Beep was the flower girl in my dad's wedding. I think it was the highlight of her life. She still asks "Am I your flower girl?" Because being a flower girl is tantamount to holding the most illustrious, loving, special and elevated position possible.
Thank you for the precious head wreath for my baby girl, Dad and Joyce. I had no idea what to do about the lingering baby mullet. Because, you guys, she's still the same Beep we all know and love. Mullet in the house!
Apparently to make up for her persistent lack of front hair, I got bangs.
But! The hair situation does evolve, at least in the back, and she now allows pigtails. They are tiny and precious, just like her. As proven by this photo, where the other kids look approximately 3 years older (spoiler alert: they're not).
Yes, it's true. I am a soccer mom. Beep is loving soccer, and watching their games has become my favorite weekend activity. The team's entire game strategy consists of trying to remember which goal to score on. Not that anyone keeps track, you understand.
Our baby boy has been a wonderful addition to our family (does anyone ever say otherwise?). But, if you want to hold a grudge because life without my regular blog postings has become a meaningless wasteland... well, blame him.
Having a second child definitely pushed my schedule over the edge, and it continues to be a challenge for me to find time for myself. Blogging falls under that category, along with riding, exercising (oh baby weight, how I hate you), and blow drying my hair. Air dry 4evah!
Brother Bean, as he is mostly called, is merry, sweet, giggly, and has a ridiculously cute set of dimples that guarantee every woman within sight falls helplessly in love with him.
In other news, he's really really shriek-y. As in, make your ears bleed. He recently decided it's his main mode of communication, and really it's so much more efficient than, say, talking. Who needs verbal communication, or signing? And pointing is for sissies. So I am frantically trying to reinforce words, both verbal and in sign language.
Me: Brother, do you need a drink? Drink?
Me: Brother, drink? [holding up cup]
Me: [signing "drink"]
So that's really working.
Finally, in our household of four there is only one person who favors clothing, and that would be me. Otherwise Cabbage Ranch is populated by one man who'd rather walk around half dressed most of the time. Then there's the baby who sees no need for clothing, especially anything restrictive like, say, long sleeves or shoes. I can't really blame him, because up until now he probably thought his life would be nothing but onesies and the reality of denim and buttons would indeed be a bitter pill to swallow.
And then there's The Naked Chef.
How are you guys?