She's Here!

The newest addition to our family tree arrived on Tuesday, April 10th at 10:26 a.m.  Weighing in at 7lbs. 14 oz., I'm thrilled to introduce our niece and Goddaughter, Brooklyn:

 First picture

 Murray loves his new cousin

 Grandpa Doug is head-over-heels

 Murray is a Brooklyn hog.  He doesn't like to let anyone else hold her.

She has a dimple on each cheek, just like her Mom

The second I met her, I fell in love.  I looked at my sister, who couldn't stop staring at her miracle with a look of wonder. 

Congratulations, sis.  We are extremely happy for you and love you both to pieces!




:

Grandpa Doug

I can't breathe.  I'm laughing too hard.  Murray + Grandpa Doug (my Dad) = HILARIOUS.

When my Dad arrived last night, Murray was beside himself.  After they hugged furiously, the first words out of Murray's mouth were, "Grandpa, how many sleeps are you here for?" 

This morning, the second Murray woke up, he exclaimed, "Dad, Mom, I'm going to wake up Grandpa, but you can go back to sleep."  

These two have packed more adventures into 24 hours than I could in a week.

There was the breakfast date.  The two of them walked to McDonald's, ate 'pamcakes' and sausage and walked home. 

We went skating and Grandpa Doug pretended to fall down every time Murray fell.

We celebrated Christmas (a bit late, but hey, at least we were together).

Now, the two are eating 'copporn' (popcorn) and watching a movie, while snuggling on the couch. Murray keeps asking his Grandpa to say the word 'poop' - oh happy day - and he just finished explaining to my Dad that if Rudy finds another rabbit in the yard, he'll play with it too hard and it will have to go to heaven. 

Good grief.  What will tomorrow bring?

The Wild West

We spent the weekend in western North Dakota with my Dad (a.k.a. Grandpa Doug). He's lived in the town of Flasher, ND for almost 15 years. I graduated high school there - Go Bulldogs - and have a million or so memories of this amazing little town west of the Missouri.


We always have a great time when we visit my Dad, and this trip was certainly no exception. We played with his horse, took drives through the beautiful country, caught a few fish and exchanged lots of tall tales.

I want to tell you about Antelope Hills Lodge, the 1910 hotel that my Dad lives adjacent to and is helping restore. But I'm beat, so I'll leave you with a teaser: click here for a glimpse of Antelope Hills Lodge. The hotel really deserves it's own post, it's that amazing, plus, I have a ton of pictures to share.  You don't find a place like this very often. Stay tuned.

Now that my tummy is filled with homemade knoephla soup, fresh pheasant, and the absolute best breakfast (literally, I'm still craving it) that I've ever eaten - check out My Place Bar and Grill off Highway 21 if you visit - I think I'll tuck in to watch the Vikings. I leave with a few pictures of our adventures:

 

 Rinsing the last crop of potatoes.

 Out cold after a busy day with Grandpa Doug.

 Murray did all the work on this one.  He cast and reeled in a four pound northern pike.  If you can't tell, we're literally in the middle of a horse pasture. We even had to climb through a barb wire fence to get to the water. Note his Spider Man fishing pole on the ground.

We almost caught our limit, rather, Murray almost caught our limit.

Flasher, we'll be back soon.  You can't stop us.

Daddy's Hands

I love it when my Dad visits, which he did last weekend.  He's a big kid at heart but also an awesome father to my sister and I and grandfather to Murray.

Murray thinks the world of him - we all do, but in Murray's eyes he is nothing short of a hero.  The feeling is mutual.  Grandpa Doug took part in water fights (the rest of us watched), pretended to be a jungle gym, took Murray on long walks, played endless games of hide and seek, and woke up every morning to cuddle and watch PBS. The two of them read books and sang songs and played Memory.  He set up a tent and told the ghost story of the "Blue Bear" and practiced casting with a new fishing pole.
 
The special relationship that the two of them share brings a flood of my own memories.  My Dad and my sister and I have always enjoyed a special bond, (although we were equally close to our Mom.  We have great parents.)  Dad held my hand when I was in pain, counseled me through fights with my friends, scolded me when I was late for curfew, cried when I went to prom, took me hunting and fishing, and put together my bunk beds when I moved into the dorm.  He was there when my Mom was sick and died, helped me through countless heartbreaks, walked me down the aisle, and welcomed Craig to our family.  When Murray was born, he was so excited he could hardly speak.

The best thing?  He still does all of those things for his adult children.  When I'm sad, he lets me cry.  When I'm mad, he lets me rage.  He believes in me and gives me (too much) credit.  He gently lets me know if I'm wrong.  He adores my sister and I, and wants to help us when we're in need.  He has the hands of a worker and the heart of a child; never questioning, always loving.

No family is perfect and ours certainly isn't. We all have our ups and downs and battles to face.  But at least we have each other.  Thanks, Dad.

-MM