And here is my little sweetpea, Annabelle, age 5 – 101 years and 19 days later! – Louise’s great-great-grandchild.

For me, there is something magical about history, especially our own history. When I traced Louise’s family tree, I realized she named her daughter for her mother, Alice, and little Alice of course became my grandmother. I never met Alice, nor Louise, but below is a photograph of Alice with her daddy, my great-grandfather, Ray, whom I was fortunate enough to know as a young child. We called him Grandy. Annabelle sleeps in a wooden bed we think was made by Grandy, as it came from his home and he was an expert woodworker. Each night as I read stories to Annabelle before sleep, I often wonder to myself if Alice was tucked into the same bed, by her own mother and father. What stories did they read to her?

When I look at little Alice, I can’t help but smile. The clothes she’s wearing? My own little one has countless pairs of striped leggings, of tiered and ruffled dresses. It’s interesting to me how much stays the same, even as time passes. Little girls will always love leggings and dresses.

Here’s a portrait of Alice, taken at a photography studio, probably around age 10. I’m so grateful that Louise and Grandy took Alice to get her picture taken! It’s a treasure that I can hold in my hands, a tangible piece of our history that will continue to be passed down. How else would we remember?

And here’s Alice a bit older, maybe a school picture? I don’t know for sure – I just know I feel so fortunate to have these photographs in my own hand, to be able to show Annabelle, to be able to wonder on my own about the life of my grandmother who died before I was born.

Sometimes, I forget that the photographs I take of my little one may someday be cherished by Annabelle’s children’s children, or her children’s children’s children – like now, as I do. The photograph of Louise, above, is kept on a shelf in Annabelle’s room, next to Grandy’s antique family bed, and I think of that happy little girl in 1910 and know with certainty that future generations will treasure photographs of this quickly-passing time in the same way that we do.

Will a great-great-grandchild of mine see this portrait of Annabelle? And will they know, just by a glance, that she was a sweet and funny girl, a silly child with so much joy, sense of humor and happiness in her life? I hope so. But I will keep photographing her in the meantime, preserving our life and the memories that I already hold so dear to my heart. Because photographs do many things, but most importantly they remind us of a moment in time that connects us to our past – to where we came from, to the people we love and the family to whom we belong.

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An afternoon spent in PJs. Ink stamps, pinking shears, markers and glue. A drink with a swirly straw safely on a stool nearby. Banana bread cooling on a rack, fresh from the oven. K-LOVE playing on the radio. A few impromptu games of tic-tac-toe. Little hands, busy above a gift for “DAD” in the making.

I hope you are enjoying these little blessed moments as Christmas nears!

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Annabelle has a long-standing history (obsession) with pink cowboy boots. Last year, after retiring her much-loved old ones, we searched high and low for a replacement pair. We couldn’t find any that met her standards, which were namely to be super cute, pink and “cowgirly.” (That was her word.)

Apparently these pink boots do the trick, and I’m glad to have my little one back in boots. Because it’s just so darn cute!

Lately, they travel on her feet wherever we go.

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Okay, I said.

“This is very serious.” (Her new precursor to every announcement.) “I need a picture with my Francie-baby. Do you think you can take it for me?”

Hmm. I can try, I said.

So we went outside, they rolled around in the grass, I snapped a few, we looked at them on the computer – and then she chose this one for her bedside. Voila. She was happy.

(If I had to title it, I think I might called it “Best Friends With Equally Questionable Haircuts.”)

She said, “Oh Mom, we are precious!”

(Agreed!)

And then I took this one for myself. Because she’s my Annabelle-baby.

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M
O
M

I love it.

I love her.

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Have I ever told you how scrumptiously yummy I find you to be? The last time I saw you, I found myself so distracted by your intoxicating scent that I lost all my words and “mmmm” was about all I could muster. Even my husband – who rejects midwestern pizza most of the time – says you are just simply irresistible.

You and I have lived all these years in the same Kansas City and yet somehow our paths didn’t cross until one day, I realized my severely allergic child had never tried pizza before, and magically – there you were! – much to her delight.

So, thank you, Waldo Pizza. Thank you for being so sizzling hot and mostly, offering a gluten-free and dairy-free option for those of us with little ones who deserve to experience a night out at the pizza parlor with Mom and Dad, just like every other kid. And thanks for the wait staff who doesn’t mind when Annabelle stands up in our booth to signal the server and ask for “another macaroni pizza, please.” (Somehow, they always know she means pepperoni.)

With lots of little love bites,

Abby

(To read more about Annabelle’s allergies, click here.)

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Annabelle asked and learned to vacuum.

You can imagine how much I protested her newfound hobby.

She balanced out all that responsibility with plenty of fun, though.

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So, that’s the first thing I love.

It’s almost Friday. And my husband is a white knight organizer. (Okay, two things.)

The third thing I love is bruschetta. Because it’s summer, and as I mentioned, my house is a mess, and I don’t feel like cooking. But I do feel like chopping up juicy tomatoes and fresh basil and dousing them with olive oil and maybe a drop or two of balsamic vinegar. And sea salt. And pepper. And slicing up Kansas City’s Farm to Market sourdough bread, smearing with butter (I don’t care if I’m supposed to use olive oil, we like butter) and cripsing it in the oven until it’s time to smother that unsuspecting bread with oodles of tomato goodness, topping with REAL parmesean cheese – grated with love.

Slurpingly yummy. I didn’t spend too much time trying to capture this plate, since my husband was reaching for it and attempting to thwart my efforts. (It’s a good thing he made the Things I Love list already.)

The fourth thing I love is that every cloud has a silver lining. I was attempting to make sense of this carpet-plucking mess when I spotted the pilfering Annabelle’s cute but grubby little fingers pawing through my wallet. Given her penchant for collecting and hiding debit cards, I thought it best to go rescue my belongings. I was just about to make my move when I saw her slip out my driver’s license and say to herself, “This is my mama! She is the best in the whole world and I love her SO much!” Which pretty much stopped me in my tracks and guess who got to play with my wallet all afternoon? (Sidenote: you kind of have to know Annabelle to know that she really does talk like that – as if every sentence must end in an exclamation mark. It’s cute. Especially when she’s exclaiming about how much she loves me.)

The fifth thing I love is that yesterday, I was driving down 71 highway and thinking about the craziness of this week. One thing in particular was just bugging me, and I knew I had to put it out of my mind. I looked up, intending to switch lanes, and what did I see? A  truck bearing Psalm 23 and the words, “Fear Not.” Loved it!

The sixth thing I love is………..Christmas in July. For my clients. But you’ll have to keep checking back to read about that!

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Their child’s room was a pale sickly green. There is nothing pale or sickly about Annabelle, and it just didn’t fit. That room eventually became my newborn studio and it’s now a neutral color that thankfully doesn’t make me sick just by looking at it. We painted Annabelle’s new room this weekend, and she picked a princess pink. (Of course.) We talked a LOT about colors beforehand and she repeatedly said that her favorites are blue, green and purple, but that her room should be pink – specifically, the shade of Princess Aurora’s dress. Okay, then.

Now, I felt nervous about this because, well, I’m a nutcase about color, as I said above. The wrong shade and I’m all but shivering with revulsion. So we went to the paint store and I picked a few princess-y hues, allowing her to make the final selection. At the last minute, in a rare moment of thoughtlessness, I threw in a warm pink shade that resembles bubble gum, and not surprisingly, she picked that one. I think I immediately broke out in a regretful, cold sweat. But no, she was sure. This one.

Gah.

My husband, well aware that when it comes to color choices, my opinion isn’t just an opinion but a life-altering, emotionally-charged EVENT, resolutely stayed out of the color selection process. He was merely the slave labor…er, “talent.” So… this weekend we (well, he) painted her new room, and of course I made the mistake of viewing it after dark and with the garish light of an overhead fixture.

Bad idea.

I resolved that we HAD to pick a new color and repaint the next day. My husband, the “talent,” said no way. After gnashing my teeth and obsessing about how Annabelle would feel about the color, I asked her what she thought the next morning. “I LOOOOOOVE IT!” Hmm. Outvoted. Still, I kept discussing with my husband that Annabelle might feel uncomfortable in a room with so much bright….bubblegum…pepto-bismal…pink. And he finally said, “Honey, I’m pretty sure our four-year-old doesn’t have any PTSD concerning the shade of pink that SHE picked out.” Oh. Fine. Throw around medical terms.

However, I took another look. This time with natural light, and giving it a little time to dry. And I guess it’s not so bad. I kinda like it. I actually LOVE pink… but, of course, it has to be the right shade. Ahem.

You get to see this random and ever so pink angle because it’s the only part of the room where the painter’s tape has been taken off so far – we’re still letting it dry! And now I get to obsess about the new color of OUR bedroom… and the hallway bathroom… and the rest of the kitchen… even the kitchen cabinets. Oh, and my new office. It’s a good thing my husband is a patient, patient man.

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