Monday, January 26, 2015

Why Paige is crying...

A few months ago, a Dad on Instagram started posting pictures of his toddler crying.  The captions told the reason why the child was crying.  I'm sure any parent of a toddler can do the same, so I present:

Why Paige is crying:
























She got stuck between the cereal at Costco.



















She was sitting next to a chicken.
























I woke her up for breakfast.
























She wanted a different pillow.
























Santa.  Need I say more?
























I wouldn't let her clear out the Tupperware cabinet.  (This was at the beginning of our kitchen re-model and the doors were being painted in the garage).
























The song she was dancing to ended.


























Her doughnut was gone (she ate it).
























I told her to get her arm out of the trash can.
























In time out for not getting her arm out of the trash can.

I could go on for pages! 

Reasons Mommy is crying:
























Olivia left a pair of scissors out and Paige whacked her curls.  (Although, I am impressed with her fine motor skills.)
























I left her in the playroom for 2 minutes to get dressed one morning.
























I put up the dishes while she was unsupervised.  Yes, a magic eraser got the marker off the wall. :/
























Olivia gave her a fun dip.  Sigh.

Speaking of Olivia, she has been working so hard at gymnastics.  Here's a quick video of her press handstand (she has to learn to control it on the way down):







Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Until we meet again...

 
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
 
-Mary Elizabeth Frye
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Rest In Peace, Uncle Al.