My oldest son has spent the last week with a clipboard in hand, jotting notes on how he was going to make Mother's Day special.
My middle son was secretive about what projects he had worked on in school in preparation for Mother's Day.
My youngest son, slave to neither a clipboard or projects made at school, did not have a clue that today was Mother's Day.
My husband, as usual, was not prepared with any tangible gift.
But each, in their own way, made today exceptional.
My oldest son, for all his preparation, has already won my heart. His poem, his letter, and more importantly, his found treasure from the park (a girl's plastic pink heart ring) and a Lego mini-mom, were all the gift I needed. And how he held my hand today.
My middle son's shy smile as he handed me his beautiful, handmade card, depicting a VERY thin me, holding hands with an equally thin drawing of him. Plus, we have a breakfast date on Friday morning at school.
My youngest son's approach was that of everyday. I am his Mama, so that means I am entitled to as many hugs and kisses as he feels are necessary. Today, he felt that I needed an extra helping.
And my husband?
My husband offered me the opportunity to create this beautiful family with him, one special and beautiful child at a time. He held my hand at each sonogram, cried tears of joy and relief at each triumphant delivery. He held each of those precious babies as though they would shatter at the mere touch of them. He has murmured words of encouragement in my ear when I have wanted to throw in the towel.
His gift is not one that can be wrapped in exquisite paper and topped with a lavish bow.
His gift comes on a daily basis, as we feed, bathe and put to bed each of these miracles that provide us with such joy, sorrow and worry. As we look at each other with the wonder of how two imperfect people created such perfection.
And if I had to pick which one of these gifts that flowed so freely today, I could not choose.
It would be like taking the stars out of the breathtaking night sky, or the waves out of the ocean.
You cannot have one without the other.
I hope that each of you enjoyed a day surrounded by the stars that light your sky. Happy Mother's Day!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Motherhood: Bringing out the worst in women, daily
I know you have encountered mothers who are out running errands. They look frazzled and ready to either abandon their children in the midst of a busy store, or just sit on the floor, and sob.
Today, I was that woman.
My normally easy going boys were liked caged wolves who have been set free. They complained, they smacked one another, they refused to keep up with my frantic pace.
My toddler decided that he did not need a cart. He also did not need to hold my hand, walk next to me, or even be in the same aisle where I was frantically trying to find the items I needed, so that I could just go home.
Today, I could have easily walked away.
Except that my two older boys would have called my mobile, and I inevitably would have had to come back.
I would have made the local news. The degenerate mother who left her three adorable boys in a busy Craft store. On Mother's Day weekend, no less.
And there might have been some prissy women thinking what kind of woman does that.
And others would have been cheering.
I have noticed a strange pattern developing within myself when I witness children who are getting reprimanded by their mothers in public.
Before I had children, I would feel terrible for the children in question. Poor babies, being made to feel so poorly.
Now, after kids?
I feel terrible for the parents in question. Poor mamas, being made to feel so poorly. I say, take those kids down. Sometimes, you can almost hear the silent cheering of other mothers, who have also had to chase their toddler children around the store. We exchange looks of "You go, girl!" We closely resemble men watching a boxing match.
Sometimes, we even high-five each other.
Well, not really.
But I wish we did.
Today, I was that woman.
My normally easy going boys were liked caged wolves who have been set free. They complained, they smacked one another, they refused to keep up with my frantic pace.
My toddler decided that he did not need a cart. He also did not need to hold my hand, walk next to me, or even be in the same aisle where I was frantically trying to find the items I needed, so that I could just go home.
Today, I could have easily walked away.
Except that my two older boys would have called my mobile, and I inevitably would have had to come back.
I would have made the local news. The degenerate mother who left her three adorable boys in a busy Craft store. On Mother's Day weekend, no less.
And there might have been some prissy women thinking what kind of woman does that.
And others would have been cheering.
I have noticed a strange pattern developing within myself when I witness children who are getting reprimanded by their mothers in public.
Before I had children, I would feel terrible for the children in question. Poor babies, being made to feel so poorly.
Now, after kids?
I feel terrible for the parents in question. Poor mamas, being made to feel so poorly. I say, take those kids down. Sometimes, you can almost hear the silent cheering of other mothers, who have also had to chase their toddler children around the store. We exchange looks of "You go, girl!" We closely resemble men watching a boxing match.
Sometimes, we even high-five each other.
Well, not really.
But I wish we did.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Making lemonade...
Sometime life hands you lemons. Lately, my lemons have been thrown at me. Hard and with direct aim. But I am a firm believer in seeing things in a positive light, despite the circumstances. You make lemonade with lemons, but lately, Mama needs something with a little more, um, substance.
As you get older, you wise up on how to deal with certain issues and certain people. You might smile and move along with some, as you are gritting your teeth to keep from yelling obscenities. Others, you coax until you get the desired results. Others, still, require a heavy hand. This week, I think I have run the gamut.
I have always thought of myself as a people person. I mostly enjoy being around people, talking with them, finding out what makes them tick.
But I think I need a break. I want a time out.
This week, I have organized events for the teachers at Joshua's school, sat in board of director meetings at said preschool, dealt with issues with students, prepared end of the year documents, continue awaiting test scores, taught long division with remainders, administered more end of year testing and dealt with issues with my own, birthed children: mainly, incomplete class work assignments.
It makes Mama thirsty for something other than lemonade.
A couple of days ago, what I really wanted to do was have a full fledged temper tantrum. I have seen enough in my time to know how to throw a good one. Somehow, I didn't think that I would get what I wanted.
And what did I want, you ask?
For adults to play nicely. For adults follow through when they are supposed to, not make commitments to things they have no intention for following through with. To be, you know, adults.
I am a pretty tolerant person. I can deal with people behaving badly. I taught Kindergarten for 10 years, ya'll. I know how to handle "problems."
But the amount and caliber of the "problems" are not laughable. They are not something you can just shrug your shoulders at and say "whatever" to. They are mean. They are ugly. And I am tired of drinking the lemonade flavored Kool-Aid.
So, what to do, you ask?
Well, I am looking forward to unwinding a bit this weekend. My youngest niece's birthday party is on Saturday morning. I know, it might be more fun to visit a sweat-shop, and the temperatures might actually mimic one since Florida has now begun what we refer to as Hellish Heat.
Regardless, I have big plans for after the party, mainly, getting everyone fed, bathed and in bed as soon as it is feasible. After that, I plan to do the same for myself.
'Cause Mama's tired.
And when Mama's tired, there are no good times to be had.
So, I continue to gather the lemons, by the truck load.
But something's got to give.
All those damned lemons need to be immediately traded in for limes.
So that I can at least make a decent margarita instead of sipping on that insipid lemonade.
As you get older, you wise up on how to deal with certain issues and certain people. You might smile and move along with some, as you are gritting your teeth to keep from yelling obscenities. Others, you coax until you get the desired results. Others, still, require a heavy hand. This week, I think I have run the gamut.
I have always thought of myself as a people person. I mostly enjoy being around people, talking with them, finding out what makes them tick.
But I think I need a break. I want a time out.
This week, I have organized events for the teachers at Joshua's school, sat in board of director meetings at said preschool, dealt with issues with students, prepared end of the year documents, continue awaiting test scores, taught long division with remainders, administered more end of year testing and dealt with issues with my own, birthed children: mainly, incomplete class work assignments.
It makes Mama thirsty for something other than lemonade.
A couple of days ago, what I really wanted to do was have a full fledged temper tantrum. I have seen enough in my time to know how to throw a good one. Somehow, I didn't think that I would get what I wanted.
And what did I want, you ask?
For adults to play nicely. For adults follow through when they are supposed to, not make commitments to things they have no intention for following through with. To be, you know, adults.
I am a pretty tolerant person. I can deal with people behaving badly. I taught Kindergarten for 10 years, ya'll. I know how to handle "problems."
But the amount and caliber of the "problems" are not laughable. They are not something you can just shrug your shoulders at and say "whatever" to. They are mean. They are ugly. And I am tired of drinking the lemonade flavored Kool-Aid.
So, what to do, you ask?
Well, I am looking forward to unwinding a bit this weekend. My youngest niece's birthday party is on Saturday morning. I know, it might be more fun to visit a sweat-shop, and the temperatures might actually mimic one since Florida has now begun what we refer to as Hellish Heat.
Regardless, I have big plans for after the party, mainly, getting everyone fed, bathed and in bed as soon as it is feasible. After that, I plan to do the same for myself.
'Cause Mama's tired.
And when Mama's tired, there are no good times to be had.
So, I continue to gather the lemons, by the truck load.
But something's got to give.
All those damned lemons need to be immediately traded in for limes.
So that I can at least make a decent margarita instead of sipping on that insipid lemonade.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Another round...
Today called for heavy artillery of adult beverages in my house. None were consumed, although they were much deserved. An extremely busy week, a most difficult day, and still, another two days until the week end.
My morning was not particularly hard. I was able to get dressed, get out of the house, and get the older two boys to school on time. I was scheduled to serve as a Science Fair judge at my old school, where I worked for ten years.
I left six years ago this fall. I remember that I struggled with the decision to leave for over a year. My children were getting older, I lived too far from the school and my husband had started working in his current job, that required huge amounts of travel at the time.
I struggled for many reasons. The main one is change. I traditionally have never done well with it. I will change my wardrobe a million times. I might change my hair and it's color without too much remorse. But the big things like a place of employment, not so much.
I completed my final internship at HES school in December 1994. There were no open positions there when I graduated, so I found a job at another school where I was miserable. It was the longest six months of my life.
I doubted whether or not I had made the right career decision. I wondered if I should go back to school and get a degree in something else. At the end of the year, my position was eliminated, and I went back to the principal at HES, trying to secure ANYTHING for the following year.
As luck would have it, I was hired in mid September of 1995, after the school year had started. I was fortunate enough to work steadily, although in temporary teaching assignments until the following school year. In 1996, I finally had my own classroom with 38 of the most energetic, and bright Kindergarten students ever.
At this school, I began as a young 21 year old undergraduate. I slowly emerged to married woman, Graduate student, mother of one, struggled through the loss of one parent, to mother of two boys. More than coworkers, these people became a sort of family. We mourned our losses, we celebrated new additions and life's greatest joys. It was hard to leave them and all that history behind.
But I did. As scary as it was to go and begin again in a new place, to form new friendships and professional relationships, I understood that this was something I needed to do for my family. Matthew was nearing preschool age. I wanted him to be able to attend a school that was close to home. I wanted to be closer to home as well, and not spend the bulk of my day behind the wheel, in traffic, gathering children and getting home.
The reaction on the last day of school in 2004 was hard. As people heard that I had transferred out, the questions swirled. The tears flowed. It was surely one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I still had my doubts, but at least, I knew that my sister and I would be working together, that my children, one day, would be able to attend this school with me. I forged ahead.
The first few days of that school year were hard. As the school year began, I was preparing in a new classroom in a different school. I often thought of my old school, my friends that I had left behind, my old students. But I made new friends. I reveled in the new challenges and procedures. I enjoyed my new students. I loved being closer to home and not fighting that traffic as much.
I still keep in touch with more than a few people. Several of those Class of 1996 Kindergarten group stay in touch with me through Facebook. They are now completing their Freshman year in college, which is just astounding to me.
But today, as I walked through the old halls at HES, I did not feel too nostalgic. The last few years have been rough for the staff. Administration is not what it should be. I was GLAD that I was gone. People seemed sad. They said with longing, "Be glad you left." And I was.
Because sometimes, you need another round to realize that even decisions made fearfully and with some doubt are the right ones.
Because I would have grown to hate my job.
Because, eventually, I would have equated those beautifully hearted co-workers with the confines of that building. And would have grown to dislike both.
Today, as I skipped out after judging Fourth Grade projects, I did not leave with the usual twinge of sadness for a simpler time.
I left with gratitude.
Gratitude for the people who had helped shape that shy 21 year old young teacher. Who had supported her, helped her hone her craft, and been a second family to her, and bade her goodbye six years ago.
Gratitude for having had the courage six years ago leave something that seemed safe, but would have surely killed the best part of me.
Gratitude for having forged ahead in a journey that made me mighty uncomfortable. But forced me to grow. To adapt. To change. And like it.
Another round of blessings that would have been forever undiscovered, had I not taken that simple step.
And for that, I am incredibly grateful.
My morning was not particularly hard. I was able to get dressed, get out of the house, and get the older two boys to school on time. I was scheduled to serve as a Science Fair judge at my old school, where I worked for ten years.
I left six years ago this fall. I remember that I struggled with the decision to leave for over a year. My children were getting older, I lived too far from the school and my husband had started working in his current job, that required huge amounts of travel at the time.
I struggled for many reasons. The main one is change. I traditionally have never done well with it. I will change my wardrobe a million times. I might change my hair and it's color without too much remorse. But the big things like a place of employment, not so much.
I completed my final internship at HES school in December 1994. There were no open positions there when I graduated, so I found a job at another school where I was miserable. It was the longest six months of my life.
I doubted whether or not I had made the right career decision. I wondered if I should go back to school and get a degree in something else. At the end of the year, my position was eliminated, and I went back to the principal at HES, trying to secure ANYTHING for the following year.
As luck would have it, I was hired in mid September of 1995, after the school year had started. I was fortunate enough to work steadily, although in temporary teaching assignments until the following school year. In 1996, I finally had my own classroom with 38 of the most energetic, and bright Kindergarten students ever.
At this school, I began as a young 21 year old undergraduate. I slowly emerged to married woman, Graduate student, mother of one, struggled through the loss of one parent, to mother of two boys. More than coworkers, these people became a sort of family. We mourned our losses, we celebrated new additions and life's greatest joys. It was hard to leave them and all that history behind.
But I did. As scary as it was to go and begin again in a new place, to form new friendships and professional relationships, I understood that this was something I needed to do for my family. Matthew was nearing preschool age. I wanted him to be able to attend a school that was close to home. I wanted to be closer to home as well, and not spend the bulk of my day behind the wheel, in traffic, gathering children and getting home.
The reaction on the last day of school in 2004 was hard. As people heard that I had transferred out, the questions swirled. The tears flowed. It was surely one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I still had my doubts, but at least, I knew that my sister and I would be working together, that my children, one day, would be able to attend this school with me. I forged ahead.
The first few days of that school year were hard. As the school year began, I was preparing in a new classroom in a different school. I often thought of my old school, my friends that I had left behind, my old students. But I made new friends. I reveled in the new challenges and procedures. I enjoyed my new students. I loved being closer to home and not fighting that traffic as much.
I still keep in touch with more than a few people. Several of those Class of 1996 Kindergarten group stay in touch with me through Facebook. They are now completing their Freshman year in college, which is just astounding to me.
But today, as I walked through the old halls at HES, I did not feel too nostalgic. The last few years have been rough for the staff. Administration is not what it should be. I was GLAD that I was gone. People seemed sad. They said with longing, "Be glad you left." And I was.
Because sometimes, you need another round to realize that even decisions made fearfully and with some doubt are the right ones.
Because I would have grown to hate my job.
Because, eventually, I would have equated those beautifully hearted co-workers with the confines of that building. And would have grown to dislike both.
Today, as I skipped out after judging Fourth Grade projects, I did not leave with the usual twinge of sadness for a simpler time.
I left with gratitude.
Gratitude for the people who had helped shape that shy 21 year old young teacher. Who had supported her, helped her hone her craft, and been a second family to her, and bade her goodbye six years ago.
Gratitude for having had the courage six years ago leave something that seemed safe, but would have surely killed the best part of me.
Gratitude for having forged ahead in a journey that made me mighty uncomfortable. But forced me to grow. To adapt. To change. And like it.
Another round of blessings that would have been forever undiscovered, had I not taken that simple step.
And for that, I am incredibly grateful.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Too little, too late....
It is too late tonight, almost tomorrow.
My day today has been very hectic, much like being a hamster on one of those silly wheels. You spin and run, but you don't really go anywhere.
Work and orthodontist appointment.
Making sandwiches and more appointments.
A little of this, a lot of nothing to show for.
In the midst, long division with remainders. Students who are longing for summer vacation. A teacher looking forward to rest.
So tonight, not too many words, because too many have left this body today.
Perhaps tomorrow, more energy, more creativity, more words, a brighter outlook.
Not too many words tonight, but enough to get the point across.
My day today has been very hectic, much like being a hamster on one of those silly wheels. You spin and run, but you don't really go anywhere.
Work and orthodontist appointment.
Making sandwiches and more appointments.
A little of this, a lot of nothing to show for.
In the midst, long division with remainders. Students who are longing for summer vacation. A teacher looking forward to rest.
So tonight, not too many words, because too many have left this body today.
Perhaps tomorrow, more energy, more creativity, more words, a brighter outlook.
Not too many words tonight, but enough to get the point across.
Monday, May 3, 2010
You can't trade back...
This afternoon, my boys had their end of season pizza party for tennis. Since they were each three and a half years old, they have been playing with the same coach, in a kid league that they both seem to enjoy, although I am not raising any Andy Roddrick's over here.
Regardless, their coach is a wonderful teacher who instills a sense of dignity and sportsmanship amongst all her charges. In many cases, some of those kids really need a guiding hand.
Case in point: In our neck of the woods, a strange phenomenon, eerily reminiscent of Madonna (circa 1984) has come to pass. School-age children are obsessed with these silly shaped rubber band bracelets that are worn as Madonna wore her infamous bracelets, and of course are traded.
As a school teacher, you can imagine how distracting these bracelets are, and the potential for all sorts of mishaps when trader's regret occurs.
Last week, after our little Friday Happy Hour pediatrician's foray, I bought Andrew some of those bracelets, just because. He has been so good lately, cooperative, kind to his brothers; that as I watched him look at the packaging with longing, I could not resist getting it for him.
He agreed to share with Matthew, who agreed to share his toy as well. All is well in the world.
Not quite.
Today, an older boy quickly made a beeline to Andrew and finagled a trade. Andrew traded a baseball bat for a phoenix. I watched the whole transaction; unable to stop it, knowing what was going to happen.
When Andrew saw my face as I asked him what had happened, his eyes grew round and his mouth found its way into a tight, small frown, with a slightly trembling chin. He realized that he had not really wanted to trade, and now wanted to trade back. But the older boy would hear nothing of it.
"You can't trade back," the big lug called coldly, as he searched out his next victim.
My little boy put his head into his crossed arms, tears silently rolling down his face, trying to be strong, but unable to keep it together.
Although he had wanted to make the trade, now, he wanted to go back.
I thought back to how many times I had wanted to be older, wiser. And now that I was, I didn't always want it. In many ways, there are days when I could just put my head down too, and cry. Because sometimes the trade sucks.
I tried to comfort him. I do recall telling him that the kid was a punk, which brought a glimmer of a upturned corner of his mouth. But I also tried to make him understand. Sometimes, the trade may not be worth how we feel about it later.
I think of how many people I have seen reach great success in their careers, only because they seemed to have traded their personal lives for them. They go home to cold, silent houses, and the trade doesn't seem that great in those moments.
Or how many marriages fell apart because holding on to anger was more important than holding on to the love that brought them together. And then, suddenly, they had their anger. But their being "right" wasn't worth the feeling of losing someone who you really cared about.
I later saw Andrew grin his sideways grin as the coach called him up to receive his trophy (BTW, everyone gets a trophy, not my favorite thing, but hey, who am I to judge?). He seemed to have moved on from the disappointment.
But I hope that he learned the greater lesson here. Sometimes, what you have isn't worth trading for anything if you are already happy.
I know that I could have been good at some high paying, all consuming job.
But I traded.
I traded the opportunity to be "successful" in dollar signs and be happy doing something that I love.
I can be a mother and not constantly feel at odds with my life and my job (although some days, it does happen).
And though there might be days; when I am standing on the street, holding a sign to fight for my livelihood, that I want to "trade back."
But those moments are few and far between.
Because I come home to a noisy, messy, chaotic home.
A home full of children.
A home full of love.
And there is no one in their right mind who would want to trade that back...
Regardless, their coach is a wonderful teacher who instills a sense of dignity and sportsmanship amongst all her charges. In many cases, some of those kids really need a guiding hand.
Case in point: In our neck of the woods, a strange phenomenon, eerily reminiscent of Madonna (circa 1984) has come to pass. School-age children are obsessed with these silly shaped rubber band bracelets that are worn as Madonna wore her infamous bracelets, and of course are traded.
As a school teacher, you can imagine how distracting these bracelets are, and the potential for all sorts of mishaps when trader's regret occurs.
Last week, after our little Friday Happy Hour pediatrician's foray, I bought Andrew some of those bracelets, just because. He has been so good lately, cooperative, kind to his brothers; that as I watched him look at the packaging with longing, I could not resist getting it for him.
He agreed to share with Matthew, who agreed to share his toy as well. All is well in the world.
Not quite.
Today, an older boy quickly made a beeline to Andrew and finagled a trade. Andrew traded a baseball bat for a phoenix. I watched the whole transaction; unable to stop it, knowing what was going to happen.
When Andrew saw my face as I asked him what had happened, his eyes grew round and his mouth found its way into a tight, small frown, with a slightly trembling chin. He realized that he had not really wanted to trade, and now wanted to trade back. But the older boy would hear nothing of it.
"You can't trade back," the big lug called coldly, as he searched out his next victim.
My little boy put his head into his crossed arms, tears silently rolling down his face, trying to be strong, but unable to keep it together.
Although he had wanted to make the trade, now, he wanted to go back.
I thought back to how many times I had wanted to be older, wiser. And now that I was, I didn't always want it. In many ways, there are days when I could just put my head down too, and cry. Because sometimes the trade sucks.
I tried to comfort him. I do recall telling him that the kid was a punk, which brought a glimmer of a upturned corner of his mouth. But I also tried to make him understand. Sometimes, the trade may not be worth how we feel about it later.
I think of how many people I have seen reach great success in their careers, only because they seemed to have traded their personal lives for them. They go home to cold, silent houses, and the trade doesn't seem that great in those moments.
Or how many marriages fell apart because holding on to anger was more important than holding on to the love that brought them together. And then, suddenly, they had their anger. But their being "right" wasn't worth the feeling of losing someone who you really cared about.
I later saw Andrew grin his sideways grin as the coach called him up to receive his trophy (BTW, everyone gets a trophy, not my favorite thing, but hey, who am I to judge?). He seemed to have moved on from the disappointment.
But I hope that he learned the greater lesson here. Sometimes, what you have isn't worth trading for anything if you are already happy.
I know that I could have been good at some high paying, all consuming job.
But I traded.
I traded the opportunity to be "successful" in dollar signs and be happy doing something that I love.
I can be a mother and not constantly feel at odds with my life and my job (although some days, it does happen).
And though there might be days; when I am standing on the street, holding a sign to fight for my livelihood, that I want to "trade back."
But those moments are few and far between.
Because I come home to a noisy, messy, chaotic home.
A home full of children.
A home full of love.
And there is no one in their right mind who would want to trade that back...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
On being the baby...
Yesterday was my youngest niece's birthday. My little sister's little girl turned one. We spent the better part of the day celebrating, and as you can see, I am late with my birthday tribute to my sweet Allison.
Allison is the youngest of two parents who are also the youngest...So she is literally the youngest of the youngest, and boy, does she know it!
Little Miss has sass. Her mouth sits in a permanent pout; as if she is modeling lipstick or constantly trying to figure out how to make you do what she wants, if she could only decide what it is she wants.
But that chubby baby is just a slice of heaven. Her head is covered in a golden halo of soft curls, and when she finally does smile or laugh, I swear, she is just like her mama. It is hearty, genuine, and impossible not to join her in her fit of giggles.
Being the youngest does have its privileges. She lives in a state of being perpetually spoiled. By her parents, her sister, her aunts and uncles. Her grandparents and cousins are no better.
And yesterday, as Her Royal Highness looked around at her loving subjects, she was a happy little girl. The youngest of the youngest. The most loved of all.
Happy birthday, little Miss Alli. We love you so! And I love that sass!
Allison is the youngest of two parents who are also the youngest...So she is literally the youngest of the youngest, and boy, does she know it!
Little Miss has sass. Her mouth sits in a permanent pout; as if she is modeling lipstick or constantly trying to figure out how to make you do what she wants, if she could only decide what it is she wants.
But that chubby baby is just a slice of heaven. Her head is covered in a golden halo of soft curls, and when she finally does smile or laugh, I swear, she is just like her mama. It is hearty, genuine, and impossible not to join her in her fit of giggles.
Being the youngest does have its privileges. She lives in a state of being perpetually spoiled. By her parents, her sister, her aunts and uncles. Her grandparents and cousins are no better.
And yesterday, as Her Royal Highness looked around at her loving subjects, she was a happy little girl. The youngest of the youngest. The most loved of all.
Happy birthday, little Miss Alli. We love you so! And I love that sass!
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