These are my rolls. I made them 22days, 5 hours, and 32 minutes ago.
They are hard and would hurt someone if used as a weapon. I mean, they look perfect. Like I just baked them. And I swear I didn't put any weird preservative in them. So everyone reaches to grab one, with a hopeful and thankful look in their eyes, until they realize they are really. hard.
But I can't throw them away, so here they sit. Every so often I ask one of the girls, or Brian, if they want one. And then I laugh. I'm one of those people that are far more amused with myself, than others are with me.
I can't bring myself to throw them away. Not because I take myself and my rolls seriously. (I am an award-winning baker, now, after all), but because I wouldn't get to ask someone if they want one of my hard-as-rock rolls again. Or laugh after I ask them that.
And because if I threw the rolls away, it would be nerdy to keep the tray with the second place ribbon on it without the rolls.
My girls think I'm strange.
The funniest part of these rolls, though, is that the girls really wanted me to enter some things into the fair. So, I entered the only thing I can bake really well. These rolls.
For me, truly, the most rewarding part of the fair exhibits, is watching my girls pull in the blue-ribbons. I love it. This year, I even had to hold back the tears when Holland realized she won the youth award for creativity, along with a huge blue ribbon and a gift card to an art store. The excited grins on their faces are so much fun.
So when we went to the box office to allow the girls to gather their prize money, I stayed with the stroller while Brian took the girls up to get their money. My photographs hadn't won anything, and I know Brian loves to be a part of the fair projects with the girls, too. I was slightly annoyed when he told me I had to sign the paper. Really? You're a parent, too. Why do they need me? So, I signed. Then, the lady gave me three bucks. "What's this for?" I asked. You won second place. "On WHAT?" Then it dawned on me.....my ROLLS! I laughed so hard I had tears rolling down my face. I totally forgot that I even entered them. I didn't even try to find them in the midst of all the other baked goods in the Expo Hall.
Happy birthday to the girl who asked to have the word "Revenge" written on the front of her Sunday School card...
to the girl who calls me her "cute little mama" and who even wished for me whilst blowing out birthday candles. (sigh)...
Happy 1461 days of life...
to the girl who thinks stinky bathrooms are an aberration. Bathroom sprays are even worse, as they tell her someone had a reason to use such masks of odor.
To the girl who smiles with not just her mouth, but her eyes and her forehead and her whole being.
The girl who asks for food every other minute, and who packs her own lunch to have with her wherever she goes. And who has a long list of items that mama needs to do now to keep the whole family organized. The Lord knew I needed a micro-manager, but oh....those moments can be intense.
She holds her pencil correctly, naturally. And she orders her own food at the restaurant and she checks to make sure the waitress does her job correctly, and will stay far, far away from Chechup (ketchup) and all other foods that give her itchies. A girls who follows the rules, that is sure.
And you can hear her wherever she goes, rubber galoshes smacking against pavement.
Happy 48 months...
to the girl who gave this mom words..... for it was while she was still in my womb that words unleashed and have been dancing around ever since. Fitting, I think, as she has a whole long list of big words she loves to throw around: courage, avenge, actually, famous, spooky and... more.
Happy birthday to the four-year-old who adds excitement, warmth, and intensity to our fam. You are a star, Reese! And we love you more than you love food. And that's a LOT.
Decorating the cake at home:
A birthday dinner at home, followed by presents:
Party time at the park!
I thought it would be sweet to pick one of Reese's drawings to put out in a frame for the party. I grabbed one I had saved. She had drawn it about 6 months ago. I thought it was cute. It looked pretty much the same as her other pictures. I put it on the table.
"MOM! Whyyyyy did you bring my picture of daddy to the park?"
Brian passes out eggs for the egg race:
What I wouldn't have given to have been a fly on the shoulder of one of these two characters:
And a night cap of gifts. :o)
What a wonderful day for an amazing little girl. We love you, Georgia Reese!
"That girl dances to the beat of a different drummer". He said it nonchalantly as we walked along the street, watching our three daughters skip ahead of us.
"What makes you say that", I ask him, "the rubber goulashes in 90 degree heat, or the fact that she came home from Sunday School today with the word "Revenge" written on the front of the card she made?"
Once again, we signed the kids up for Main Street Mile...or rather, we were tied to a chair and made to do so! The kids love this race. There is no coercing or begging. No pleading. These gals decide every year to run in 90+ temps amongst strangers dressed in fur (AKA mascots), sweat dripping down their faces, lungs working overtime to recover gasped breath.
Why, you ask?
Yes, I did say ice cream. I'd like to say these girls are dedicated to improving their lifelong cardiovascular health, or that they really believe in helping further research and a cure for testicular cancer, but that is just not the case. We're talking the under 11 year-old-sect here. They have their lifetime to worry about worthy causes.;o)
But in becoming a part of something big, outside their own realm of influence, these girls just might grow up to be caring individuals who want to give a small amount to do something tangible to help further medicine. They just might want to take care of their bodies and enjoy the feeling of pushing your body, your lungs further than it went yesterday.
So every year we run after the ice cream truck and we sweat and we laugh at the furry mascots racing year-after-year, having become a beloved tradition among bystanders.
Will the cow win again this year?
And will we run faster than last year?
Will I get orange or a chocolate ice cream this year? (yes, we ponder important questions in this fam!)
A family affair, we all get to run. Or, in the case of our trusty bystanders Aunt Bucky and Nanette, some get to watch and cheer and take pictures. This year, papa ran with Liv. Holland ran with Brian. I got to run with Reese. What a privilege that was....her first race. I expected Reese to be laughing and giggling and smiling. But I should have known better. Anyone who knows Reese knows the girl is serious about her snacks and she is always "hungy".
Papa, chasing Liv.
Daddy and Holland.
Mom with the very serious Reese.
The whole race she was chanting, "Let's get ice-cream. Let's get ice-cream!" And even when she stopped briefly due to "this running is making my mouth feel thirsty!", she insisted that we keep running so that we could, "go get ice cream!"
There were no smiles. No laughing. Only serious love for ice-cream. And when asked why she said she'd like to go back and run the race again, she said, "because of the ice cream and those blue ribbons!"
Until next time, Main Street Mile...thanks for the fun, the thrill, the ice cream.