What's Wrong With Arranged Marriages?

Nothing, that's what I say. Here are two great options: both come from good, solid stock and you would never have to worry about the families getting along during holiday dinners.

And you know, even if the whole forever-and-ever thing doesn't work out, you've made two very good friends. Here are some recent photos of play dates with both Gabriel and James.




I love the hand-holding here. Such sweetness.

Daddy's Baby

It's nearly unanimous, everyone thinks you look like your Poppa. Sure, every once in a while someone tries really hard to come up with a similarity between you and me; the comparison usually seems strained. It's odd, people seem to think that it bothers me that you look totally and completely like your Poppa; it really doesn't. He's got great dimples, beautiful blue eyes, a perfect nose and a light-up-the-room smile. You'd do great to look like him (it turns out, there is already a female version of your Poppa--Aunt Christa-- and she's quite a looker).

What's been even more fun, these last few months, is watching the less physical similarities between you and your Poppa emerge. The other day we went to the nature preserve with Peanut to throw rocks in the stream (SPLASH!) one of your favorite pastimes. The nature preserve has wide, well maintained trails that I love walking along. You seemed to like the trails too, stopping every once in a while to pick up rocks and inspect them for their potential to make big splashes. At one point, however, I looked behind me just in time to watch you depart the trail and head straight up a steep bank into thick azalea bushes. You were not daunted by the grade or the hundreds of azalea branch tentacles determined to ensnare my intrepid little explorer. I asked several times whether you were stuck or needed help and each time I heard a defiant little "NO" from somewhere inside the thick brush. Finally, when I'd completely lost sight of you I headed up the hill and lured you out with a promise of a snack.

For as long as I've known your Poppa we've had this issue about "staying on the trail." He seems physically incapable of staying on a trail--no matter how I try to reason with him regarding erosion or safety. As often as not I watch him disappear into the trees as I plod along on the path most-traveled. When he reappears with a plant specimen to identify or some story of exotic wilderness glimpsed I'm always just a little sorry I didn't follow behind. It looks like he'll have an eager companion and I'll follow you anywhere. So here's to getting off the beaten path...I'm glad you're like your Poppa.

La-La, Haurpeur and Char-Char

It's a real winter wonderland outside today and your reaction was mixed; from a distance the snow was just magical, when the wet snowy glops hit your face and hands, the magic faded. But given a few minutes, you acclimated well and thought snow balls were just hilarious. Since you were wearing your fantastic rain boots we headed to Boyd's yard (he's got the best puddles on the street). You were wading in a river and loving every minute of it until you went SPLAT. I heard you before I saw you and my first vision was you laying spread eagle, spitting muddy water out of your mouth. We beat a quick retreat inside where a warm towel and a few hugs seemed to set the world right again.

Since I've been so derelict about writing in the past few months I've decided to work on a few themes to bring you up to speed. Today's theme: friendship. Perhaps one of the most intriguing developments in the past six months is your growing attachments to several kids in your own age group. London is a little boy who you see about twice a week as his mom and I have worked out an arrangement to baby swap so we each get three free hours a week. He's a sweet guy who loves to clean but is a very picky eater. And he's exceptionally patient with your need to mother him; you love to kiss and hug him and wipe his face with a wet wipe. And distance only makes your heart grow fonder. When he's gone you constantly inquire about his whereabouts and offer several suggestions about what "La-La" might be doing at any point in time.

Sarah Harper, or "Haurpeur," lives at the top of the street next to ours. Anytime we go on a walk in that direction you wonder whether we're visiting her. We have one of her Tupperware containers and whenever you see it in the cabinet, you remind me that we should be getting it back to her.

The friend-of-the-month, however, is your beloved Char-Char. Charlie is your older second cousin and you were thrilled to see him this past weekend in Mississippi for Mardi Gras. The minute we got in the car, headed toward Nona and Grandaddy's house you started talking about Char-Char. You're lucky that he is so very patient with you and willing to bend to the whims of a 20 month old. One afternoon during our visit I went down for a nap (bliss!) and when I woke up I found my jeans and t-shirt girl dressed to the nines. Aunt Christa staged a photo shoot with you and Char-Char. The love is evident. I'm a little worried that these pictures don't bode well for junior high...

I love that you have such deep affection for your friends and that you continue to wonder about them and what they're doing when you can't physically see them. I also find your sweet names for them amusing. I know we will get into turf battles and sharing may become more difficult down the road, but right now watching you interact and connect is such a pleasure.

Okay, Okay This is Ridiculous

Marian:
It should be clear to you by now why your mother never made it as a freelance writer. If cannot find the time to sit down and write about my most favorite subject (that would be you) I'm never going to find the inspiration to sit down and write a best-selling book. I'll offer no excuses, it just turns out that the longer you don't write, the harder it is to convince yourself to sit down and do it. Even if it's just a few lines. So it's just after midnight and I've gotten disgusted with myself enough to open the computer and type. I'll put down more tomorrow (I promise).

First, I'm sorry to report that you've turned a little bad. At around 18 months your strong opinions about things grew even stronger. About two weeks ago, you started biting again. This was a habit I thought we'd managed to break you of when those teeth finally came in. You get a terrible gleam in your eye as you head for the stairs and look back over your shoulder to watch me scrambling after you. A few weeks ago you daintily dangled your foot over the curb (when I had repeatedly told you that you could NOT go in the street) so that just your big toe was scraping the asphalt. You knew exactly what you were doing.

And yet, you are the cutest, sweetest, funniest little girl. You love to say thank you. You give kisses and backrubs and think it's hilarious to tickle us in the morning when we're all cuddling in bed together. The words are literally tumbling out of your mouth these days and you understand EVERYTHING. When I was driving too close to the curb the other day and one wheel hit, I heard you say, "oh shoot" from the backseat. There are worse things you could have said...

Last week we went to Mississippi to celebrate Mardi Gras. Your aunt took a ton of photographs and Poppa just told me that I could lift them off of Facebook and add them to my blog. That was my inspiration for writing tonight. I'll put a few on and add others later.

I love you. Even if you are a little rotten sometimes.

Anything is Possible.

It's 10:30am and in one hour and 30 minutes Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. I'm sitting at home right now, glued to CNN and wiping tears off my cheeks every few minutes. You are at London's house playing with trains.

It's not too much of an overstatement to say that today I place much of your future in this man's trust. And at this moment, I can't help but believe we're all going to be okay. He isn't a savior, or a magician but I believe in him. And, after watching this country elect him and then rally around him, I believe in us.

Today, anything is possible. The world is wide open to you my sweet girl.

Whirling Dervish

Last year you were the baby Buddha for Halloween and it was my intention that you would be a whirling dervish for Halloween this year (I am concerned that we stay with the world religions theme we started last year). We actually did teach you to spin around a few weeks before Halloween but I couldn't get my act together on an outfit in time. And honestly, if people thought you were Ms. Muffet last year was there any hope they would get a whirling dervish this year? I think not.

In the month since Halloween, however, you have perfected the skill of whirling to the point it seems a shame that Halloween doesn't fall in December. I think we could win an award for best costume. Some nights you just twirl and twirl for twirl until the spinning in your head gets the best of you and your crumple to the floor laughing so hard you get the hiccups.

You have become a force--a whirling, tornado like force that keeps us all on our toes. As I sit in the living room this afternoon I am completely surrounded by bits of your creative storm. Paper and pens, books, empty boxes, clothes we had set aside to give to Goodwill, cords and other unsafe object are scattered across the floor. In the bathroom there are bits of toilet paper you dipped in Peanut's water hardening on the floor and your wet washcloth drips on the floor mat. Downstairs numerous Christmas tree ornaments have found their way to the trashcan and Momma G's room. Your oatmeal is under the chair in the breakfast room and a wasabi pea--inexplicably one of your favorite snack foods -- just fell out of my shirt. I have put you down for an early nap today in the hopes that I might get some of this put away before anyone comes home.

It seems silly that I haven't written more about all your new tricks but honestly, they are coming almost too fast to document. Language is such fun for you right now and you try to repeat anything we say. Finally, it seems like you know who Momma and Poppa are (of course I don't get tired of hearing you say these words) and sometimes I turn on the monitor and listen to your private conversations just before you go down for a nap because the sound of your voice almost bring me to tears.

Of course, the thought of scraping hardened toilet paper and oatmeal off the floor also makes me want to cry. So while you sleep, my little tornado force toddler, I'll try to get the world set back on it's end again. Then, when you wake up, we can have fun knocking off together.

Another Saturday Night and I Aint Got Nobody

For the first time since you were born we will not wake up together. Today you, Poppa and Peanut drove to the lake house and I stayed home because I'm waiting for a baby to be born. It occurred to me when I decided to go through doula training that there would probably be a few scheduling conflicts. Sure enough, first birth, first conflict. The entire Ramke clan (minus Antenna) has gathered to celebrate Grandmother's 90th birthday and I'm feeling awfully left out.

I miss you sweet girl. I miss giving you post-nap hugs and checking on the chickens. I miss watching you crawl up into Momma G's lap for dinner treats (although she tells me you scored some filet mignon tonight...lucky). I miss bath time and goodnight kisses. And tomorrow morning, when the chickens start to cluck at sunrise I'll to miss the feeling of you curled neatly in the curve of my chest and stomach.

Sweet dreams Marian.