Missouri

Dear Harlow,

In the four months you've been a citizen of the planet, you've already traveled to five states: Arkansas, Illinois, Florida, Colorado and Missouri. If only the state of bliss you travel to when you've managed to lure myself or your father into the backseat to keep you company was part of our country's glorious union, you'd be up to six by now. This recent trip to Missouri was bittersweet: a memorial service for your great grandparents, the stunningly gorgeous Idabelle Brown and her handsome, adoring husband Robert Rushin. I'm not being generous.



The Ava Gardner lookalike second from right? That would be Idabelle. That rock you occasionally try to chew off of my finger? Robert gave that to his bride who in turn gave it to your dad for me to wear. When he pulled it from his pocket, he said some words that were almost as pretty as she was.

The memorial service was held at a small wooded cemetery which apparently doubles as a vacation spot for our planet's sun. The car said it was 105 outside. I think it was being polite. Within minutes I had an impressive river of sweat running down both legs, but I was too busy trying to hold the umbrella over your head, sneak a few shots with the camera, and retrieve the bulk of my hair from my mouth as a gale force wind decided to kick up right as the pastor began to speak. Your great grandfather served in the military, so he was given a military sendoff, complete with a gun salute. You barely jumped when the rifles fired off. But honestly, we were more worried about the older gentlemen doing the shooting in polyester black slacks.


What truly was worrisome was the scarlet shade of red your face turned after I got you back to the car. Turns out you're not so good with the sweating thing yet. You eventually reverted back to a pleasant shade of cream, just in time for the Celebration of Life. With very yummy cake.




You're doing this thing now, where you squeal and wiggle and divebomb the necks of whoever's holding you like you're a baby vampire. Rather than expressing alarm, most folks at the party found this to be rather charming. I think a few of the older ladies almost came to blows rather than take turns holding you. I briefly got to eat some cake, chat with fellow new mom and dad Darcy and Mike and follow your squeals around the auditorium. You've got a pretty kickass family. They even reluctantly handed you over so we could make the trek back to Tennessee.