Happy Birthday Baby!

Rosie: Three years ago today, no one ( including me) was certain that you would be okay. You continued to thrive in my body, unaffected by the violent accident that did so much damage to me. You continued to impress nurses and doctors alike with your burlesque within my belly, creating impressive bumps and waves for them to watch. Sleeping while I was pregnant with each of your sisters was never easy, but with you, my broken neck and pelvis made it even more uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just the hospital bed. In your last days of growing in my belly, you took every opportunity to stretch to the limits of your tiny body, taking up every inch of available space between my pelvis and my rib cage. I felt like Ripley in ‘Alien’, and when you finally relaxed and fell asleep, I was greeted by the feeling of fire at the back of my throat. Many women (including your Granny) told me that severe heartburn was a sure sign that you would be a redhead. Old wives tale, I guess.
When you were delivered at 8:04 AM, three years ago this morning, I waited to hear you cry. Then, I cried. I was so glad to hear it, and I had two month’s worth of tears saved up for such an occasion. You might wonder, sweet Rosie,  how I could have enough room in my heart to love three daughters. I’ll tell you what I told your sisters: At the moment that you were born, my heart gained exactly what you weighed at that moment. Seven pounds and one ounce.

Happy Birthday to my Trinity Rose.


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My 100th Post

I got the idea from CMHL about posting a link to my one-hundredth post (whew! what a mouthful when you try to say hundredth out loud!).  Much like she did, I had trouble figuring out which exact post it was, since in the beginning I was a maniacal blogger, posting more than once a day. I’ve posted almost 400 so far.  Next month will be my one-year Blogiversary, but my actual 100th post was from November 2005.  Fittingly, it’s a Meme.  You know how I love those.  Seriously.  This is an open invitation for any of you to TAG ME.

Summer Swim?

Part of my daughters’ nighttime routine involves cleaning their respective bedrooms and gathering any personal items from the living room that may have grown legs and wandered out there.  Earlier tonight, Halie must have thought she was alone in her efforts to clean up, since she called out to her younger sister, “Catie? What are you doing?”  I heard a familiar voice, but I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.  It was Catie, telling her sister (from the hallway bathroom), “I’ll be right there! I’m just dropping off the kids at the pool!”

Butt Crack of Dawn…

I call it Oh-Dark-Hundred Hours, but my husband actually named this post today. I am awake in the pre-dawn hours this morning because my DH had to catch a flight to Houston, a business trip for the day.  My tots are still sleeping, in fact the only sounds in my house are the coffeemaker and the clickety-clack of my hunt-and-peck style of typing on the computer.  I have to tell you that last night, my husband and I were on a roll – making each other laugh.  After getting the girls’ fed their dinner (and ourselves as well), rooms cleaned and ready for bed, we tucked them in for the night.

Halie, mother hen that she is, sleeps in her own room while the youngest two share a room in bunk beds.  They sleep with their bedroom doors open, at right angles in the hallway.  There is a tension gate that we place in the bedroom doorway to keep Rosie from roaming free in the middle of the night (which she is known to do).  I’m used to hearing Halie ‘tattle’ on her siblings after lights out.  I have come to count on her to keep watch over her sisters.  Last night, as my DH and I were beginning a movie, I heard Halie proclaim: “Rosie’s messing with the gate!”, followed by a loud CRASH!  Rosie had thrown her little body against the gate and popped it out of the doorway, sending it crashing to the hallway floor.  I looked at my husband, who said, “Next time, I’m going to pony up the money for the electric gate!”

After twelve years, my Darling Husband is still making me laugh. WITH him, Not AT him.

Bedtime

My youngest daughter will be three this Sunday at 8:04 AM.  She has not always had a bedtime toy.  She once sucked the two middle fingers on her left hand as comfort.  Slowly, she has requested more and more stuffed animals, I assume as a delay tactic.  Woe to the person who cannot supply any given animal on request!  Does Rosie keep track of what animals are in what part of the house at all times of the day. Oh HECK no!  Yet, at bedtime, the toys suddenly become friends that she would rather not be separated from for another moment.  I’ve begun to refer to Rosie’s gaggle of bedtime toys as her ‘entourage’, and I’ve posted a photo below, which I was able to capture last night:

 Entourage

Fun :: Family Circus

When I say_____ :: you think ______.

  1. Video :: What year is it? 1986?
  2. Fantasy :: Imagination
  3. Homework :: A Metric Ton (with Massage Therapy School)
  4. Crush :: Cans of beer against the head of a Fraternity Brother.
  5. Late :: Headache (I’m rarely late, BTW)
  6. Husband :: Prince Charming
  7. Soccer :: Golf (I don’t watch either)
  8. Wine :: Pinot Grigio
  9. Before :: I can’t remember. I’ve slept since then…I think.
  10. Romantic :: Not one bone in my body.
  11. If you’d like to play along, click here.

Um….Hello!!

I’ve jumped ship, as it were.  Blogger just is not good enough for me, so (obviously), I’m off to greeener pastures…with 272 thousand other bloggers.

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