It’s ironic that my last post was titled, just like dad, because if I didn’t still recall the intense labor pains I had with Cailee like they were yesterday, after tonight, I would have a hard time believing she was really mine. Here’s why…

The past few weeks we have been enjoying the rather loud chorus of cicadas from dawn to dusk. Apparently, they show up every thirteen years and for the month they are above ground we get to enjoy what sounds like a car alarm going off all day, pick up their discarded shells everywhere, and have to be careful we don’t squish the dead ones in our driveway with our bare feet. They basically resemble a ginormous fly, apparently don’t bite, and can fly about as good as a chicken (as my 10 year old neighbor told me).

*Lucky* for us, Abbie (our neighbor) caught a pair, named them Bert and Ernie and was proudly showing them off in their cereal box home. I was less then thrilled, not being a fan of the creepy crawly, yet apparently, my 2 year old is not nearly as squeamish as I am because Cailee loved the bugs!