I have a very muddled ancestry. My father's side has some Germans, and it's rumored that one bought land from William Penn, our state founder. It is also rumored that he met his death in a suspicious pitch fork 'accident.' My mother's hot blooded Italian side has a lot of pictures of guys that could be in 'The Godfather.' But my husband, his mother is Irish through and through. So at least my kids can claim the St. Patrick's day slogan this week, even though everybody's Irish on St. Patrick's day.
I am a complete corned beef fanatic. Love, love, love it. Yes, my mother-in-law has informed me the holiday and meal aren't really Irish. But the hot blooded Italian in me doesn't care.
My baby is six months old now. Damn.
After several long weeks of hand wringing and heated discussions, we have finalized surgery for my daughter's scoliosis...in less than two weeks. Nerve wracking. But today as the final details were coming together, I had the oddest occasions in which songs on the radio, people I met, topics that came up in conversation all reminded me of someone I lost long ago...and it felt like she was with me. And everything was going to be okay.
One night this week the baby decided to sleep all night...my husband and I were up with coughs.
Linking in with Nancy