My thumbs are sore from filling magazines and racking pistols.

Metal is rough on cold fingers.  And who knew a gun could take so long to clean?  Remind me never to buy a revolver.  Less complicated since you don’t take them apart, but boy can they gather a lot of soot!

It’s been over three weeks since I was allowed to kiss my monkey.  (That’s code for my baby sister Gracie.)  I’m still fighting this cough and of course her health is of the utmost importance for her development.  Since she learns so much by hearing, any sinus issues that could hinder said hearing should be avoided at all costs.  Thus, she is to avoid me at all costs.  Sadly, she doesn’t really get this, and sometimes comes and leans on me, and it’s torture not to grab her and squeeze her.  Being forced to just look at her without jumping in and touching her and talking in her face a bit, I’m reminded of so many things from her infancy.  Like…”windmill” was her first really big word (she said “hi” at 6 months, and of course “ma-ma” and “da” were easy firsts).  And like…I used to kiss her palms all the time.  (And I do mean all the time.)  She has the sweetest hands, and her baby palms looked just a little different than most babies’ and I just loved them.  It’s hard to believe that little jabberwalkie in there–who has recently begun singing entire songs on her own, not just parts of them–used to be a little mushy, non-mobile baby bug.  She became my monkey when she got mobile and discovered she liked climbing on anything and everything.  Over was always better than around.  She’s come so far, and she constantly amazes us with her level of intelligence.  Now that she’s starting to communicate so much better, we’re realizing just how much is really going on beneath those blond curls.  And that’s another thing…most Downs children don’t have curly hair.  How neat that God gave us one who does!