Four-year-old big 

 
McKinley turns 4 today.  “1. 2. 3. 4,” she excitedly pronounces to the world. My bustling -happy- hyper- curious- passionate -confident- and quite often stubborn -mini me. 

You can tell she’s older.  “Come on Cora, you can do it—No Cora that’s our neighbor’s yard.”  Just by the way she tries to redirect her little sister.  Or, by letting her little sister actually play with her brand spankin’ new baby stroller.  That’s big.  That’s four-year-old big.  

And she’s now in the throws of preschool drama, she said bullshit.  “Mom, today, she said I’m not her friend, she said I can’t play with her, she hit me with a stick, she wouldn’t listen to me…”  The list is endless.  And the she changes.   Trying to navigate a four year through emotional social awareness is D-raining. But, that’s four-year-old big.  

However, I can still get her to snuggle on my chest and watch a show.  And she still needs me when she gets a boo-boo. So, she still my little girl.  Thankfully.  Trying to hold onto as many as these moments, because I know they are temporary.

All my love, to my KinBug today, and every day. Happy Birthday my big four-year-old! Xoxo  

~g 

.:Tradition Time:.

It’s that time again! Where we put back on our hiking boots and truck through those hilly muddy terranes.  Throwing discs.  And hearing that familiar clinking sound when our dics fly (hopefully gracefully) into the baskets. 

  
We just love playing discgolf.  Even if we only manage to get through 7 holes, because McKinley has to use the restroom and Cora is covered in mud.  It’s our family tradition. 

  
It was Coras first time being able to walk with us and carry a disc. I’m happy to report she shares our enthusiasm! 

  

   
Anyone else feeling like it’s already spring? I’ve brought up all my yellow pillows and spring decor from the basement.  Which is risky. Especially living in Ohio. Let’s get real–it might very well snow 5 inches tomorrow, but for now– getting muddy and soaking up the sunshine just feels right

~g

Morning Conversations 

Sometimes, Monday mornings are rough. You know, rolling out of bed groggy while attempting to re-establish weekday routines. Playing out the idea of hooky on a Monday inside your head.  Wishing to sink back into your pillow. Little things can feel rushed Monday morning. Like, conversations with your three-year-old. (Almost four-year-old).   

Over peanut-buttered-jelly toast and applesauce McKinley discussed her dream to me.  And we didn’t rush.  

“Were you by the pink and blue hydrangeas last night?” McKinley asked. 

I played along, “Oh yes! I was.” 

“And did you see Papa? He was playing with me in my dreams last night!”  (She is referring to my late father who passed away). 

“Oh really?! What were you guys doing?” 

“Papa was pushing us on the swings, but I was younger,” says McKinley very grown up. 

  
Sometimes it stirs these bottomless emotions inside me, but other times it brings comfort knowing he visits her. Still keeping us all safe. Still staying close.  

~g

Where do you get inspiration? 

I get my inspiration from my 3-year-old. I dedicated a wall to McKinley’s art work. It’s been a slow coming master piece. 

 
~g

Wordless Wednesday