Toddler curls.  I love them.  I twirl them in my fingers and bury my face in them before stealing kisses from the soft cheeks they brush against.

Oh, and I take lots and lots of pictures of them.  I don’t think she understands my fascination, but I want to remember them forever.  I want to savor them before they go away.

Now that Charlotte is a busy toddler she only stops her constant movement for a story.  Even then she’s squirmy and trying to turn the pages.  Before bed she only likes to be rocked for a minute or two before she’s reaching for the crib.

Tonight was different.

Thanks to the time change, the last light of the day was just barely shining through on her face.  She laid her head on my chest and I felt her completely relax in my arms.  Our eyes remained on each other in unspoken peace.  I breathed in the freshly bathed baby scent that disappears all too quickly during the day as she becomes a little girl all too quickly.

We rocked.

I tasted my tears as I sang lullabys to my baby.  Her eyes stayed on mine as I cried and sang for a long time.  The light grew dimmer and she fell asleep.  I prayed.

Dear God,

Thank you for this gift.  I did nothing to deserve the joy that is this beautiful child.  Please help me be a better person than I want to be and stronger than I believe I can be.  Guide our marriage.  Keep us healthy.  

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  

Amy

Standing up we rocked back and forth some more, my cheek against hers, her fingers tangled in my hair.  I wanted to remember the feeling forever.  I finally laid her in her crib and took one last peek at my babe with joy I know only comes from God’s blessing.

A "Vintage Charlotte" pic. Amazing how much her appearance has changed, but she always looks the same to me when she sleeps.

“There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world. Love of books is the best of all.” — Jacqueline Kennedy

Oh Little One!  How you love books!  This afternoon you were perusing some of your favorites before we took a wagon ride to walk the dog.  You like wagon rides, but especially when bring along the book you were clinging to.  Often times you turn away from your toys to turn the pages of your favorite story.  I think one of the best gifts you’ve gotten is the “Book a Month” from your Aunt Alison.  You have gotten to open a new book each month since you were born.  We unwrap them on the 2nd, your birthday.

When I was pregnant I dreamed of the books we would share together.

There are times when Daddy and I each will read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom five times in a day.  I practically have it memorized.  Sometimes I end up reciting lines in my head during the day at work.  That just makes me want to hurry home to you to read again.

I hope you love books when books aren’t cool.

Lately Charlotte has been channeling her inner Pebbles Flintstone with her outer hairdo.  The other little girls in the Waddler class have all been sporting “sprouts” since the teachers started pulling their hair back.  Her hair is long enough that it’s in her face, but not so long she needs a haircut.

My mom disagrees and believes it’s first haircut time.  That’s okay.  Her disagreement helps prove my point in this post.

Everyday I sit Charlotte in my lap and pull her thin baby strands into one of those those tiny clear rubber ponytail holders and top it off with her signature bow.  Okay, I just made that sound really easy.  I should tell you how it really goes.

I get ready.

Brush. {check} Two ponytail holders {check} (I always have two, because inevitably I drop one of those little buggers and it’s gone until it gets stuck in the vaccum.) Bow. {check}

I put her in my lap.  She whines and wiggles down.  I snag her, squirming and screaming as I brush, tug, and twist the rubber band.  She breaks free and runs.  I’m back to hair one.   I scoop her up and distract her with a toy.  Once again I brush, tug, and twist as fast as my fingers can before sliding the clippy bow under the elastic.  Phew!  We made it until she tears it out in the car seat.

Greyson watches this with horror.  He exclaims, “Amy!  You’re pulling her hair!”  “Uh, yeah.  I have to fix it,” I reply.

(Translation:  In the South “fixing” your hair means doing your hair.  As in, “I fix my hair every morning.”)

He says, “But, doesn’t that hurt her to pull her hair?!?”  I say, “Well, yeah sort of. But, that’s just part of doing your hair.”

It was then I realized,” The Mother Daughter Hair Wars” have begun for a new generation.  Yeah, putting Charlotte’s hair in a little ponytail is not very comfortable.  I probably pulled a little.  But my mom pulled too, so did her mother before her, and her mother before her.

This is me as a toddler with a simple barrette I no doubt ripped out and my Mom had to replace to take this picture.  The second picture is me as a 6-year-old clearly thrilled with my side Topsy-Tail ponytail.  (Please tell me I’m not the only one to remember the Topsy-Tail.)  The final picture is of me in High School with my millionth bun for the millionth ballet recital.

These pictures do not include the umpteenth double and single french braids, banana clips, pigtails, crimp irons, sponge rollers, updos, perms, and even a hairpiece for dance competitions dubbed “the ferret”.  My mother may or may not have encouraged my sister and I to wear panties over our curlers to bed to keep them in as we slept, only to have the curls die midday in the North Carolina humidity.

One year my mom took me to the salon so I could get “The Rachel.”  Over many years she would subtly and not so subtly suggest when my sister and I should get trims because we looked “scraggly”.  She was the first to disapprove of my highlights and the first to point out early grays.

Greyson said once, “Why does your mom always ask about your hair?”  I said, “I dunno.  She’s my mom.”

Mothers and daughters have fought and cried over hair for eons.  My curly haired friends have epic stories of their domestic hair wars.  The thing is, some of the best conversations I can remember with my mama were when she was brushing my hair or we were getting ready for something.  She was always the one to complement me when my hair looked pretty.

I don’t want to start a hair war with my daughter.  It’s just hair.  Really, it’s not that important.  But, every tug and every style is part of what bonds us as girls and women.

“I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair.”- Steel Magnolias

I had never given much thought to Jessica Seinfeld and her legally challenged Deceptively Delicious, but I’m thinking of downloading it to my Nook.

We’re hit and miss with vegetables in our house.  Some days Charlotte is fine with them.  Other days she tosses them on the floor.  The dog subsequently turns her nose up at the green things and waits patiently for anything else to fall from the high chair into her drooly jaws.  This leaves us forever scooping up peas, broccoli, or beans.

Out to eat this weekend I ordered Charlotte a grilled cheese off the kids menu.  I cringed when the waitress asked if I wanted the side of fries.  She offered steamed broccoli.  When Charlotte’s food came she gobbled up the sandwich and spit out the broccoli.

::sigh::

Then I did something I’m not proud of, but it got vegetables in my child.  “Excuse me, can I get a side of cheese sauce?”

I taught her how to dip the “little trees” into the cheese.  She thought this was wonderful!  Then Greyson and I made the mistake of laughing uncontrollably as she later dipped the trees in her hair, on her face, and on her clothes.

Most of the broccoli ended up in her belly thanks to the cheese sauce.  I’m not sure if this is good or not.  I’ll take any and all veggie-pushing tips.