When you ask Alex about Bobby, (our dead cat), she will say, "Bobby is at Hebans (in Heaven)."
Sent via DroidX2 on Verizon Wireless™
Sent via DroidX2 on Verizon Wireless™
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
cutest of all cuteness
Are you kidding me?Sometimes I look at Alex and I simply cannot believe that she came out of my special parts.
Facts about BB
Baby Bear is in Michigan visiting her Grandma, Grandpa, cousins, Aunts and Mommy's friends. It has rained every stinkin day since we arrived. For lack of better Blogging, here are some interesting facts about Baby Bear.
Favorite Color: Pink and Green and Gray
Favorite Animal: Zebra
Favorite Number: 1
Favorite Movie: Flushed Away
Favorite Food: She'll tell you it's Broccoli and Seaweed, but those are lies. Her real favorite food is frosting.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Rocks in my dryer
I found this post on a mommy blog called, "Rocks in my dryer" and I loved it...enjoy.
Tonight my one-year-old daughter Corrie has a cold. She was having trouble sleeping, so I had the distinct pleasure of rocking her--for a long, long time--to sleep. We sat there in the dark of her room, the rocking chair creaking slightly, her slow, even breaths a little raspy from her cold. Her head was nuzzled into my neck, and her right hand softly gripped the fabric of my shirt on my chest.
Corrie's hand. It's a plump little thing--dimpled, smooth and creamy white. I've always been fascinated by my children's hands, but tonight as I looked at Corrie's, I was overwhelmed with happiness--and a little sadness--to think of where those hands will travel. Tonight they're flawless little hands, untested by life's challenges and inexperienced in its joys. But where will those little hands go tomorrow, and the next day, and the next?...
Any day now those little hands will let go of mine as she takes her first step.
They'll grasp a pencil as she clumsily but surely learns to write.
Tonight my one-year-old daughter Corrie has a cold. She was having trouble sleeping, so I had the distinct pleasure of rocking her--for a long, long time--to sleep. We sat there in the dark of her room, the rocking chair creaking slightly, her slow, even breaths a little raspy from her cold. Her head was nuzzled into my neck, and her right hand softly gripped the fabric of my shirt on my chest.
Corrie's hand. It's a plump little thing--dimpled, smooth and creamy white. I've always been fascinated by my children's hands, but tonight as I looked at Corrie's, I was overwhelmed with happiness--and a little sadness--to think of where those hands will travel. Tonight they're flawless little hands, untested by life's challenges and inexperienced in its joys. But where will those little hands go tomorrow, and the next day, and the next?...
Any day now those little hands will let go of mine as she takes her first step.
They'll grasp a pencil as she clumsily but surely learns to write.
They'll grip handlebars with a mix of joy and horror as her Daddy runs behind her on her bike, almost ready to let go.
In the teenage years those hands will wipe away many adolescent tears and slam many doors, but maybe, if I play my cards right, they'll still reach out for mine every now and then.
They'll pack her belongings as she leaves for home. And they'll open our front door again as she comes back to visit. A lot, if she knows what's good for her.
How I pray those precious hands spend more time spread open in joy, rather than clenched in anguish. But wherever they travel, I hope they're often clasped in prayer. I hope they're helpful hands, and merciful ones, and I hope they always have many, many other hands to grab onto.
They'll wear a diamond from a handsome young man, and they'll loosely hold her father's tuxedoed arm, eager to reach out for her future at the end of the aisle.
Those hands will grasp the bedsheets in pain as she fights to deliver her child, and they'll tremble in joy when she holds him or her the first time. They'll feel many little foreheads, apply many band-aids and hold open many books. And then, one night, she'll rock that baby to sleep, and she'll stare in bittersweet wonder...at its little hands.
They'll grip handlebars with a mix of joy and horror as her Daddy runs behind her on her bike, almost ready to let go.
In the teenage years those hands will wipe away many adolescent tears and slam many doors, but maybe, if I play my cards right, they'll still reach out for mine every now and then.
They'll pack her belongings as she leaves for home. And they'll open our front door again as she comes back to visit. A lot, if she knows what's good for her.
How I pray those precious hands spend more time spread open in joy, rather than clenched in anguish. But wherever they travel, I hope they're often clasped in prayer. I hope they're helpful hands, and merciful ones, and I hope they always have many, many other hands to grab onto.
They'll wear a diamond from a handsome young man, and they'll loosely hold her father's tuxedoed arm, eager to reach out for her future at the end of the aisle.
Those hands will grasp the bedsheets in pain as she fights to deliver her child, and they'll tremble in joy when she holds him or her the first time. They'll feel many little foreheads, apply many band-aids and hold open many books. And then, one night, she'll rock that baby to sleep, and she'll stare in bittersweet wonder...at its little hands.
Tonight my one-year-old daughter Corrie has a cold. She was having trouble sleeping, so I had the distinct pleasure of rocking her--for a long, long time--to sleep. We sat there in the dark of her room, the rocking chair creaking slightly, her slow, even breaths a little raspy from her cold. Her head was nuzzled into my neck, and her right hand softly gripped the fabric of my shirt on my chest.
Corrie's hand. It's a plump little thing--dimpled, smooth and creamy white. I've always been fascinated by my children's hands, but tonight as I looked at Corrie's, I was overwhelmed with happiness--and a little sadness--to think of where those hands will travel. Tonight they're flawless little hands, untested by life's challenges and inexperienced in its joys. But where will those little hands go tomorrow, and the next day, and the next?...
Any day now those little hands will let go of mine as she takes her first step.
They'll grasp a pencil as she clumsily but surely learns to write.
Tonight my one-year-old daughter Corrie has a cold. She was having trouble sleeping, so I had the distinct pleasure of rocking her--for a long, long time--to sleep. We sat there in the dark of her room, the rocking chair creaking slightly, her slow, even breaths a little raspy from her cold. Her head was nuzzled into my neck, and her right hand softly gripped the fabric of my shirt on my chest.
Corrie's hand. It's a plump little thing--dimpled, smooth and creamy white. I've always been fascinated by my children's hands, but tonight as I looked at Corrie's, I was overwhelmed with happiness--and a little sadness--to think of where those hands will travel. Tonight they're flawless little hands, untested by life's challenges and inexperienced in its joys. But where will those little hands go tomorrow, and the next day, and the next?...
Any day now those little hands will let go of mine as she takes her first step.
They'll grasp a pencil as she clumsily but surely learns to write.
They'll grip handlebars with a mix of joy and horror as her Daddy runs behind her on her bike, almost ready to let go.
In the teenage years those hands will wipe away many adolescent tears and slam many doors, but maybe, if I play my cards right, they'll still reach out for mine every now and then.
They'll pack her belongings as she leaves for home. And they'll open our front door again as she comes back to visit. A lot, if she knows what's good for her.
How I pray those precious hands spend more time spread open in joy, rather than clenched in anguish. But wherever they travel, I hope they're often clasped in prayer. I hope they're helpful hands, and merciful ones, and I hope they always have many, many other hands to grab onto.
They'll wear a diamond from a handsome young man, and they'll loosely hold her father's tuxedoed arm, eager to reach out for her future at the end of the aisle.
Those hands will grasp the bedsheets in pain as she fights to deliver her child, and they'll tremble in joy when she holds him or her the first time. They'll feel many little foreheads, apply many band-aids and hold open many books. And then, one night, she'll rock that baby to sleep, and she'll stare in bittersweet wonder...at its little hands.
They'll grip handlebars with a mix of joy and horror as her Daddy runs behind her on her bike, almost ready to let go.
In the teenage years those hands will wipe away many adolescent tears and slam many doors, but maybe, if I play my cards right, they'll still reach out for mine every now and then.
They'll pack her belongings as she leaves for home. And they'll open our front door again as she comes back to visit. A lot, if she knows what's good for her.
How I pray those precious hands spend more time spread open in joy, rather than clenched in anguish. But wherever they travel, I hope they're often clasped in prayer. I hope they're helpful hands, and merciful ones, and I hope they always have many, many other hands to grab onto.
They'll wear a diamond from a handsome young man, and they'll loosely hold her father's tuxedoed arm, eager to reach out for her future at the end of the aisle.
Those hands will grasp the bedsheets in pain as she fights to deliver her child, and they'll tremble in joy when she holds him or her the first time. They'll feel many little foreheads, apply many band-aids and hold open many books. And then, one night, she'll rock that baby to sleep, and she'll stare in bittersweet wonder...at its little hands.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Happy Father's Day!
Alex woke up on Father's Day and said, "I have 2 Daddies, one's name is Carpet, and the other's name is Juice Box".
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
"...my roly poly got away."
As much as I would like to protect Alex from all that is evil in the world, I cannot keep her from loving and losing...
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Baby Bear dance
Alex loves to come to the salon with me to get my eyebrows waxed. This is just a little Baby Bear dance.
The pool is up!
"It takes a village." I am so thankful that we have a village. Bapa and Nana came over and set up the pool while BFF cooked an amazing breakfast, and I chased the chicken around the yard.Then the neighbor kids joined in...so fun.
CAMEL (TOE)
This is a remarkable phenomenon. I always seem to find the camel toes by the camels...Double rainbow, what does it mean?
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