No Use Crying

Yesterday, something out of character for you occurred: you spilled your entire container of newly-opened milk while we were eating lunch. You doused yourself, your Mama, the floor, my wallet, and keys. You whimpered.

I sprang into action to save what dry parts of our laps we could. I told you not to worry, and I meant it.

I'm not too proud to get down on my hands and knees in a McDonald's and mop up spilled milk.
We make messes; we clean them up. No greater life lesson than that.

This morning, we were about a mile from daycare when the lid of your princess sippy cup came off and doused you with 8oz. of freed apple juice. This time, you wailed.

You cried and cried. Saying you did it again. How you spilled yesterday AND today. How you ruined your favorite horsey shirt. How the Daycare Lady was going to be mad at you for being wet. Your sad, terrified rant broke my heart.

Mama, I am going to need so many wipes today. My elbow is even wet, you said.

I kept telling you it would be fine. That it was an accident, completely coincidental from yesterday. That everyone has accidents, that no one was mad at you, and we would fix it.

You're awfully serious for a three-year-old. Your reaction reminds me that I am parenting a sensitive child who is beginning to understand logic. A child, who just like the rest of the world, is scared of being judged or punished for accidents or inconsequential events.

Baby girl, I meant what I said. It was an accident.
And I'll love you no matter how big a mess you make, intentionally, unintentionally, or otherwise.

I promise.

Killer

Daddy, "Killer", and Uncle D., 1988

This week, our family and entire state is mourning the death of Harmon Killebrew, #3 and third base player for the Minnesota Twins from 1961 until 1974. Killebrew is your Grandpa T's favorite baseball player of all time. It's hard to lose a legend, a childhood hero, and lifelong inspiration. His #3 jersey has been hanging Grandpa and Grandma's picture window since he passed away last Tuesday.

Killebrew embodied what professional athletes usually don't: poise, grace, quality, respect, integrity. He was a simple, quiet man who loved his job and did it well. He was free of endorsements, drama, and ego. He set an example for the rest of the league.

Killebrew will always be remembered for the 573 career home-runs he hit, being inducted into the Hall of Fame, and his 13 All-Star game appearances, without a doubt.

But he will be most remembered for being that hero and inspiration to thousands and thousands of people, young and old.

Thanks for the being the cornerstone of Major League Baseball in our state.
Rest in peace.

1,000 Words

I am behind on this post ... current story of my life! In March, your Grandma G. and I went on a solo girls' vacation to the East coast, visiting Savannah, GA and Charleston, SC. It was in honor of our big birthdays- 30 and 50- and I finally boarded an airplane with my own Mama for the first time ever. When I was a kid, if we couldn't reach a destination in our silver Ford Taurus wagon, we simply didn't go. This was truly, a trip of a lifetime.

Grandma G. is one of the most easygoing people I know. I love that trait. She let me completely plan the trip. She let me drive the red-hot 2012 Mustang with four miles on it ... like I stole it. And we freestyled like Thelma and Louise when airports and deicing and tarmac time and weather threatened our trip. We just took off into the sunset with half a map, lots of caffeine, and sunglasses on our giddy faces.

We stayed in luxurious, historical beds. We ate Southern. We laughed Northern. We drank more Starbucks that anyone should in a months' time, let alone five days. We bought souvenirs for our favorite people, requested our sweet tea be unsweetened, wore SPF, bought scarves, shoes, and lipgloss, and called home each night to whisper good nights.

I loved every second.
And, took hundreds of photos.
Hundreds.
But, after the laborious task of whittling that list down to an editable amount, I kept coming back to these 15 photos. They speak for themselves. They hold the memories that will unlock the stories of our sacred trip.

Kid Rock

I made you your first ever playlist last weekend for a roadtrip, and named it, appropriately, LOUD.
You always want to rock; you always want it loud.
You make me SO proud, my little protege!

Please forgive me for including not one, but TWO explicit lyric songs. I don't even realize when I download them, that they'll be heard by tender ears. Parenting, FAIL. Don't tell your friends, or their Mamas.

Wordless Wednesday

On Growing

I am not sure what I should be more worried about ... that I left you on the edge of the sink, with naked toes, to wash off the day's grime and found you like this:



Or, the sobering fact that not very long ago, your tush actually fit in this sink.
All of you did.

4 Generations

Last Sunday was one of your Mama's favorite days ... in that I was able to spend the day with some of my favorite women.

My Grandma, who just turned 80.
My Mama, who just turned 50.
My daughter, who just turned the world upside down, per usual.



I loved that afternoon. I loved Daddy taking our picture, and I'll treasure it forever.

But not as much as the memories we made during our photo shoot.

Note Exhibit A:



And, Exhibit B:



So, we got one, sort of decent photo, and about 17 not-so decent. But those are the realistic ones of life with a three year old. I love how I kept on smiling, Daddy kept on snapping like your antics were no big deal. You had your Grandma's both in stitches.

Thanks for the memories, lil' dude.
Per usual.