A Big Day for Our Little Girl (And for Her Mommy Too)

A few days ago, I glanced at our little pumpkin as she played happily with her toys. From the back, she looked the picture of perfection. Cute little dress, wispy hair, dimpled elbows, laughing the sweetest laugh while shaking her caterpillar rattle.

And then she turned around.

Her usually shining, green-speckled eyes were hidden behind a wave of dark matted hair which appeared to be stuck to her nose in a slimy concoction of snot and leftover squash.

That's the moment I knew it was time for a hair cut.

On the way to Jelly Beans--the kid's hair salon--I was doing fine. This is not THAT big of a deal, I told myself. It's just hair.

I was still doing fine as our energetic stylist wet Lucy's hair and gave her toys to play with. As she cut the first few strands, I felt a slight twinge. Lucy played on happily, looking much more like a little lady than an infant.

I distracted myself by taking a few photos, trying desperately not to notice the pile of rapidly accumulating hair. Only when the stylist asked, "Would you like me to cut her bangs?" did I start to regret ever stepping foot into Jelly Beans. The twinge I first noticed felt much more like a knot in the pit of my stomach as I watched Lucy's hair fall in wisps to the floor. Before I knew it, the stylist gathered Lucy's hair into a small bag, gave us a certificate with a lock of her hair, asked for our penny payment (first haircuts are just a penny!), and cheerfully waved us on our merry way.

As I buckled Lucy into her car seat, I marveled at my new little one. Could this neatly groomed little girl be the same disheveled, feathery-haired baby I brought into the salon? The knot in my stomach moved into my throat.

I decided to call Jamie. I desperately needed reassurance that I hadn't somehow ruined our daughter forever. I generously offered to bring him lunch, eager for him to see the changeling sleeping soundly in my backseat. He did not make me feel any better.

"Ohhhh....cute....., but I REALLY did like her crazy hair," he said when he saw her.

That's when the tears made their way to the surface. "I hate it!" I proclaimed, feeling that in my decision to cut her hair, I'd somehow managed to destroy Lucy's delightfully quirky little personality. After all, she's known for her crazy, fun hair. Would she be the same without it?

And then Lucy woke up, looked at me, and grinned her toothless smile. Suddenly all was once again right with the world. As I sat behind and watched her playing, picture perfect in her flowery dress and dimpled elbows, she turned to look at me. What did I see?

Two shining, green-speckled eyes.

She's Her Mother's Daughter!!!

For those of you unfamiliar with the culture and traditions of the South (especially South Carolina), let me be the first to tell you that they are extremely particular when it comes to their traditional foods. There are two staples that South Carolinians cannot live without: sweet tea (so sweet it'll make your teeth hurt) and grits.

Early on in my relationship with Jamie, I broke the cardinal rule of grits (or would it be grit?) consumption. On the way to dinner with two of Jamie's friends, I mentioned that while I always deplored grits as a child, I now quite enjoyed them. They seemed pleased at this proclamation.

I could see Jamie nod in appreciation almost as an affirmation to his friends that his Yankee (only in South Carolina can a Kentucky girl be considered a Yankee) girlfriend wasn't so bad after all.

And then I did the unthinkable--I described the way I like to eat my grits ...with a heap of butter and some sugar. The car became silent. You could hear a pin drop. "You eat sugar on your grits?" PAUSE "Oh no, you NEVER eat sugar on grits. Only a Yankee would ruin grits with sugar."

I didn't point out that I'd watched my Nanny--born and raised in Alabama--eat her grits with butter and sugar on many a morning. "Well how else would you eat them" I asked.

"With butter and cheese or with shrimp and cheese of course." And that was that.

A few weeks later, I decided to try to try to eat grits the "proper" way. I was confident as I ordered the blackened catfish served over goat cheese grits. When my plate arrived, I took the first bite, still confident that my Southern friends wouldn't lead me astray. "How do you like it?" Jamie asked as I tried to smile while swallowing the first bite. It was Awful!! I felt as though I were eating catfish-infused glue. Though I managed to swallow a few more bites, I finally gave up. "I can't eat this. I'm sorry." Jamie looked at me like I was crazy, proceeded to finish my plate, and shook his head in amusement.

Today, I still eat grits, but I eat them my way. At first, I kept my shameful "sugar" grits habit a secret. If we dined out for breakfast, I'd open my sugar packets under the table, quickly sprinkle them on my grits, and stir before anyone could witness my blasphemous behaviour. Now, four years later, I pour mountains of sugar on my grits unabashedly.

Much to Jamie's (playful) displeasure, our Lucy seems to have inherited her mother's "Yankee" taste when it comes to this Southern staple. While at breakfast Saturday morning, I ordered grits. After buttering them, I thought I'd give Lucy a taste before I drowned them in sugar. I could see Jamie's eager anticipation as he watched his little girl perform one of every Southerner's rights of passage--that first taste of grits.

She opened her mouth, took a small taste and immediately her lips contorted. First, she looked at me as if to ask, "What is this wretched substance you've given me?" and then she looked at Jamie as if to ask, "And why on god's green earth did you let her?" Jamie looked at her in disbelief. Could it be possible that his child did not like grits? Surely there could be no worse fate.

I tried again. Perhaps she just needed a minute to get used to this new texture. She opened her little mouth, an innocent, eager little bird. This time, her reaction was much more pronounced. Her lips puckered, her nose wrinkled, and she actually shook her head in a shudder. Yes, die-hard Southerner Jamie's baby girl shuddered at her first taste of grits!

"Man, that breaks my heart," Jamie said crestfallen.

"Oh, relax. I'll put some sugar on them and I'm sure she'll be fine, " I said, stifling a laugh, secretly happy that even though she was born in SC, my little girl is still half "Yankee" at heart.

Reading with Daddy

Each day, we try to read to Lucy. Though she enjoys it when I read "Mommy Kisses" to her, she especially loves when Jamie reads "The Very Hungry Catepillar." In fact, she loves all things Eric Carle. Yesterday after work, Jamie captivated Lucy with a paticularly "energetic" version of the classic catepillar tale.