Thought I was done?

I thought that since I spent the night last night with my heart cracking wide open, that I would do my best to crack yours as well. Misery loves company you know. Let's wander down memory lane for a moment...



Morrie is reading Laura Ingalls Wilder to Isabelle. We read to her every night from the time she was a wee little lassie (she was born in Ireland you know).



Okay, she just looks like she was born in Ireland.




"Mom...get outta here. It's my first day of Vacation Bible School. I don't know anyone. Wait...hold my hand...don't leave. Just stop taking pictures for Christ's sake!"

SHUT UP! She is four and holding a kitten. I am DYING here people. (yes, that is a tattoo on her arm). My heart is now the consistency of a gummy bear.

DONE. I am DONE. I can't take it anymore.

You thought I was done, didn't you? I know you did.

You should have known better.

Isabelle writing in her brand new journal she just opened for her 5th birthday.

Two old ladies sharing a recliner:

Oh. My. God. So Delicious!

Let's just stay with this one for a moment, shall we?

I can't take it! The sandles, the toes! The sunglasses! The hugging! (click on the picture to see it bigger).

Morrie really hates it when I do this. You all think I am bad? I am nothing compared to him. He probably won't even read this post. When we have grandkids we are never going to give them back.