Is This The Little Girl I Carried?

Today is Emily's birthday!

My little baby princess who's biggest dream in life was to have a 'pink birf-day party' and raise kittens.

It hardly seems possible she's now 19 years old, a beautiful young woman about to enter/endure her second year of college.

She's my quiet, melancholy, FUNNY as heck, child. Her nickname at work is "Mouse", yet she's got a fierce temper that can shatter glass. She's spiritual, silly, and super athletic. She loves music and can barely sing a note one degree beyond tone-deaf.  She's experiencing 'first love' and dreams for the future. I'm biting my nails and praying.

We're celebrating by going to tea...of course.  I secretly bought her the 15lb. kettle ball she's been wanting that nearly broke my back carrying it to the car. What the?? I guess I'll put it in a gorgeous gift bag and lug it in with me.
Emily Rose.
My delight, my heart, my darling girl.
Happy Birf-Day!

Are Southerners REALLY the Nicest People?

I ask you the age old question, Are Southerners Really As Nice As You've Heard They Are?
You have heard this, haven't you? If not, where have you been? Do you live under a rock...
Now see, THAT comment wasn't very nice, but I'm not originally from the South. I'm from Texas, and although Texans are the friendliest people on the planet they're much more mouthy.

Putting all that aside,
I've come to a conclusion. The answer is yes. Southerner's Are  Nice. Beyond Nice, they're super duper fantastically kind, big hearted and sweet.

1.
Take my neighbor, Carl, for example. He's the owner of Franklin, the cat. I think it's crazy nice of him to feed the cat, flea/tick proof the cat, change the cat's litter box, and watch the cat while we're on vacation, because other than those activities,  Franklin lives here with us. Hint: Make the neighbor's animals your very own pets. They do the work, you have the fun. Win/Win seet-chew-ay-shun.

2.
The local waitress. She's offered me her kidney if and when I ever need one. I don't need it yet, but it's nice to know she is THERE if I do. Not really. BUT,she did offer me a big glass of sweet tea and gave it to me for FREE. Now that's just plain nice.

3.
Fairhope Paint and Body. Fixed  the hood on my car, and gave me touch up paint...and didn't charge me a penny to do it. THAT IS SO NICE!

4.
Everybody I've met in this town... and I do mean everybody. Fortunately, I haven't met the 'jerky' couple Emily waited on last night at the Fly Creek cafe. They're probably out-of-towners...or alcoholics. Therefore their jerkiness can't be held against them.

Yes, folks, life is slower, kinder, and sweeter down here in Lower Alabama. And it should be. The air is beyond  hot and humid-if a bunch of cranky, selfish people lived here murder and  mayhem would break loose faster than you can say "outside is ten degrees hotter than hell" or  "Well, don’t you look prettier than a glob of butter melting on a stack of wheat cakes."

 P.S. NIE-US. It's a two syllable word...or three if you say it just right and let it hang for a second more.

I Slapped Him With My Foot

I slapped Mr. Wonderful with my foot last night. It's true. It didn't hurt him a bit and it relieved me of some frustration, so hey, I'm glad I did it.

Ya'll know I've moved to the lovely, flowertopia town of Fairhope, Alabama. And you would think  I would be supremely happy at all times, what with singing to the birds and squirrels and Franklin the cat to keep me company. However, I've actually been in a slight depression of late, and I needed to talk. To my man.

So, he got home from work and his daily exercise regimen (God love him, he's so disciplined!) and I hit him with it. Not my foot just yet, but the news: I Am Down In The Dumps, Please Help.

And guess what he did? He listened. I am so grateful because I know he wanted to hide his face in a pillow and scream and run away, far far away. But he didn't, he just sat there and listened and tried to 'get me'. And he told me some stories that made me laugh which cheered me up. He also did an AVATAR impression, and said 'I see you...' He did it with such expression, you should've seen his face. I'm still laughing.

So, we both had our feet up on the ottoman, and then I slapped his foot  with mine, and asked, 'did that hurt?' and when he said no, I said, 'good' and I did it again.

Starting over is NEVER EASY. Why can't it be easy? Why does it have to be so hard? Because. It just is and does.After we talked and the foot slapping, he said, "I love you."

You're a good man Mr. Wonderful.  I love you too.