In the midnight hour, she cried “More, more, more!”

While I was gone, Ruby became an equestrian. The part that’s not pictured is when she took off like National Velvet and ringed the course two or three times by herself.

OK, that’s completely untrue.

Even more braggable is the real story: before my sister put her on the pony, the pony pooped. Ruby spent the entire ride instructing the leader to clean up the poop. “Pony Pooped! Clean up!” She is nothing if not festidious about excrement. Makes a mother proud.

Giddy-up, Dumpy!

It’s nice to be in a country where everyone seems to love you. If you hold the door for someone in Ireland, they say “Thanks, Love.” Order fish and chips? “Sure, Love.” Ask directions? “Right this way, Love.”

All the “No worries” I got in response to thank-yous reminded me of Ruby back home, as she says that all the time. They were killin’ me over there with all the cute blue-eyed rosey-cheeked kids. With accents no less. I missed Ruby something fierce!

The photos I took are on my mother’s camera, so those are forthcoming when I get them from her (remember? We lost ours in Colorado! Enjoy it, a-hole…whoever you are!).

More about the trip when I have the pics. In the meantime, I’m going to slip into Ruby’s room one last time before I go to sleep to make sure she’s still real.

G’night, Loves.

My prettiest day! And, the day that my life changed for the good, better, best! Shaun and I got married that morning — I am grateful for that day and all its memories.

We discussed tonight that we didn’t “do” anything for each other to commemorate the event. The babysitter is coming for “date night” tomorrow, but I will already be in Dublin, and Shaun will probably just go curl up in a puffy chair at a bookstore. I wonder if any parents ever welcome the sitter into their living room and then just go upstairs to bed? That might be on our dating agenda one of these weeks. Wicked, forbidden sleep.

While forgiving ourselves the absence of bouquets of flowers, and copious soap-on-a-rope or Brut cologne, Shaun said “Well, four years isn’t a big-deal anniversary, right?”

I beg to differ, Mister. It’s a big deal to me. It’s a big deal that you have stood by me through wild hormonal rages, sorrowful hormonal sob-fests, drunk hormonal sing-alongs. Basically, you married a hormone. And every day I wake up you are still in your uniform, suited up for whatever the day brings. You have been strong for me in my weakest times. Thank you.

I love that you think I am funny even when I am a complete mess. I love that you support every one of my friendships, and give me time to cultivate them. I love that you get a kick out of my family, especially when we are all together. I love that we made a chubby-cheeked baby that calls you “ShauFannin!” and lights up when you enter a room.

I thank God for you (really loudly, clapping, while wearing a fancy hat). I love you. Happy Anniversary.

As I do every year, I asked Shaun, “Will you stay with me?” He said yes, and my heart sang.

We both figure this will work for at least a couple more years as long as I keep puttin’ out. My secret hope for our fifth year together is that Shaun doesn’t get too comfortable and let himself go.

So we just heard gunshots. More gunshots. It seems to happen every few months — I like to think less often than it did when I first moved in, but I can’t be sure. It’s strange to become numb to things like that, or at least more numb. This time I tried to lower the blinds at my desk, and when that didn’t work I just sat back down and hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t bother shooting through the wooden gate, and that the Japanese maple would block their shot a bit if they did.

Shaun is still a bit more concerned than me (I almost typed hysterical! Lord, I have really hardened up!). He hopped up and said “What was that?”

“I think it was gunshots,” I said, “although I guess I don’t really know what a gunshot sounds like (probably a lot like those other ones those other times).”

“I heard a truck go by…do you think it was a backfire?” he asked.

Bless his heart. Perhaps that’s a West Virginia thing. Jed Clampett’s truck backfires, I think. And, I saw it in a movie once. The last, sad scene of “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” where they are clacking along a dirt road with chickens and pigs (and backfires) and lots of love and hope. I loved Shaun real hard when he hoped the shots were a backfire. Perhaps I’ll go with that in my mind too. I’m even leaving it up to the neighbors to call 3-1-1. It’s not like the police are going to send someone right away to check it out. We’ve made that call before — as I recall we were on our bellies on the floor of a dark house when we made it too. Not this time.

This time I thought to myself, “Boy, I hope the errant bullet doesn’t hit me in the face because I probably won’t end up looking like my passport picture when I head for Ireland tomorrow.”

“Go ahead and shoot me, you sack of shit,” I thought, “I am still getting on that plane.”

Why not? Keifer Sutherland does it all the time.

So I’m off to the Emerald Isle. Almost two weeks in Ireland with my mother and sister — the trip of a lifetime! I’ve been so busy thinking about Colorado and setting up the summer and securing childcare and thinking of how I will live without my stuff, that I haven’t thought much about this glorious trip. Friday morning I will wake up and it will occur to me that I am across the pond and able to read an entire magazine without interruption! A massage? Yes, please. Perhaps a leisurely stroll, or a hundred and eight of them! Bike rides, castles, picnics, pubs. Yes, yes, more, yes!

‘Course, I will miss the booger. I’ve never been away this long. Hats off to my husband for sending me on this trip without a care. They are thick as thieves those two, and will do very well without me. Ack! They will do very well without me. Hmm. I’ll enjoy every minute while not being able to wait to get home. How ’bout that?

Hope that pic below can hold you for a couple weeks. And why wouldn’t it? I mean, she’s holding a penguin. Come on!

…and her penguin friends Icy and Slushie who she carries everywhere (except on our recent trip to Colorado, because Shaun hid them. They would have taken up the extra 3.5 inches we enjoyed on the plane because we had two laps for her to sit on instead of one).

The glasses look much cuter on me, I just didn’t have any makeup on today. Hrmph.

I was wrecked for some reason after a day of not-so-much, and asked Shaun to do the wrestling match with Ruby for the final diaper and bedtime ritual. I usually do it because if she kicks me in the groin, she doesn’t do as much damage, if you know what I’m sayin’. I diaper and pajama and then sing — usually “Tell Me Why” but I have resorted to The Cure on more desperate evenings. So tonight I watched the diapering and then said “Snuggle with Daddy, tonight, I love you.”

From just outside the door, my heart swelled with pride as I heard, in a patriotic warble, Shaun offer his night-time salute.

“Ooooooh say can you seeeee….”