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February 2010
Next month:
April 2010

The Party was a Hit

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She had a blast and I think everyone else did too.  The space was incredible.

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Lots of great art was done by all.

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We all learned a little something about Jackson Pollock.

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And how to examine paintings in a gallery, tap foot, hand on chin, sigh:)

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Some of us were a little tired of all the art.

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Seeing her smile was really what it was all about.  Happy Birthday peach!


Bye Bye Lala. . . Bye Bye Yaya!

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This is the scene at my house in the morning before the bus comes.  She just adores them.  She waves when they leave and claps when they come home.  I just love watching this sisterly relationship forming.  I hope they still adore her when she follows them around everywhere and gets into all of their stuff.  My three little loves.
 


The Day is Done

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Well, she's officially six.  It's over.  Who would've thought her favorite gift would've been the purse.  I got it as an after thought really and stuffed it full of stickers, erasers, decorative band-aids and playing cards.  It was really kind of a sneaky present, as we're going on a train trip in Colorado this summer and I thought it would be handy if she could carry her own bag of stuff, seeing as I now have three small people to pack for.  She has loaded it and unloaded it with treasures a dozen times already for her imaginary "trips". We still have the friend birthday party coming up next weekend.  Painting party in the style of Jackson Pollock (not in my home!).  Should be fun.   Aahh. . . sigh. . . on to the next birthday.  My last baby will be one next month.  Weep. . . sniffle.  I keep telling my husband because she was five weeks early I get another month of babyhood as a bonus.  He's not buying it.

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Pippa's first birthday dress provided it's not below zero and snowing:)  A thrift store find, for $8.00, it still had the tags on it!  I love that!  I thought when she was done wearing it I could embroider her name on the bottom.  We'll see if I ever get around to that!  Anyway, happy Friday.  Let's see how far I get on the quilt this weekend.  I should have lots of time after standing in a crazy line tomorrow morning to try to get my oldest in a Lutheran sleepover camp during the summer that all the neighborhood kids attended last year and raved about.  My husband smirks, "We're not even Lutheran!  Can't we find a nice Catholic camp for her to go to?"  Oooohhhh, it's all the same.  I just can't wrap my mind around the idea of her sleeping two plus hours away from me for six nights!  Uuuhhh. . . my heart hurts just thinking about it.  Anyway,  the schedule is crazy line standing at seven in the morning, ballet class for middle child, basketball game for Lutheran camp girl, birthday party for middle child's friend, sleepover at my house with middle child's other friend.  Quilting?  Sure, lots o' time.  
 


Tomorrow I'll be Six!

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Do you see this baby?  Tomorrow she will be six.  As in six years old.  She is my middle child.  The serious, passionate one of the bunch.  She feels everything from the tips of her toes (where the sock line is a constant irritation) to the very top of her head (long hair please, I am not a boy).  She knows the way she likes things and isn't afraid to tell you about it.  I still laugh when I think about her first hair cut shortly before her second birthday when she yanked on the dryer cord as the hair dresser was drying her hair, pulled her pacifier out of her mouth, leaned over and said, "Hey, you're blowin' that in my face!"   

She will not be rushed.  From the time I was in labor with her (doctor upon doctor peeking their head into the room saying "Isn't that baby out yet?")  to this morning, adjusting her clothing just so as she puts on each layer.  She takes her time.  Sometimes she makes me want to pull my hair out, but more often I am proud of how deeply she feels things.  We cannot pass a person on the street holding a sign without her eyes welling up with tears and her sweet voice asking, "Momma, aren't you going to give that man some money?  He doesn't have a home."  Every year we go to a farm in Door County to pet horses, and kitties, and goats, and baby chicks.  She, in her slow careful way, is a pro at scooping up the baby chicks to hold, while the other little ones visiting tend to rush at them with excitement.  My sweet peach spent her time this last visit catching chicks for all of the other little ones that couldn't do it themselves. 

 She likes to always have a plan and mostly wants to stick close to home.  On our way out to our friends' cabin for Thanksgiving, she asked if we had a map. She didn't want to go traipsing off into the woods on any fly by the seat of your pants exploring because she was afraid of getting lost.  Often my oldest daughter will go from house to house in the neighborhood playing with every kid on the block and my middle daughter will climb up on the couch with me and lean her head on my shoulder and say, "I just want to stay home with my Mummy."  Sigh,  I love you peach.

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 Two years old.

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Six years old.