Wordless Wednesday

Letter from Mama, v35

Well, here it is. The very last letter I will write to my two-year old daughter. You'll be three a month from today. It makes me cry, but they are (mostly!) happy tears. These 35 months have been the very best of my life, and each day I am grateful I was chosen to be your Mama. You're such a gift to me, Daddy, the Beagle, our families, and your village. I can't think of one person who doesn't love you, and I don't blame them! Like trick-or-treating last weekend with Daddy ... even the neighbors love you, as you came home bearing a pumpkin overflowing with love in sugar form. Your heart, your spirit, your gratitude, your light, your will. You are a fiery little package at 32 pounds.

Still, the last thing I do before I go to bed is go in and check on you. You generally are asleep on your back or side, with NaNa right up by your face, and one or both feet sticking out of the covers. That's exactly how I sleep. It makes me smile. But, recently, I find your foot, and watch and watch and watch until it connects to the rest of your body and you are SUCH a big girl. I bet by next summer you'll need a real bed, that Daddy will be dismantling your toddler bed and you'll ask him with a trembling lip, where'd the other one go? just as you did when we took down your crib. That's what happens in life- we outgrow things and get bigger and bigger. It can be hard, there's no doubt, but at least we are lucky enough to be on this side of it. Growing is good, it's a gift. It's just really hard on your Mama sometimes!

Tomorrow morning I am taking a "Cradle to School: Ready to Learn" class for parents of children ages birth through five. You're closer to five than you are to birth! Mama needs a little preparation for the next stage of life, I think. It's mind boggling, but doesn't necessarily surprise me you're already pushing towards those stages. Daddy and I continually talk about how adept and smart you are. How perceptive you are of your surroundings. How even the smallest details fail to escape you. You have a iron-clad memory and shock me with everyday connections, like pointing out vehicles on the roads that match the ones everyone in your village drive. It's freaky ... and fantastic. For the past month, you've gotten into the true spirit of the holidays and your impending birthday, by poring over magazines and catalogues full of toys. Seriously, at dinner tonight, you sat at the counter with your Pottery Barn Kids, American Girl, Fisher Price, and Little Tikes pages and told about EVERYTHING that was awesome, in your opinion. Your focus and calmness reminds me of your buddy Big T and the way he studies and obsesses over sports pages, magazines, and programs. You're just like him, in that sense, only as it relates to consumerism.

One more month, lil' dude. I know you're ready.
I am getting there ... too.

Mama loves.

Breaking Bread

Today, I am going to be one of those people who blogs about their animals like they're children.

Because, the BeagleWeagle is my wittle, bittle, baby Brown doggie woggy!

Sick.

Speaking of, he is. That's what you get for wrestling an entire loaf of wheat bread onto the kitchen floor, and McGyvering it open with your teeth.

Last night, the Dad found the remaining 1/3 of the loaf, still in the plastic bag, in his dog dish.

In his dog dish! Like ... 'hey, Humans. Caretakers of mine? Yeah, listen. I am Too. Full. to eat the rest of this loaf of bread, but I so call DIBS on it for later.'

He was one bloated Beagle the rest of the evening. As he lay in his bed later, on my side of the bed, snoring, his stomach made some awful sounds. I am surprised, and grateful, those sounds led to nothing.

This morning, I told the lil' dude all about her fat doggy and his misbehavior. Her lip began to tremble ... she looked at me with her huge, sad hazel eyes and said, that was MY bread!

Oh yeah, have I mentioned we're in THAT stage now?

Wordless Wednesday

Dry It

You've added a new request to your bedtime routine now. You demand your hair be dried before getting tucked in.
One morning you woke up, and told Daddy you didn't like it when your pillow got wet.

I don't blame you one bit! No one likes a soggy bed.



In the less-than-five minutes it takes to dry your new 'do, you and I sure do have a blast. You sing and scrunch your face into weird contortions in the mirror and whip your head around dramatically. I know I'll remember this forever, you on the sink in your favorite pajamas, holding a stuffed pal and singing your ABC's at full throttle. The feel and scent of your clean, slippery hair, and your pink cheeks and neck, flushed from the dryer's heat.

And on the nights I can't tuck you in, Daddy is there in my place, doing his thing for his best girl.
The thought of that kills me dead, right there.

I can't think of anything sweeter!

What if God Was One of Us

Yesterday was Reformation Sunday, and the lil' dude and I learned about Martin Luther in Sunday School.

The teacher told the class how Martin Luther wanted to see change in his church. He wrote a letter, posted it on the door of the All Saints church, and went onto make history. She asked each of her students yesterday to draw their vision of God to hang on the door of the church, in honor of the day.

The lil' dude and I got busy- her God has a brown, oval face, pink, curly hair, big teeth with a tongue, and pink eyes.

And, a Timberwolves t-shirt.



Bless her heart. And His.

Bootacular!

Happy BOO day!
We're ready to settle in and watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with the lil' dude (and her GIANT bucket of sugar!)



And ... the lil' dude alligator extraordinaire!

Happy haunting.