stars in her hair

Our floors delicately shimmer with glitter, almost as though a little sprite of a thing came flitting through our home, quickly gracing us with her copious amount of Christmas cheer in the festive form of silver sparkles.

Hey, I can't complain. I am an 80s child after all.

Poppa Santa came by for a visit the other day.

I love how she is so over him at this moment. Ha!

She's thinking...I just want to go play in the field. My dad is thinking...can I take this thing off yet?


How lucky is she that her Poppa is Santa?! ;)

One of my favorite things is when we lay in bed after a long day; the four of us resting like puzzle pieces on our queen sized sanctuary. I capture the notion of how I am the most at peace when my feet are nestled against Jack's (our dog) back, my hand is holding Roar's and my arm is protectively over Sook's tummy. There's something about being close with all three of them that intensifies my wishes for our right now and our future, that precious potent magic power of using your yesterdays to make better your todays and tomorrows. A mess of hands, fingers, feet and toes; all loving and living in this shared space, following a path of a reality that has already exceeded my wildest, most imaginative dreams.

Nothing...just taking my monkey on a walk.

I also happen to adore it when she teases and bites like a fiesty little alligator.

We were out to dinner the other night. We ordered her a giant salad, girl loves her tomatoes, and Rory tells her, "If you eat all of that, Daddy will buy you a pony."

When she farts? When she farts she says "Burp", I don't have the heart to correct her because I would rather her refer to it as that, and it is so funny I crack up laughing each and every time.

My hands are under the covers, she pushes her cheeks against mine, and kisses me with no hidden agenda, no abandon, no hesitation. Just pure love, straight from momma to daughter.

I love that at 22 and a half months, even when half asleep, she can still find the energy to be polite. In the middle of the night, she turns to me and asks for more milk. I return with a fresh offering for her, and with closed eyes, she says "thank you". My momma heart melts and is oh so proud. SO PROUD, because her sentiment is not only genuine, it is unprompted. Isn't that the best kind of "thank you"?

Her skin is still fresh, ripe even, with bold innocence and technicolor dreams.