversation, but hasn’t really asked more questions about him.

Nor has she played with the leaves in the morning though.



Now what?

Upward

Yesterday, when I picked Gracie up from daycare I was greeted with a story. Mrs. Hagi was so tickled that she’d apparently tried calling me for an immediate recount.

Gracie and her best friend (which, by the way, they’ve been teaching her to say- best friend) were fighting and L pushed Gracie to the ground. Upon her ‘not nice’ scolding L had a melt down and threw herself onto the floor flailing and crying. Mrs. Hagi scooped Grace up for a diaper change and injury inspection.

I am told that Gracie tried to escape in order to go comfort her friend, then she turned her comfort to her teacher.

‘Is OK Hagi. L fussy. Is OK.’

I’m sure the look on her teachers face was much like mine when I was told this. How on earth can a 22 month old show such compassion and understanding? How did she communicate such a direct and semi-complicated thought? Where did she learn the word fussy?!? – Especially to know the meaning and use it in a sentence.

On the heels of one more example of how Gracie is developing beyond her age, this morning we received the paperwork. The one little standardized form that will bring a whole other host of opportunity and development into her world.

As of September, Gracie will graduate up to the two year old room in daycare.

This means the real teaching will begin. She will have lessons in writing the alphabet and her name. She will be exposed to Spanish language classes. She will get to tussle in the big pop-up Dora tent, complete with a ball pit.

And she will be a little kid in a sea of giants again, the baby once more. I will hold my breath for the first few days hoping to have her returned to me unscathed. I know she will be fine. I know she will flourish. I know the teachers truly do love her and that the bigger kids are old enough to know right from wrong, which makes her inherently more safe….

But still, almost two years have past. My baby isn’t a baby any more. I keep trying to stop calling her my baby. I know she’s a big girl now, but it is hard. With each graduation I have to give up a little more control. Give Gracie a little more independence. This graduation makes my stomach do flip flops for the changes that will come in the next few years.

She is brave though. She is smart. She will excel.

She is ready for this. She is.