Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Makaya Simone
Happy birthday my sweet baby girl!
Seven years ago, you took your first breath...
Seven years ago, you took your first breath...
...And my world hasn't been the same since.
It seems like I blinked and you were already walking and talking.
Pretty soon, you were a year old.
As the years flew by, time seemed to pick up speed as if it were a ball rolling down a steep hill.
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| One... |
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| Two... |
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| Three... |
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| Four... |
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| Five... |
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| Six... |
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| Seven... |
Oh...
Wow. It's a little hard to breathe, give me a minute.
My sweet baby girl is seven. The angriest of midgets, is almost a second grader.
I am so proud of the person you are and I need to tell you that more often. You are so grown up and capable of so much. I see your endless energy and potential every time I look at you, and I see your vast ability to love everyone and everything every time I see you with your baby sister. You are my first baby and you will always be my sweet baby girl, no matter what you do, where you go, or how old you are.
I love you, Squnnie. All the way to the moon...and back.
Love,
Mama
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Too Messy
I've found a new blog, and I'm in love. Aiming Low: Perfectly Mediocre is a site with guest bloggers, and they are normal everyday people who aren't perfect, and don't claim to be. It's AWESOME!! I don't feel crappy about myself after I've read a post there. If anything, I think, "Wow, I'm so glad I'm not the only one." Then I heave a great sigh of relief, and go back to my never ending, seemingly always growing list of chores.
Right now, they have a challenge running, Capture It-Too Messy. Basically, they want to see your mess. For me, this was hard. Not because I didn't want to share, but because I couldn't decide which cluttered surface, or pile 'o junk to take a picture of.
Right now, they have a challenge running, Capture It-Too Messy. Basically, they want to see your mess. For me, this was hard. Not because I didn't want to share, but because I couldn't decide which cluttered surface, or pile 'o junk to take a picture of.
I settled on The Angry Midget's room.
Play is hard work, but cleaning is "too hard".
So, that's my submission for the challenge. It's going from the 20-27th of May, so if you'd like to share your mess, hop on over to Aiming Low, and add your image to the linky.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Easter Past
Easter.
As a kid, Easter was a mixed bag holiday for me. It was great because we got a basket full of toys, jelly beans, bunnies made of creamy milk chocolate, and crosses made of smooth white chocolate. But then there was the trip to Grandma's house which meant church on Sunday.
My brothers and I would ride in the back of our parents station wagon two hours down the interstate to my grandma's house. We were supposed to sleep, but I loved to lay on my back and look out the window at all the stars. There were always so many more on the road to Grandma's than in our back yard.
We would arrive late on Friday, play all day Saturday, color a million eggs Saturday night, then go to bed with images of bunnies and chicks dancing in our heads.
Sunday morning we would all get up early, put on our new church clothes and stiff dress shoes, and walk across the street to church. Easter church always seemed to be the longest church service ever.
First there was Sunday school, which was actually pretty fun. There was singing and playing, and coloring, and story telling, but then it was time to go sit and listen to the pastor.
The benches were hard, the speeches were boring, the pauses were long and in weird spots. He shouted random words - and they were never funny words.
But worst of all, we all knew that back home hidden in the house somewhere was a huge basket filled with sugary goodness just waiting for us to find it. That basket was the only thing that kept us from disintegrating into wild heathens. We knew we had to behave if we wanted to find that basket. It was our light at the end of the church tunnel.
Finally, the cue to rise for the final prayer would be given. We would stand there, me, my two brothers, and our two cousins, all in a row, twitching and fidgeting. Each of us planning our hunting strategy, wanting to be the first to find our basket. We would impatiently file slowly out of the worship area, down the ramp to the lobby where we would have to wait again for the grown-ups to chat and mingle as they filed out the doors. There were always the older ladies, friends of our grandma, who would fawn over us and how big we had gotten from the year before, how precious we looked in our dresses and suits. Then we were at the door, shaking hands with the pastor, wishing him a happy Easter, barely maintaining our civility. Then we were out the door and on the sidewalk, church and any semblance of decorum behind us as we ran full speed toward the street and grandma's house beyond. We knew enough to stop at the street, link hands, and look both ways before we darted out but as soon as we hit the gravel on the other side of the pavement, it was a free for all.
We would burst through the door, pausing only long enough to throw off our jackets if it was a cold year, then the hunt was on.
Grandma's house had all kinds of nooks and crannies for the Easter Bunny to stash a basket. We had an unspoken rule between the five of us, if we found someone else's basket, we didn't say anything, not wanting to ruin the fun for them. Once all the baskets were found, there was the group picture. The successful hunters.
I can still remember the smells and sounds even though it's been more than 20 years since my last Easter at grandma's house. Ham and scalloped potatoes in the oven, the grown-ups in the kitchen talking, laughing, the crinkle of Easter grass in the baskets as we rooted for jelly beans and robins eggs that sifted to the bottom, the dog's nails on the linoleum floor as she danced from one kid to the next waiting for her opportunity to snatch a dropped candy.
That was when life was so easy. We didn't know it then, but it was.
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