only the beginning...

Dear Sofia,

Today we drove you to school and put you in line with the rest of the kindergarteners in your class. There you were, in your dress and your backpack, walking up around the building and through the front door while parents and teachers clapped for you and your new classmates and friends. And there you went, off to school. Our only kid, not little at all anymore. So very big.




It was remarkable enough. It was even more remarkable that 15 minutes before that moment, you were settling into what you thought was your last day of preschool. We had realized -- just in the nick of time -- that somehow there had been a change, that your first day of school was not Wednesday but Tuesday, and rushed to get you out of Joni’s and into your school clothes and to your new school in time for the opening ceremony.

It was a sudden jolt and it was upsetting for mom and me. But you? You handled it like it was no big deal. You said goodbye to your friends at Joni’s, hustled in the door, threw on your first day of school clothes, jumped in the car and got in line on the playground like nothing at all had happened. Piece of cake.

And why should I be surprised? Every time we’ve needed you to handle something new or unexpected, you have stepped up. This has been true since you were very small and it still is. It’s a good thing to know that when life throws you a curveball, you have the capacity to roll with the changes.

I’m sitting here wondering how you’re doing right now, if you’re happy, if you’re making new friends, if everything is working out OK. You certainly seem to be in the best of hands and I have no worries. After four years of sending you off to preschool this should be second nature for both of us. But maybe you’ve noticed that sometimes your dad is prone to worrying about things, even when he has no reason.



But what really has me thinking right now is the wonder of how you have grown to this moment.

I always will remember the moment I first met you, a little wonder with a full head of hair squalling your little lungs out as soon as you emerged into our world. I’ve watched you grow and marveled at how you’ve learned to master just about anything you set your mind to. Feeding yourself, dressing yourself, learning to talk and to walk, using the potty, riding a bike, drawing, writing, reading, making puzzles, building with blocks, making up stories, swimming, dancing ballet, playing soccer and basketball …

Meandering around the house, I see all the photos of you we framed and proudly mounted on our walls. Sofia at two years old in her mom’s polka dress, with her gleeful scrunch-face smile. Sofia with her bug eyes and a chubby little hand, trying to fend off that first spoonful of rice cereal. Sofia posing in her Easter dress, looking very pretty and sweet. Sofia just a week old, asleep in my arms. Sofia arm in arm with her cousin, toddling up the hill at Hancock Shaker Village.

And now I have new photos to add: Sofia getting on and off the school bus and waiting to start her first day of school.



Like your dad, you like to do things perfectly the first time and get frustrated when things don’t work out as planned. School will present those sorts of challenges soon enough. But I have faith you will handle those challenges with aplomb, because you have inspired me the way you have tackled those things and gotten better at them through effort and persistence.

Earlier this summer, we went up to Camp Chase and they wanted you to take a swimming test to decide which end of the pool you could go in. Because your dad didn’t understand exactly what that test entailed, we decided to give it a try. And when you jumped into the water and sank straight down and cried from the shock after I pulled you up, I thought I had done something horrible -- put you in a position to fail and instead made you afraid of the water.

But no! Instead, you tackled learning to swim with single-minded dedication and purpose. You insisted we go to the pool every day and you got better and better at it, until you could swim across the width of the pool unassisted. You did not let initial failure get the best of you and you did not let the fear of failure stop you from pursuing something you really wanted to master. I was so, so very proud of you for that.

Earlier this summer you wanted to dribble a basketball. At first you could not do it very well and it made you sad. You cried and told me you didn’t want to do it anymore. But you applied the same dedication and now you can dribble not only the little pink and white basketball you insisted I buy on a trip to Dick’s Sporting Goods three years ago, but the full-sized basketball, too. You’ll be a better ball handler than your dad ever was at this rate. (My daydream: UConn recruits you but you turn them down for the school of your choice, because it’s about the free education.)

At first, learning to read made you frustrated. You would guess at the words rather than sound out the letters and get mad when you could not get every word the first time. But now you’re taking your time to sound out letters and words and you can read entire books by yourself. And once you really start reading, the world is yours to discover.

And though I have had to let you go many times now in your young life -- off to daycare and preschool, off with your grandmas and uncles and aunts, off to dance class -- now I am once more on the sidelines, clapping as you make that walk through the front door of your new school.

I remember what a miserable slog school was for me at times, and so I harbor a certain sense of dread at what can go wrong. But I see how confident you are, how brave you are, how smart and resourceful you are, what a good attitude you have about trying new things and making new friends and I am reassured.



And I see and feel your excitement. You, the girl who dawdled, dilly-dallied and lollygagged her way through many a morning (She once said, quote: “I’m not lollygagging!! … I’m not dilly-dallying, either!”), have been up bright and early and ready in plenty of time for the bus two days in a row now. You ate all your breakfast and you were psyched about getting on that bus. And about gym class. And music. “I hope we have music again,” you said. “I like my music teacher.”

(Note to self: Save for piano.)

You have advantages that your mother and I didn’t have. And though the world into which you are entering is a colder and crueler place in some respects, it is also a smarter place than the one in which we grew up. Go make your way in it.

I am so proud of you. I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do next.

Love,
Dad

Catching Up

Well we did it again ... we let this blog lapse. Gah! So here's an update on what la girl has been saying and doing of lately.

_ We went to a UMass hockey game a few Fridays ago. She fell asleep in the car on the way there, but that was OK, because she was able to stay up through all three periods and a 5-minute overtime.

Good: Popcorn and soda. How can life get better when you're 4?
Better: Daddy gets to explain the magic of the Zamboni.
Best: UMass ties the game with 4 seconds left! Yay ... and poor Sofia had her hands firmly over her ears because it was "too loud." Poor kid.

Between periods they crank the music in the Mullins Center and swing the video cameras around to catch fans acting goofy, and the music between the second and third was the "cha-cha slide." It was a pity that Sofia did not get on the jumbotron, because she really does the cha-cha slide amazingly well.

_ The other day, Sofia was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when I heard her plaintive cry. "Daddy there's a bug in here! It's gonna bite me!"

"It's not going to bite you," I replied, a little exasperated that the kid is afraid of garden-variety insects. "If that bug bites you I will buy you 100 dollars worth of ice cream."

"What if it's a spider?"

"It's not going to bite you if you leave it alone."

"But spiders can bite, you know!"

For the record, it was a moth.

_ She has adapted the "speaking of" verbal construction. Two examples:
"Speaking of cats, I have kitty cat pajamas."
"Speaking of mountains, let's read 'The Bear Went Over The Mountain.'"

_ She's learning to read! This very exciting, and at the same time it's a little frustrating for her -- she wants to be able to do everything at once and gets frustrated when that (very naturally) doesn't happen. To the point that she doesn't want to take eduacated guesses for fear of being wrong.

Last week, she happened to stick the business end of a felt-tipped marker on her tongue (it was dry). I told her not to do that, and then we searched the packaging to make sure said markers were in fact non-toxic. It turned out they were, but that fact was written in small print and not very prominently on the packaging.

Suddenly, Sofia began to cry. "I can't read!" she said. Two steps ahead of us as usual, Sofia -- age 4 -- was upset that she did not see on the package that the markers were non-toxic! That broke my heart. But wow, what a smart kid.

_ Turning Five (this April) has become a major, huge landmark in the life of Sofia. The early money is on bowling for a party, and her planning has alreday begun. It should be a big one. And speaking of parties (and now we know where she got "speaking of..."), her social calendar for February is entirely booked with birthday parties.

_ Can you believe she's a baseball season away from kindergarten? We went to the first parents' meeting a week ago last Wednesday.

Good: The North Stepford Falls schools really have their act together, or at least are able to pull off a presentation with aplomb.

Better: The kindergarten teachers at her school seem great. I think kindergarten teachers come out of the same genetic factory -- relentlessly cheerful, unfailingly positive. North Stepford Falls Elementary has three of 'em and we came away feeling the kid is going to be in good hands no matter what.

Whoa: The amount of paperwork (required forms, suggestions, the "your kid should be able to..." sheet, a 25-book suggested reading list) that was cheerfully provided. All I could think of when I looked at was the Violent Femmes line about "this will go on your permanent record." Well, here it is, folks: The start of Sofia's permanent record. Wow.

Not so good: North Stepford Falls, despite being one of the wealthiest towns in the Nutmeg State, only offers half-day kindergarten, which is is patently ridiculous. Furthermore, there are two morning sessions and one afternoon session, and the morning show would probably work best. Cross your fingers.

Snow on Cedars (or anything)

Ok, so there are no cedars here (edit apparently the shingle on our house are), and I didn't care much for the book, and this has nothing to do with that anyway.

Tomorrow I will be playing in the snow until my fingers are blue and my girl's cheeks are florescent. I envision a day of snow-cat building, sledding and maybe even ice skating. We will see. And later, to warm up, a cup of hot cocoa and some popcorn. (I better run out and get more cocoa.)

I do wish I were 4 again, so I can really appreciate the fun of snow. For a little while tomorrow, I will be 4, until my knees start to hurt and my cheeks sting. That will take about 15 minutes...and she will want to be out for 2 hours. Layers, natch.

Sofia was so cute tonight, it was snowing hard and she was so excited by the snow. She ran crazy circles in the yard and fell giggling in the snow to make a snow angel...over and over, and over again. She just stood there, with her tongue hanging out, a look of pure happiness on her face as she was trying to catch a snowflake. (easy enough, if you open your mouth out there at this time, you would get a cup of snow flakes.)

We came in for hot cocoa and soup. I want to be 4, to feel what she feels and love it.

daddy's girl, indeed

Re: Michelle's earlier post: It's not the first time that Sofia has predicted that she was going to marry me.

The first time was during our big trip south, to Ocean City MD. We were at the General Patterson Rest Area, after getting sandwiches from the world's grumpiest sandwich maker, when Sofia started talking about the fact that she was going to marry me.

Now, I understand that little girls go through this stage and it's completely innocent. But it still kind of threw me for a loop to hear that. So I attempted to explain a few things.

"Uh, sweetie, Daddy's already kind of married to mama."

Silence. Then her smile turned upside down, her face turned red and tears flew out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

"What about meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?" she wailed.

I wanted to hide under the table or shrink down small enough so I could crawl into the salt shaker. What had I done? You EEEEEEdiot!

Happily, some chocolate chip cookies saved the day.

More recently, she again predicted wedding bells. This time I gave a more neutral answer .. "That's sweet of you, dear. But you know, you can marry anyone you want."

Then she came up with another idea that included other options.

"When I grow up, I'm going to find an empty house next to yours and I'm going to live next to you."

That's my girl, all right. Daddy's girl.

Daddy, you are off the hook...

Sofia recently said that she wanted to marry her daddy when she grew up, but I guess a girl has a right to change her mind.

This morning when I woke up Sofia, she sat straight up in bed and announced "I am going to marry the cat!"

Instead of explaining that society generally frowns upon interspecies relationships, I asked her if Sammy (our cat in residence) knew about this. She said she hasn't told him yet, but she's waiting for him to come on bended knee, err, paw, to pop the question. (I think she's gonna be waiting a while)

Ahh love. Purr purr purr.

That's a wrap

At 4:45 the door opened and a gaggle of grinning little girls in matching leotards and tights rushed out to greet their parents. I guess class was a success.

Sofia was happy, too,. She showed us some of her moves -- quite excellent. She had a good time. I had worried about whether she was ready for "serious" dance class, but I think this is goign to work out just fine. Great, even.

And that brings our exclusive live blog coverage of dance class to an end.

Oh Say Can You See?

Snake eyes!

Went outside and there's a curtain up on the doors and windows. To see in, one would need:
_ the ability to climb trees.
_ binoculars or a telescope.
_ confidence that the cops won't see the above and send you to jail without passing go or collecting 200 bucks.

I tried peeking in and realized that any passerby, seeing a middle-aged man peering in on little girls in ballet class, would call 911 immediately. I would. That was the end of that.

So much for seeing her dance. Boo...

ears looking at you kid

There's no window here in the waiting room so I have to rely on my ears. I can hear the sound of gentle piano music and the voice of the teacher. but I can only imagine what she looks like. I thought once I heard the teacher say "good Sofia" - but I can't swear to it.
I will have to go outside and see if there's a window...

Live blogging from dance class

And we're off!
Sofia and seven or eight little girls, all in matching black leotards and pink tights, filed into the studio with their teacher, who greeted them warmly.
Before class started, Some stretched and jumped off their toes, full of ballet energy. Others clung nervously to their parents' legs.  Sofia sat on my lap and said "daddy, you're my best friend."
And off she went. Our little ballerina.

I'm the only dad here. Just like when she was 6 months old at the Crane library in Quincy in the parent-child program, it's me and the moms.

More later...

This is a test

This is a test of the mobile blogging system.

I'm a rock star. I have cool moves.

And I have cool songs.

"I like spending time with you daddy."

"We do father and daughter stuff " ...."and mama stuff too."