Just reminiscing a little about some of the 'events' along the way with Brooke . . .
She climbed up everything including the shelves of the refrigerator. She climbed into everything including the dishwasher. She climbed out of everything including her baby bed. We finally just let the side down so she wouldn't fall so far to the floor in her daily escape. She ate lots of things . . . I pulled a large black bug out of her mouth one day. It was still alive. She ate the weather stripping off the door. She drank Selsun Blue which resulted in a trip to the ER for Syrup of Ipecac. Consequently, she blew bubbles out her mouth and nose. She painted herself with fudgesicles.
Nevertheless, she was and still is a delight . . . she was a delightful little girl . . .she is a delightful young lady.
Do you remember where you were thirty-six years ago today ?
I certainly do !
Before we commence with the 2,547 photos of my youngest that have been posted below, here are a couple of previous birthday posts:
For an OFFICIAL birthday post:
If you are planning to peruse the links above and hang out here to scroll through the pictures that follow, may I suggest taking the time to grab a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate spiked with Peppermint Schnapps or whatever floats your boat. You will be here for awhile.
These photos are in no particular order. For any of you with OCD, and feel the need to put them in order, knock yourself out.
OK, so the first one is in order.
During my pregnancy, I experienced heartburn from Day One to about Day One-Hundred-Thirty.
(She was over due about three weeks !)
An old Indian lady explained to me. "Baby be born with lots of hair. "
She was right !
A bountiful harvest . . . she planted watermelon seeds in the front yard.
They grew, covering the entire front yard. . . ALL summer.
It was quite the talk of the neighborhood.
We couldn't mow because of all the watermelon vines.
It looked like a scene out of Jumanji.
All of the above photos were taken before the birthday girl, sometimes known as SwampSpawn, went to school. Below, is one photo when she was a few years older . . .with big sis.
The following photos were taken at Christmas 2010 . . .
What is a daughter ?
A daughter is a day brightener and a heart warmer. She is a bundle of firsts that excite and delight, giggles that come from deep inside and are always contagious. She is everything wonderful and precious and a mother's love for her knows no bounds. A daughter is a treasure and the cause of sleeplessness. She is a gift of love. She is a little girl who grows up to be a friend, a partner, a mother's closest ally, an extension of herself. A daughter is a miracle that never ceases to be miraculous . . .full of beauty and forever beautiful . . . loving and caring and truly amazing. A daughter is one of the most beautiful gifts this World has to give. She may outgrow your lap, but she will never outgrow your heart.
What is a daughter ?
She is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future.
Am I a proud Mommy ?
You betcha, I am !
Am I a proud Mother ?
You betcha, I am !
There are, of course, many many stories that come to mind, so while my mind can still remember them, here are just a few:
Our friend and doctor, Herbert Rowland called Brookie his little grubber.
One reason is because she was responsible for eating all the weather stripping off our doors. The good doc said, "A little roughage never hurt anyone. "
Then there was the time when I could tell she had something in her mouth, so like any good mother, I reached in with my fore finger and pulled out a black bug. A LIVE black bug ! We discusssed possibly discontinuing our contract with Orkin since we had an in-house bug eater.
Then there was the time her grubber-instincts sent us to the emergency room. She got-a-hold-of a bottle of Selsun Blue. How much she drank, no one knows. This was during the era of Syrup of Ipecac. Lawerence Welk would have welcomed having her sit behind the orchestra because she blew bubbles out her mouth and nose for an extended period of time.
Then there was the time I was unloading laundry from the dryer, and I accidentally tried to knock my funny bone off my arm. If you've ever done this, you know how very painful this can be. I dropped the S-bomb and as I turned to sit on the floor to regain consciousness, there stood my two-year-old. She had no problem repeating that word . . .over and over and over again. A few hours later, my parents arrived. The doorbell rang and as I opened the door, Brookie greeted them with, "Mommy said shit-shit-shit."
Then there was the time she wanted in her sister's bedroom. It was a rule at our house that a closed door must be knocked upon. She loved more than anything to be in her sister's room. I heard this little knock-knock-knock on LA's door and her sister asked, "Who is it ?" Brookie replied, "It's yu-aah Muth-ah."
Then there was the time it was a typical morning with everyone trying to get ready, eat breakfast, find back packs. . . you know the drill ! As I picked up a towel in the bathroom, noticing a glob of black something or other drop out of it, I heard a scream from the kitchen, "M-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m-m-m !" The kind of scream that makes a Mother's hair stand straight up on the back of her neck. Brookie had instructed her older sister to, "Feel right here." Right here was where her bangs used to to be. She had taken some very sharp shears, laid them flat on her head, and whacked-whacked-whacked-off her bangs. This was prompted by a conversation she had heard between LA and me that she didn't want bangs anymore and planned to "grow them out." Brookie, wanting to be just like her sister, speeded up the process, and did away with her bangs in three whacks with the scissors. The glob of black that fell out of the towel was her bangs.
Then there was the time we were making brownies. Brookie was about four. The teacher in me was always ready for that teachable moment, so we proceeded with step-by-step instructions. She was instructed to "grease the bottom of the pan."
She took a handful. . .
a h-a-n-d-f-u-l. . .
I said a H-A-N-D-F-U-L
of Crisco and greased the BOTTOM of the pan.
Not the "inside" bottom of the pan. The "outside" bottom of the pan.
I won't mention that she was a biter.
No, I won't do that.
I could go on and on and on . . .
. . . but I won't.
I just finish with this . . .
Am I a proud Mommy ?
You betcha I am !
I know you love this picture, so here it is:
Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.
I LOVE YOU,