Not a lot to say
So I'll talk about Carly.
I mean, I don't talk enough about my kids right? Right.
Carly is five. Did you know? I've officially known this bright star of a child for five years. That is just unreal. She came into my life with such an explosion, I don't know that I've ever recovered.
Carly lives her every day life with the same explosive force that brought her streaking into our home. She dances, literally, across the floor. She flips, twirls, spins, bounces, slides, walks on her hands (self taught, I certainly don't walk on my hands), stands on her head, flips off furniture, swings as high as she can (also a self taught pumper), runs, gallops, trots, skips. She is in almost constant motion right up until she isn't, and that's sleepy time thank-you-very-much-put-me-in-bed-NOW.
Carly is also very L O U D. She laughs loud. She screams loud. She talks loud. She sometimes dresses loud. But I blame that partially on her father. (He gets up with her every day and sends her off to school and I am so grateful for that extra time to sleep in. I'll sacrifice fashion for sleeping in ANY DAY.)
Speaking of fathers, Carly is a daddy's girl 100%. When she's mad, it's daddy she wants. When she's scared, daddy. When she's snuggly, daddy. When she's happy, daddy. I get the leftovers when dad is busy or not around or grumpy. But it's quite clear that DAD is THE ONE. (Josh is a mommy's boy so it all balances out.)
Carly is dramatic. Lot's of crying, lot's of stories about how 'no one liked my __________ ", lots of new best friends, lots of moaning about the terrible-ness that is life. She is a little roller coaster on greased rails.
And she's perfect.
I mean, I don't talk enough about my kids right? Right.
Carly is five. Did you know? I've officially known this bright star of a child for five years. That is just unreal. She came into my life with such an explosion, I don't know that I've ever recovered.
Carly lives her every day life with the same explosive force that brought her streaking into our home. She dances, literally, across the floor. She flips, twirls, spins, bounces, slides, walks on her hands (self taught, I certainly don't walk on my hands), stands on her head, flips off furniture, swings as high as she can (also a self taught pumper), runs, gallops, trots, skips. She is in almost constant motion right up until she isn't, and that's sleepy time thank-you-very-much-put-me-in-bed-NOW.
Carly is also very L O U D. She laughs loud. She screams loud. She talks loud. She sometimes dresses loud. But I blame that partially on her father. (He gets up with her every day and sends her off to school and I am so grateful for that extra time to sleep in. I'll sacrifice fashion for sleeping in ANY DAY.)
Speaking of fathers, Carly is a daddy's girl 100%. When she's mad, it's daddy she wants. When she's scared, daddy. When she's snuggly, daddy. When she's happy, daddy. I get the leftovers when dad is busy or not around or grumpy. But it's quite clear that DAD is THE ONE. (Josh is a mommy's boy so it all balances out.)
Carly is dramatic. Lot's of crying, lot's of stories about how 'no one liked my __________ ", lots of new best friends, lots of moaning about the terrible-ness that is life. She is a little roller coaster on greased rails.
And she's perfect.
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