Mercy what a difference a birthday makes.

"The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love."

~Margaret Atwood

'Twas the night before birthday,
And all through the house,
All my girls, they were crying;
There was gassy reflux everywhere.
God help us.

I got home last Tuesday night from a client meeting and there was crying carnage everywhere. Sleeplessness ensued until we all finally fell into restless slumber. (I don't know how Mama's do it.)

Such is life with two, and yet it's all still pretty brand new.

Wednesday was Beatrice's birthday, but I was away again all day seeing clients and prospects. I got home earlier this time, and mercy what a difference a birthday makes, with everyone's emotional disposition strategically aligned.

Look Ma, no crying!

It was only the four of us and we watched as Beatrice opened a few gifts, her favorite kind: books.

She's a book fiend just like Mama and Daddy. We wouldn't have it any other way. I remember my book hoarding days as a child, teen and adult -- hey, they've never really gone away.

It may take me longer to plow through the word fields with life's rapidly changing seasons, but plow away I do. Mama does too and we read to Bea multiple times per day. In fact, it's already ritual right before night-night. Bryce will hopefully take to it as well.

One of her favorites is Papa, Please Get the Moon for Me by Eric Carle, and last night before bed I took Bea outside to see the rising but waning full moon.

She smiled.

You can take everything else away from me, but you can't take away my girls and these moments of lassoing permanence.

And love.

I'll lasso the moon for all of them if I can, my sweet buffalo gals.

Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight?
Come out tonight, Come out tonight?
Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight,
And dance by the light of the moon.