Lola was in the backseat, Ray was driving, Millie was in her car seat.
It was my birthday and, because my car had been in the shop, I got door-to-door service that afternoon, with my family picking me up from work and bringing me home.
Everyone seemed happy enough. Millie was laughing, Ray was jovial, I was, well, just happy to be going home with my family.
But then, out of nowhere came this, from Lola, "I am FURIOUS."
Ray and I were caught completely off guard and we exchanged very puzzled expressions with one another.
Lola picked up on it.
"Wait," she said. "What does furious mean again?"
Me: "It means you're really, really mad."
She laughed loudly, "Oh, no, that's not what I am. I'm not furious."
She is, however, quite funny.
She certainly keeps us on our toes.
This is Millie, awaiting therapy at the hospital.
The first thing she does, every time we get there, is walk up the kiddie chairs, turn around and plop herself onto the tallest one. It wasn't until September-ish that she was able to get herself up there and I think she needs to reassure herself every time that she can still do it.
This photo makes her look huge though (as in tall), doesn't it?
Or maybe I just still think of her as my little baby, my little angel.
I don't mean to do it anymore, but every now and then I'll ask, "Where's my baby girl?" or say, "Poor baby," if she gets hurt.
Every time, though, Lola corrects me.
"She's not a baby, Mommy," she'll say. "She's a big girl. Or, well, not a big girl like me, but a big little girl."
And she's right.
I just forget that from time to time...
- Bethany :)