The First Noel

The first Noel the angel did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay tending their sheep,
On a cold winter’s night that was so deep.

They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the east, beyond them far;
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued both day and night.

And by the light of that same star
Three Wise Men came from country far;
To seek for a King was their intent,
And to follow the star wherever it went.

This star drew nigh to the northwest,
Over Bethlehem it took its rest;
And there it did both stop and stay,
Right over the place where Jesus lay.

Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel.

You Capture: Holiday Decor

You Capture: Lines

I had this fabulous idea for this week's You Capture. I was going to go to the beach and take a picture of the horizon, because what's a more perfect line than that? Except that it was eleventy-billion degrees below zero yesterday and very windy. I briefly considered it because I bet there were some angry waves that would have made for great photos, but in the end, I just didn't feel like getting hypothermia.

Instead, I played around with some photos I took of my still blooming rosebush yesterday. I've never used the macro setting on my camera before, but I managed to get a few decent shots of all the little lines that make up a snow flake.


Snow is pretty. I just wish it wasn't so cold.

Yellow Rose of Winter

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Albert Camus


Bloom on, you crazy rose, bloom on.

Excuse me, but can I be you for awhile?

Last night I had this whole post written in my mind at 2AM, as I was nursing Tommy and crying. I was going to tell you how this is my last full month of maternity leave, and how I'm frustrated that I'm spending it with a thumb wound and how I spent two days bedridden with the flu. It involved the admission that I am scared, so scared, to return to work and that I don't think we can have any more children, simply because I cannot bear to go through this again. I was going to really tell you how as sad as it makes me that I have to go back to work, it makes my husband even sadder because he feels like he is failing as a husband. And I hate that he feels that way, oh, do I ever.

Today I'm still scared. I haven't been apart from Tommy for longer than half an hour since his sweet body first landed in my hands. How will I handle NINE HOURS a day, five days a week? I don't know, but I know there is a strength within me bigger than I can imagine. I know I can do it, simply because I have no choice. But I also know that I can keep hoping for the right part-time job or maybe for someone to just walk up to me and hand me a check for $20,000 and tell me to stay home for two more years, and it's probably okay to never let go of those hopes. I wish that I knew what it was like to not have to take a maternity leave, to just BE at home, but I know that there are many, MANY people who would wish to be in my position. Healthy children, a happy marriage, great health insurance, a steady job. The boys have a sitter who lives so very close to us, who is like family. Who calls to let us know when she finds boys' clothes on sale and calls to tell us she loves our Christmas card and who was one of the first people we called the morning after Tommy was born. Who I can TRUST with my children. Oh, I know I am blessed. And as a teacher, I know that the kids who have behavior problems are almost equally the children of parents who work and a parent who stays home, so I never fear that my children are somehow getting LESS because one of us cannot be with them all day long.

It's just.

I'm going to miss this face so much.

I am fresh out of thumb-related puns

Note: I wrote this Saturday night, when I was just starting to get feverish from the flu. I almost wasn't going to post it, but then I decided that feverish Erin is kind of funny. And probably not that different from real Erin.

I'm going to share a photo of this pecan pie that I made with my left hand the night I cut my thumb. Thankfully of the two pie crusts I made, one was tucked safely in the fridge and thus did not get hit by any arterial spray (do you like how dramatic I am? Do thumbs even have arteries?), so I was able to make it into a pecan pie because pecan pie does not involve any cutting.


The crust edges are not crimped or fancy looking because I was doing it one handed and wouldn't let Shane help, because it felt heroic to do it myself.

Here's a picture of me eating the pie, which I want to share with you so you can see how awkwardly I have to hold my fork. (If any of my friends comment and say this is how I always hold my fork, they are filthy liars and you should not listen to them.)

That is not my sippy cup. For the most part, I'm still allowed to use big people utensils. This is also not my house. I do not have a giant photo of a pug on my fridge.
I also wanted to share this picture to let you know that Shane did my hair. I could not figure out how to work my flat iron with my left hand without burning myself, nor could I position a clip correctly. Shane did both for me because he loves me. He's also been changing diapers because Tommy keeps grabbing my thumb during diaper changes. His only downside right now is that he won't throw away the apple wedger because he said it's still just fine since he washed it. What's strange is that Shane is very squeamish so it seems out of his character to keep it, which means that he's probably keeping it around to taunt me with at a later date.

Oh, and I was kind of excited because I thought that since I cut off the part of my thumb that has the fingerprint lines, then I wouldn't have fingerprints. But it turns out that skin is really amazing and you basically have to have leprosy to make it so that your fingerprints disappear. I was disappointed because I'd planned out this entire life of crime that involved only using my thumb and baffling the police (except that I'm totally going through that post-partum massive hair loss stage right now so they'd track me that way, probably), but also not disappointed, because at least I don't have leprosy.

Anyway, the whole point of this post was not to celebrate my not having leprosy (which is good), but to see whether you agree with me in that the apple wedger should be burned and then tossed down a deep well, or if you're like Shane and think it's not the apple wedgers fault that I'm clumsy.

Thumbs Down

Because some people do not enjoy reading about dumb ways I injure myself, I'm going to present this post in bullet points. It'll be like a Choose Your Own Adventure story, where if you are like my friend Kristin and you're absolutely terrified by sharp objects, you probably don't want to read this post. Instead, I'll suggest that you adventure over to Design Mom's site, where you can read an edited version of Tommy's birth story and reminisce about how my last medical mishap had a much happier ending.

For everyone else, journey on:

• Luke slept in Wed morning, and I thought, "Should I have another cup of coffee or should I bake?" I chose baking. BAD IDEA.
• I very successfully made a beautiful pie crust, and then moved on to cutting apples. I came across a Pampered Chef Apple Wedger which Shane had never even opened.
  
• I wedge one apple and also when they say it's an ingenious tool, they mean, WILL MAIM YOU, as I cut my thumb along with the apple.
  
• It's such a sharp blade that the cut doesn't actually hurt. At first, I think,oh, that's not too bad, then realize a flap of skin is hanging off of my thumb and it's bleeding rather profusely.
• RUH ROH
• I grab paper towel and apply pressure, then call my mom who says she will come over and take me to urgent care
• While waiting and bleeding everywhere, I email Beth, Steph, and Sarah and ask them to please keep emailing me so that I do not FREAK OUT.
  
• I grab one of Julie's cloth napkins because the paper towel is soaked with blood and wonder if I should remove the paper towel. My mom who is very squeamish yells at me for even considering removing it.
• My mom got to my house even faster than the night Tommy was born. I must've sounded much more anxious on the phone, though my dad claims that the night Tommy was born, she was driving too slow even though he told her to hurry.
  
• The lovely people at urgent care first refuse to treat me, even though my hand is covered in blood because I do not have a photo ID on me. They make me go upstairs to the clinic where I've gone before, and thankfully, they have a photo copy of my license. Oddly, while they refuse to treat me in urgent care without a photo ID, upstairs they have no problem handing me a photocopy of my license and my insurance card with my SS# written across the top. It's a good thing I'm me and not just someone who looks remotely like me.
  
• meanwhile I am still dripping blood.
• They check me in and go through my file, asking rather inane questions like, "You have no religion listed, would you like to update that?" and then say they can't see me without a $40 copay.
  
• My mom pays it, while snarkily saying, "Do you need to see MY ID?"
• The woman says, Oh no, we let anyone pay us! I consider punching her in the face, but I know she is just doing her job, and also, my hand hurts.
  
• Meanwhile I am wondering how many H1N1 germs Luke and Tommy are inhaling
• We sit in the waiting room for 30 minutes. At one point, I start to cry.
• Then I get this email from a friend about the ID issue:
  "So, if you were in a car accident and your car started on fire and you were burned over 50% of your body and your driver's license started on fire they'd be like "SORRY, BITCH." We can't treat you.
  I ain't never seen them ask for an id on ER or Grey's. SHIT."
• After reading it, I start laughing but then think that if I'm laughing, they might think my thumb is okay and make me wait longer, so I loudly say OUCH MY THUMB, and hope they'll think I'm delirious. There is no one else in the waiting room, thankfully.
  
• Finally, they call me back. First they ask me fun questions like, "Do you have a family history of diabetes?" and "When was your last period?" I'm starting to get histrionic and am thinking things like, "I AM GOING TO HAVE TO WALK AROUND WITH A HOLE IN MY THUMB FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE BECAUSE I CAN'T REMEMBER WHEN MY LAST PERIOD WAS, OH GOD WHY MEEEEEEEE."
• The nurse takes off the cloth napkin, then starts to rip away the paper towel while I am all OW OW CHUNK OF SKIN.
• They remove the paper towel and say, Oh, wow. Because they thought I was a big fat liar when I first walked in covered in blood.
  
• I am bleeding everywhere, like more than I ever thought possible.
• No one asks me if this makes me woozy. It doesn't, but a lot of people are freaked by blood so it amazed me that they were like, here, apply pressure, and just left me alone for large blocks of time.
• the Dr finally comes in and gives me a ring block of shots, in which they ring your thumb with numbing shots. Shots in your thumb hurt, but not as bad as having a baby. I tell him this and he hits me in the arm that is attached to my busted thumb and laughs. I like him. He also asks if the blood makes me feel faint. Two points for the doctor!
  
• The nurse comes in and irrigates it with saline. She uses an entire bottle and it is still bleeding heavily. She then gives me more gauze, says apply pressure and leaves.
• First I take a picture because I know I will want to harass Shane with it later.
  
• I wait for a very long time, still thinking about H1N1 germs and how Luke and Tommy are probably hungry and how I left the house wearing this because I couldn't figure out how to change clothes while keeping pressure on my thumb:
  
  But at least I wasn't naked for THIS medical mishap.
  
• the Dr comes back in, removes the gauze and says, Wasn't there skin attached? I look at a large, gaping hole in my thumb, look at the gauze and say, Oh. It came off. It's right there.
  
• He laughs and says, sweetie, you aren't getting stitches today. I consider asking if I can keep the piece of my thumb just to be a weirdo, but I don't.
  
• Then he leaves, and while I wait a million minutes for the nurse to return, I wrap my thumb piece up in the gauze so it can have a proper funeral shroud.
  
• She puts this foam gel stuff in the wound which should help it, but I'm still bleeding profusely. She removes and replaces gauze three times because I keep bleeding before another nurse comes in with super clotting powder. The nurses and I discuss all the various things I can make Shane do for me since he will be, quite literally, under my thumb.
  
• I leave and Luke is disappointed that the doctor did not give me a sucker. I kind of am too.
  
• TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER, THE END. (except for the part where I have to change the dressing every day and oh, internet, I will spare you what that is like but I will just say GULP.)
  

You Capture: Food

So, I was very excited about this week's You Capture, because I set out this morning to make an apple-based recipe out The Pioneer Woman Cooks. I used to bake a lot, but I have not much in the past few years, so I'm trying to find my way back to that.

I was all cocky and excited because I used my mom's pie crust recipe (my mom's an amazing baker), and it was the BEST I'd ever done.

I was all, IN YOUR FACE, KITCHEN, as I moved on the apples.

What is it they say about pride? It goeth before a fall. Or a cut, in my case, when my thumb got into a fight with a Pampered Chef apple corer and guess who won? HINT: Not my thumb. So, one trip to the Urgent Care later, I'm sporting a super sweet dressing on my thumb (which will thankfully be JUST FINE in due time), and my Thanksgiving will be less one apple dessert.

And then, I burned my S'mores Pop Tarts, proving that today, food is not my friend.

It's okay, because I'm pretty sure we'll be BFFs again tomorrow. Except for the part where I really can't hold a fork. Or type, as it took me approximately 200 years to finish this post.

I Am Thankful

For him and him and him

All these boys. All mine.

You Capture: Sunrise/Sunset

There hasn't been much sun in my area of the world lately. I'm going to be honest, there might be sun in the morning, but the two sweet hours from 5 to 7 are about the only times I get to sleep because Shane takes Tommy, and then, I spend time snuggling with the boys. And as much as I love You Capture, I also love sleep. And snuggling.

So instead, I captured those first snuggly moments when we wake up, after the sun rises...

And the blissful, quiet moments after it sets...

And all the moments in between, when my days are always bright, no matter how cloudy it may be.

Hi, this is where I was born!

Iron Butterfly

A week ago, I wrote about my new iron. I promised you pictures, but then I was so busy ironing that I kind of forgot to share those pictures. I wish I had a video to show you, but I am alas, the only blogger on the world wide web to not own a video camera of any sort. Lucky for you, I take hilarious photos. Also lucky for you, I'm not modest.

When the iron first came, I wasn't sure what it was. It looked like a strange futuristic device to me. In the hopes that it was a robot maid, I told it to go fold my laundry. When it just sat there, I walked away and ignored it, until I saw Luke doing this.

(NOT plugged in, please do not call CPS!)

And then I was all, so THAT's how that thing works. After that, I announced to Shane that we now owned an iron. He threw several shirts at me, mumbling something about how he now no longer has to be that guy with the wrinkled shirts. I got a little angry at the iron for causing me MORE work, so I glared at it for awhile.

See all those shirts in the background? I told you he threw shirts at me.

When I finally gave in and ironed Shane's stupidshirts, I realized just how easy this iron is. It took me under a minute to get each shirt completely wrinkle-free. I will admit to utilizing the steam tool, which shot out a pretty powerful burst of steam and cleared out some of the hard to reach wrinkles.

I hear some people have a fancy device called an ironing board. I bet these people also have robot maids. I, however, have a table and a towel.

Luke was watching me iron and in the midst of it, removed his shirt and said, "Iron my blue shirt!" At first I said, "Iron your own shirt!"

But then he put his Tyrannosaurus Rex on the table and was all, "Iron my shirt...OR ELSE," so I thought it'd be a wise choice.

Unfortunately, while I was ironing, he colored on his face with a marker, but at least he looked styling in his crisp shirt!


When I last wrote about the iron, several of you left comments in the form of also hating ironing (fist bump of solidarity, sisters!), and I just want to follow up with that. I really, really do hate ironing, but this iron really makes it so easy. Like I said, I was able to do each of Shane's dress shirts in a minute or less. The steam feature makes it so that if you don't have time to iron OR if you have a garment that can't be ironed, you can still quickly remove wrinkles.
I also like that this iron has an auto shut off feature. This is really important for me because I can't count the number of times that I've left the house with candles burning or something turned on (please don't tell my husband).
I really do find myself leaning more toward ironing than I ever did before. I'm finding that in the time that it takes to run the dryer again to remove wrinkles from shirts, I can actually have the shirts ironed and hung in the closet. So while it used to seem like the dryer was the quick easy way, the reality is that this iron is much quicker--and our clothes look better for it!

Now that I no longer need a robot maid to iron my clothes, I would most definitely have my robot maid clean the bathroom and put the laundry away, my two least favorite chores. Oh, and clean the microwave. I eat a LOT of bacon and our very old microwave takes forever to cook it and is a pain to clean, but all the bacon eating I do makes it necessary to clean it often. See, I need a robot maid. Or maybe a new microwave, but a robot maid sounds so much more appealing. What would your robot maid do?

I received a Panasonic iron in exchange for this review. Still waiting on that robot maid...

Counting The Ways To Where You Are

A year can seem so short. 365 days. One birthday. A few holidays. But the reality is that so much can change in a year.

One year ago today, I got that flashing digital readout.
My hands were shaking so badly that I had to take this picture over and over, and this was still the best I could do.
I was home alone. Shane was picking Luke up at my parents' after work, and I took advantage of the quiet to test--feeling in my heart of hearts that I'd throw it away, disappointed. I didn't. I ran up and down the stairs looking at the test saying OHMYGOD over and over. I don't know why I ran up and down the stairs (and to one up any of you from making the joke, yes, perhaps I WAS preparing to eventually have a baby on said stairs), but it seemed like the right thing at the time. Then I called Keely and continued to OHMYGOD all over the place. I didn't think I was pregnant because I spotted a few days before my period was due and then really spotted the night it was due. It was Election Night, so I shrugged off the lack of pregnancy and drank a margarita (okay, three) to celebrate the election. Then the spotting stopped. We went to visit Shane's dad in the hospital the next day after a knee surgery, and I remember wanting to vomit at all the hospital smells. When we left, I mentioned to Shane that it smelled, and he said he didn't notice anything. That was my first inkling of a maybe. I took a test, really though, because I was throwing Shane a surprise party (by the way, today is his birthday and if he wasn't so old that he doesn't have a twitter or a blog or ANYTHING except Hotmail, I'd tell you to go wish him happy birthday) and wanted to make sure I could drink. Ironically, that's the same reason I tested with Luke. Most people get drunk and then get pregnant, I just find out I'm pregnant when I'm thinking of getting drunk.

I was scared but hopeful. We usually wait until we see a heartbeat to tell, but Shane drank too much at his surprise party and told my parents. So then we told his parents. Everyone at the surprise party guessed when I was all, No, thank you, I would not like a Jaegerbomb. Instead I will enjoy this delicious ice water. And then Beth found out. I liked it, though. When we finally saw that flickering heartbeat at ten weeks, I was relieved but thankful for all the love I'd felt up until that moment.
I took my first belly shot at 13 weeks. When I got pregnant, I made a vow to myself that I was going to be a cute pregnant woman, and I hope it's okay to say this, but I never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant with Tommy. Not even on my wedding day. When Beth did my maternity shots, Keely told me that I looked more beautiful than in my wedding photos, and you know, I think she was right. There was just SO MUCH LIFE inside of me, and I relished every single moment.

At the end, I didn't want to stop being pregnant, I just so badly wanted to meet my sweet baby. At 36 weeks, I had my first dream about the baby, and do you remember that I dreamt that I had a baby on the kitchen floor? I didn't remember until I started writing this post and looked back in my archives, but oh my goodness, I was off by about five steps! Then he was here, and it was the craziest, sweetest, most surreal seven minutes of my life. Sometimes I still can't believe it.

This was our very first photo, taken with my phone. Tommy was still under the warm blankets , cuddled against my bare skin (does this count as posting a naked photo of myself? Because I was. Totally naked.). That smile is perhaps the most genuine smile I've ever had. I was scared, you know. I don't talk about this much, but I was scared. I was frightened we'd get to the hospital and they'd take him away from me. I was frightened they'd take him to the nursery and poke and prod him, but they didn't. Frightened they'd judge us, frightened someone would yell at us for not leaving on time (when deep down I knew that it happened much quicker than anyone could have anticipated), just so scared of what would happen. When we first came into the ER, a doctor came running over and started to peel back the blankets, and my sweet EMTs shooed him away. I owe so much to those women and to the nurses who let me hold my Tommy for hours and nurse him and love him before anyone even suggested weighing him or examining him.
And then, the outpouring of love that followed. The emails from my girls. The visits that morning. The hugs and joy and even the tweets and emails and comments from all of you. I've never felt so lifted, so surrounded with love in my life.
The sweetness that has been in my life for this past year is overwhelming, and life? It just keeps getting better and better.

(Same wall as in my maternity photo. I'm so clever. Also, please don't judge my footwear. We'd just been hiking.)

I don't know what I've done to deserve this past year. I'm not sure that I really do deserve it, but oh, am I ever thankful for the blessings of the past 365 days...and all the blessings that are yet to come.

Dirt Don't Hurt

Yesterday we decided to take advantage of the rare, beautiful weather and go hiking, after an extremely long day on Friday and Saturday. Luke had a great time collecting every leaf in the forest, and after walking about two miles, we decided to sit and soak up the sun.
As I went to sit on a bench, I saw this sign.


I read it out loud to Shane because it seemed so perfect, and then we joked about how whomever considered this place to be still and silent had never been there with Luke.
Two minutes later, Luke asked if he could take off his shoes. Instantly, Shane and I both said no. It was wet, muddy, and not really all that warm, but then we looked at each other, shrugged, and changed our no to an okay. Luke was thrilled, and before we knew it, these clean little piggies...

Threw sticks in the water

Collected leaves

And soon, they looked like this.

He didn't care. He laughed and ran and squished mud between his feet and said, EWW DIRTY, while I grabbed a moment to nurse Tommy. (Note: It is beyond ridiculously easy to nurse in the Hotslings AP.)

It was neither quiet nor still, but for us and one little boy with very muddy feet, it was most definitely a place that we all felt the happiness of our dreams come true.

Be Still

With two energetic boys, I mainly take photos of movement. Capturing a still life is something I've never tried before, so it was fun for me.

I love flowers in cut glass vases because you can see the green stems. These are probably the last fresh flowers we'll get to cut for many months.


Orange and black jellybeans! As much as I love candy, I think black licorice anything is an abomination and should be outlawed, but Shane and Luke both love them.

Last weekend, my bestie Leah came to visit and drank this delicious pina colada martini. I had a triple chocolate bliss martini and while it was SO good, it wasn't as pretty as Leah's!

I know this doesn't really count as still life, but he's pretty still when he sleeps!

You Capture: Red

'Tis the season for red, isn't it? Red mums, red leaves, red noses from the chill in the air.

Of course, I have the obligatory red leaves. I like these leaves because they're not yet all the way red, making me think (hope?) that maybe summer hasn't completely left us yet.

Then there's Luke in his new red coat ($10, thank you Old Navy!) about to get a piggy back ride at a nearby Arboretum. We spent an hour and a half hiking and running on Sunday. Tommy slept in the sling the entire time, and it was just a lovely way to spend the morning with my three favorite boys in the whole wide world.

I wish that this photo looked better, but I snapped it with my phone two seconds before I devoured this piece of RED velvet cake. It was amazing, but I'd already consumed roughly 8000 calories at dinner, so I'm pretty sure I suffered a minor heart attack after eating it. SO WORTH IT.

Finally, this is my favorite red lipstick. It is matte and very old Hollywood. Unfortunately, it is also very hard to pull off unless you are wearing the right outfit and eye makeup, so I only wear it about twice a year. As a testament to how little I wear it, I bought this tube four years ago with Leah (we walked into the MAC store and demanded that teach us to wear red lipstick), and it looks hardly used! Speaking of Leah, she's just beginning blogging again and is going through a tough time, so if you have a free moment, could you please swing by her site? I will love you forever!

I hope you enjoyed my red captures!

Step By Step

Big hand, little hand

They both hold my heart.

Judge Not

Since becoming a mom almost three years ago, I've always felt the whole mommy wars was blown out of proportion. At least, whenever people would tell me they felt judged for formula feeding, I always had a hard time believing it. Truly, I've received so many rude comments and statements from co-workers and family members about breastfeeding (especially about nursing past a year) that I felt like I got more rudeness for NOT bottle feeding, plus you always hear about people being so rude to moms who nurse in public (although I've thankfully never felt this). At the very least, I knew that I'd never said anything to anyone about how they feed their kid, because hey, it's just important that babies are being fed, right? Granted, I'm guilty of thinking my way is the best simply because it works so well for me, but who isn't guilty of that at times? Sometimes I can be a total Judge-y McJudgerson, but I like to remember the adage that if you can't say something nice to someone, then maybe don't say anything at all.

Saturday night, Shane and I went out to dinner with Tommy, while Luke stayed home with Grandma. I ordered a caramel appletini because I'd just fed Tommy and knew that I was going to eat SO MUCH food that I wouldn't feel the alcohol, and Tommy certainly wouldn't. After I ordered, the waitress looked at me, looked at Tommy, and icily said, "So, you're obviously not breastfeeding, then" in the same tone of voice that one would say, "So, you're obviously the worst mother ever, then." Shane and I looked at each other and I had to collect my wits for a second before I said, "No, I am. My midwife said one drink is fine, thanks." And then it was like someone flipped a switch, and she happily chatted to me about how she heard that red wine and dark beers are good for nursing and how her sister is a home birth midwife and so on.

But really, what if I wasn't breastfeeding because I was on a medication that could be passed to the baby? Or what if I'd tried really hard and it didn't work out? Or what if I just didn't want to do it? How would she have made me feel, then? She made me feel judged, and I WAS breastfeeding. In a society where we're given so many mixed messages, is it so hard for women to just support each other? We're told that we need to be happy and glowing during pregnancy and that the second the baby is born, we must jump right back into our old jeans and have a perfect body. And if we don't, well, that's what plastic surgery is for. We're told that strong, independent women work outside of the home so if you choose to stay home, you're letting women everywhere down, yet we're also made to feel that if we work outside of the home, we're letting someone else raise our children and we're failing as a mom.
There are so many mixed messages that come at women, that come at moms, that it's not easy. The least we can do for each other is smile at another mom, tell her her baby is beautiful, and that she's doing a great job. Don't worry about if she's going back to work or if she's giving her baby breast or bottle, just let her know that she's doing the best job possible, because you know what? She probably is, but she probably doesn't think it, and even if she doesn't believe you... you'll probably make her day.

And in the meantime? Just let me drink my martini in peace!

For Baby III

I'll be there when you're feelin' down,

To kiss away the tears if you cry

I'll share with you all the happiness I've found;

A reflection of the love in your eyes.