She's Having a Birthday

This happy little ballerina is my darling granddaughter, Regan. She will soon be 4 years old.

She is happy 99.5% of the time from my perspective. I love and enjoy basking in the happiness Regan showers all around. Playing with her is such a joy for me. When she comes to my house she likes to sit on the floor of my bedroom watching her videos propped up on a big pillow. At other times we make shapes with play dough and cookie cutters at the kitchen table. We lie in bed and read storybooks. Just listening to her talk and laugh makes me feel good all over.

Regan has a lot of love for her family and often shows that affection with kisses and hugs. I love to see her sharing her kisses on her mommy and daddy. She will even hug on her big brother Aidan or lavish her love on their beagle, Daisy. It has also been my good fortune indeed to have been the recipient of Regan hugs and kisses.

Regan is what I call a girly-girl. Last year's 3-year-old birthday party was a Princess Barbie Party. Regan's mommy, my talented daughter in law, baked a beautiful Barbie cake and constructed a decorated skirt around the body of a real Barbie doll standing in the center of the cake. Regan loved it. This year we are invited to a Butterfly Party and I'm sure there will be a cake worthy of the butterfly theme.

Having raised 3 sons, I find that shopping for Regan's girl-themed birthday parties to be a lot of fun. I really enjoy looking at girl toys, clothes and reading books I think she will like. Trouble is I find it hard to decide on what not to get because I'd love to get it all. I believe Regan will approve of the present I finally settled on. Cool sunglasses, butterfly ponytail holders, a butterfly printed tee and a Girls Rock tee, a skort (that's part skirt, part shorts) that matches both tees and a ballerina Barbie, with brunette hair of course, and an extra Barbie outfit all between patterned tissue paper in a bright pink gift bag. I also read the cutest Easter book in Target titled "Tough Chicks". It's about three yellow baby chicks on a farm who are always getting into mischief. Really cute story and of course, I had to buy it so I can share it with her. Besides the story seems to fit our "tough birthday-chick". Now, if you should happen to see my Regan, please keep my present a secret. Luckily, she doesn't follow her Mama Lou's blog...yet.

Saturday will be here one more day. We will travel the short distance to her house. Meeting her friends, watching her run and giggle with other little 4 year olds as they play party games will be the most fun I'll experience all day. Can't wait!

"Happy Birthday, dear Regan. Happy Birthday, to You!"

Love,
Mama Lou

Getting My Ducks in a Row

Sometimes getting all my ducks to get into a row is like raking leaves on a windy day. They just don't stay put.

Gray. Rain. Quiet.

Its raining today. The temperature dropped down to the low 40's in the middle of March. Its wet and cold outside. I don't feel like going anywhere or doing anything except what I'm doing right now. Hanging around my house, I can see so many chores that need to be tended to, but no energy to carry through. The sound of the rain dripping on metal outside, the chill of the air around the glass door and the sight of my sleeping cats, all seem to suck the spirit to work right out of me.

On days like today its good to be inside out of the elements, but being alone makes the day drag. My husband is teaching school today and afterward will stay for a rehearsal with the ninth grade theater arts students. He'll be there until it starts to turn dark. I wish he'd just come on home and talk to me. Or perhaps we could play a game and have some fun. I'd watch a movie with him except our taste for movies are very different. He likes documentaries about crimes committed and federal agents working to solve the mysteries surrounding the act. Me? I enjoy a story about happiness. People who are full of life and laughing with friends and out having a good time. The kind of movies I like are an escape from reality. Why anyone would ever want to sit watching films about hate crimes, murders, and illicit acts of cruelty against people they love, are beyond my mind of reason. Just watching previews of films involving terror, fear, and monstrous mangling of human bodies is not at all what I'd call entertainment. I've not the foggiest idea why anyone would want to subject their mind to such things.

If not for the sound of the heater in the attic blowing warmth into my house, there would be no sound at all. Quiet. Very quiet. When I was a teenager, my mother would offer tidbits of advice out of the blue for when I would have a home and family of my own. "When you're at home by yourself, keep the TV or radio on for company. Just having the sound on helps make the day go faster." Or, "you have to be sure to clean good around a toilet when there's men in the house". Ha. I always thought that one was funny, although now that I've had three sons and a husband, I often remember her words as I clean around a toilet.

Quiet, gray days generate a lot of thoughts in my head. Memories of bygone days growing up in my parent's home, playing with my dolls, coloring, playing records (FYI, round plastic disc pre-CD that held music) or just brushing my hair as I stared at my reflection on days like today float around my mind. Then, my thoughts sift to those days not so long ago when my own children were at home on days like today.

When my kids were little they'd come up with all sorts of games on rainy days. Often I'd open the door to their bedroom and a tent made of blankets and ropes had been erected. Corners tied off to doorknobs and curtain rods, with cozy areas just the right size for pint-sized little boys to sit under, laugh and play. Or sometimes I'd let them play in the garage. I'd open the double-wide garage door and they'd draw on a chalkboard, blow bubbles or just listen to the echoing sounds of their voices bouncing off the garage walls.

The familiar wail of a refinery whistle off in the distance, is reminiscent of the refineries where I grew up and where my daddy worked. Hearing those plant whistles signaling the workers to change shifts, make me think about my daddy. I can see him wearing his hard hat and carrying that black metal lunch pail as he came around the corner of the garage up the sidewalk to our back door. The sound is so clear in the solitude of my home and I am immediately transported back to the small wood-framed house in Southeast Texas.

In a while I will turn the television on for company. What's left of the gray day will soon end and my husband will come home. We'll eat our dinner and talk about our day. It was quiet today. Very quiet.