Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

Tibi gratias agimus quod nihil fumas.

It says "...freedom of...", not "...freedom from...".

Nolite te bastardes carburundorum!

"It's amazing to me how many people think that voting to have the government give poor people money is compassion. Helping poor and suffering people is compassion. Voting for our government to use guns to give money to help poor and suffering people is immoral self-righteous bullying laziness. People need to be fed, medicated, educated, clothed, and sheltered, and if we're compassionate we'll help them, but you get no moral credit for forcing other people to do what you think is right. There is great joy in helping people, but no joy in doing it at gunpoint." - Penn Jillette

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Fiddle-de-dee, Sprout Is Three!

My baby girl isn't such a baby.

She talks like she's always known how, even if sometimes I'm the only one who understands her.  She walks and runs like gravity is for mere mortals, even if occasionally she gets tangled up in her own feet.  She sleeps through the night like an old pro, even if sometimes she wakes up and want rocking again, or to crawl into bed and budge up against me with a soft sigh that fades into a sweet little snore.

She argues, bites, pinches, throws toys, hits,loves, hugs, kisses, pats, and cuddles.

I call her "Little Heart" and her brother is "Big Heart".

Her laugh comes from somewhere deep within her and bubbles up like an auditory artesian spring, and it is marvelous.

She wants to help, or do for herself, fiercely independent and angry when she can't.  She can count to two, sometimes as much as five.  She knows she does not like fresh pears, and apples with peanut butter are coveted.

She loathes the shoulder straps on her car seat and wriggles free of them whenever she can, until I catch her and sternly admonish "Put your arms back in!", which she does reluctantly, protesting.  No matter how tight I make them, how secure I make the chest buckle, she can get free.

Sometimes she like to spend hours just mashed up against me, snuggled as close as she can get.  "Will you sit on the lounge with me?" she asks, and when I do she sits, lies, sprawls on me, one hand absently holding mine or patting me, staring at the television or out the window or at nothing at all.  Maybe there is a book, or two, or a dozen.  Maybe there is conversation.  Maybe there is just us on the lounge, warm and content, covered in cats and a sheet or blanket, still for a time.

She knows how to scream.  She has lungs and volume like me.  She can scare the crap out of her father and I when she cuts loose out of the blue.  She likes to sing.  Sometimes she sings all day long, and sometimes just a little here and there, mostly songs she makes up on the spot.  There is no rhyme or reason, but it is a happy noise.  Occasionally she dances, too.  She may entice one of us to join her.

My little wild, sweet, strong, smart little girl is three.

How glad I am for having her.


Nar said...

Happy, Happy Birthday to your marvelous, beautiful little darling!

Momlady said...

Happy birthday, sweet girl.

Jess (Ozark Momma) said...

A day late (and a dollar short as usual) but

Happy Birthday Sprout!!!