Watching Over

Our dog Grace died last summer, almost exactly one year ago. She was old but it was still extremely sad and very hard on David.  It was also Morgan's first experience with death and she has since become obsessed with the concept of dying.  She regularly tells strangers that our dog is dead and reminds people that when you die you can't eat any more.  Morgan also randomly brings up Grace at family functions and on holidays so I am not quite sure why this time caught me so off guard.

For the majority of our 4th of July, Morgan kept her hands over her ears.  David, on the other hand, was just super excited to be blowing things up.  You can't tell in this picture, but he has stuffed a firecracker into a soda can, which he then put inside a paper cup.  Super high tech.

I was skeptical.  He was joyous.

It was a dud. I was smug.

As the evening progressed, David quit trying to blow his own fingers off and we started to watch the ridiculous amount of illegal fireworks going off in our neighborhood.

Despite our repeated assurances, Morgan continued to be quite overwhelmed with all of the noise and flashing lights.  

Until she saw several large fireworks going off in the distance.

Out of no where, she looked up at me and asked, "Baby Grace is up in Heaven, right?" "Sure!" I replied, mostly confused as to how that related to what was going on.  And then she stood up and took her hands off her ears.  Waving widely at the sky, she began yelling, "Happy 4th of July, Baby Grace!!!"  As she looked to  me, not sure what to do next, I scooped her up and said, "Thank you, sweetheart.  I am sure she loved the show." And you know, I am sure she did.

Class Act

When David and I were first dating, someone cut him off at an intersection.  Being Italian, he very loudly yelled out, "A fangul!!!" -- I am pretty sure it means something along the lines of "thank you very much" or "have a nice day."  In the midst of his outburst, David forgot his parents were sitting in the backseat.  They were not impressed.  My father-in-law, scowling into the rear view mirror, snickered "Classless, David.  Classless."  He then shook his head with bitter disappointment, as if his son was just caught robbing a bank or flipping off the pope.

Here we are, four years later.  My in-laws thought it would be funny to "teach" Morgan some French, starting with the word hamburger.  I thought the whole thing was precious, and asked her to show me what she learned.  It was totally precious, until she let out a belch that could give David a run for his money.  Classless, Morgan. Classless. But hella funny.

Ballerina Girl

Several of my friends are currently pregnant.  One is definitely having a girl and at least two friends should find out soon.  It reminded me of when I was pregnant and was SO confident I was having a boy that I just stared at the ultrasound technician when she informed me otherwise.  My father-in-law was so dumbfounded he just quietly whispered, "Well, I hope she likes camouflage."  (she does, for the record).  But girlfriend is still a girly girl at heart. 

Despite my best efforts to prevent my daughter from falling into any gender stereotypes, we enrolled her in dance last fall.  Not surprisingly, she loved it.  She recently had her official recital, in an actual auditorium, at a local high school.  I will warn you that there are a ridiculous number of pictures associated with this event.  

Before the recital, Morgan offered to show us her ballet positions.  I know there are several positions in ballet, but I have no idea what they are.  I never took dance; I dropped out of gymnastics when I was six and all I really remember about that was that my underwear was constantly hanging out of my leotard.

Once Morgan finished her demonstration, it was showtime.  We said our goodbyes and she headed off to wait with the other dancers. 

And then the performance began.  Of course, I was instantly crying.  At one point, David leaned over and said, "You know Morgan's not even up there yet, right?"  But it didn't matter - Those little dancers were so precious and so brave.  I thought for sure our kid would be the one yelling for me, but she didn't even seem to notice that a room of several hundred people were watching her every move.  She was a dancer, and she just wanted to twirl.

After the performance, the girls were given small trinkets and bouquets of flowers. Morgan was beaming.

And as I looked at my daughter, so poised and so confident, I couldn't help but reflect on how different things would have been if we'd had a boy - he just would have looked so strange in a tutu. Congratulations, my little ballerina girl - we are so proud.

We The People

I wanted to write something witty and patriotic this week.  Nothing came to me.  So I scratched patriotic I thought I would just focus on being witty.  Still nothing.  Then I came across these pictures I took a few weeks ago of Morgan standing on her picnic table, singing.  And it made me realize that maybe I was trying too hard. Sometimes, life is just simple and joyous.  Especially when you're three and the most complicated thing in your life is trying to figure out where to put your picnic table. 

But then it hit me.  One of the reason's our daughter's life is so simple and joyous is because of where we live.  Not just the suburbs, not just Idaho, but America.  Because thousands of people have sacrificed their homes, their families, and their lives to make mine a little better.  We have a a place to raise our family where our daughter can set up her picnic table and sing as loud as she wants, whenever she wants.  For that, I am grateful, and proud, and just damn lucky to live where I do.  

Look at that...I guess it wasn't too hard to be patriotic after all.