Apparently, the commenting folks who read my blog are a squeamish crowd. Geesh! For those of you shuddering at the thought of our little rotten snake egg, here’s a different set of pictures. Of my daughter. Because that’s what I do here on the Prairie Box. (Because really, that’s what I do in life.)

I gave Liv the choice of new shoes or new sunglasses, so please note the shiny pink shades she’s sporting in the following pic. Also, note the pose. I have no idea where the pose came from or why she suddenly started modeling, but sure, why not.

Perhaps it says something about the sheer flatness of my city because, when I was shooting this photo, I thought our view was magnificent. Sixth floor of a hospital and look! Wowee, the beautiful state capitol building! Struck by the grandeur of the capitol in the skyline (mock away, I’m fine with that), I oohed and aahed to Livia: Look! What do you see?

Her reply: Blockbuster!

Times visited: State Capitol, 0. Blockbuster, 10 million.

Last night, after being pulled from her warm bed and taken to the basement, Liv asks, “Is there a tormado outside?” She was listening to the radio along with us and seemed to accept that no tornados were outside our house, that they were closer to WalMart (a landmark she knows!). There was something about her sweet face turned up toward mine, asking about “tormados,” that made me want to protect her forever and ever.

While driving through Runza’s drive-thru window, Livia blurts, “Mom, you FREAKED me out!” After a few minutes of probing I find that the confusion between me and the cashier over “one chocolate in a cup, one chocolate cone and one swirl cone” about put Liv over the edge. What would this world have come to if my girl didn’t get her chocolate cone as ordered? (I’ll admit, the lack of chocolate sometimes freaks me out, too.)

Not once, but twice yesterday Livia asked loudly, “Who’s Frank?” It was the oddest question, completely unrelated to our previous conversation as far as I could tell. Can anyone tell me, “WHO’S FRANK?”

Apparently, Crazy-Eyed Smiles start when one turns four.

This final pic shows my mini-zookeeper at work. Around the goat pen there are moms coaxing their children to feed the goats then keep moving. Afterall, the rest of the zoo is awaiting. But my little zookeeper had other plans, so I settled on a bench with my camera, cell phone and imagination. Livia loves animals and insects. Sometimes I wonder if she’ll grow up to be an entomologist.

While eating breakfast, I thought I heard Livia say, “Nasty!” while shaking her finger. (Don’t worry, Mom, it’s not what you think it is.)

Me: What’s bothering you?
Liv: The Rice Krispie. [pause] It’s MASTY.
Me: Masty, eh?

God help me, I know I should correct her, but I can’t help it. I’ll just giggle now and let Jeremy straighten her out.

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A few days ago Livia and I enjoyed ice cream on the front porch while Jeremy was gardening out back. We heard a monstrous sneeze over the roof of the house to which Livia replied, “Bless you, Daddy!” We heard back: “Thank you, Liv!”

Me: How did you know that was Daddy?
Liv, after thinking for a moment: Because I love him.

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Finally, though I thought I was simply being thorough, Livia accused me of being too “wough” while washing her hair. So if my child’s head stinks a bit in coming days, please know I’m just trying to avoid being labeled as “wough.” I want to be known as a gentle mom.

Happy birthday, big girl! May you always have enough hats to keep the bees out of your hair(!), may you continue to make your mom and dad laugh a whole lot, and may the Lord bless you and keep you always.

We love you more than you can imagine, Livia Raine. Happy 4th birthday!

**Friends, if you have a Livia memory or story to share, I’d love to have them posted here for Liv to read later in life.

Livia attended her first Husker football game last week. I thought it was pretty cool and, of course, I thought my kid looked pretty cute. Check out Scowly Guy down the row. He didn’t seem to think my wiggly three year old was all that cute.

I can admit I’m a social football fan. Feed me nachos, a slice of pizza or a Fairbury hot dog and I can sit still… for the first half.

I really go to the games because I enjoy the time with my Dad, and the rest of the state of Nebraska. For you non-Nebraskans out there (poor you!), Memorial Stadium becomes the third largest city in the state on game days. We’re fiercely loyal to our college football team because, well, there’s nothing else to do in this state. Football is our thing.

As socially interested as I am in Husker games, I’ve recently been educated somewhat on the actual rules of the sport. Thank you, Friday Night Lights! So now, instead of wondering about what’s going on in the midst of all those players, I just think of Matt Saracen and Tim Riggins (ahem) and it’s all crystal clear. Or maybe not so much.

One thing I know is true: There is no place like Memoral Stadium on game day. The crowd, the noise, the excitement; I love it.

Apparently, along with her Papa, Livia watched some program with a depressed main character. Three times on the drive home that night I heard my three year old say, “I’ve got THE BLUES.” It was kind of late at night, so I asked her what having the blues meant.

Livia: It means I’m sad.
Me: Why are you sad?
Livia: I so tired.
Me: Alrighty.

My child is still my favorite English Language Learner…

Liv: Mom, what my new jammies called?
Me: Nightgown?
Liv: Oh yeah. Nightgown.

Jeremy to Liv: You’re such a kidder!
Livia: What “kidder” mean?

And then I got a kick out of this conversation yesterday…

Jeremy: If you do [naughty behavior], then I’ll have to take away your favorite toy.
Livia: My favorite toy?
Jeremy: Yes, your favorite toy.
Livia: [thinks hard] You mean Baby Soap?
Jeremy: [working hard to keep from laughing] Yup, Baby Soap.

I’m preparing to share our story of adoption with a group of women Saturday and the reminiscing has been quite something. It’s given me great joy and respect for Liv’s birth family who keeps in touch with us still. It’s reminded me of God’s amazing and incredible and very detailed grace that provided for us every step of the way during the time leading up to our adoption of Livia. I’ve been encouraged once again by the unending support we found in friends and loved ones, and I’m completely overwhelmed once again by all the nitty-gritty pieces of information that had to fit together to make the adoption happen. I’m full of praise for the God who created my beautiful little girl, and I rejoice that she sleeps peacefully in her yellow bedroom just a few feet from where I type.

As I share our story, I can’t help but look forward and wonder what God is preparing for our future. We would love to have more children. For now, we pray and wait. Just like we prayed and waited four years ago.

Livia’s been entertained for an extraordinary amount of time by her basket full of dyed eggs. Sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, she’s been coddling them and whispering sweet nothings to her “baby birds.” Knowing the potential pitfalls, I allowed her to take her babies into quiet time (her hour of playtime in her room). A few minutes ago I peeked my head in, smelled an eggy odor, and was informed that one of her babies had hatched. No, really? The eggs have been unrefrigerated for 5 or so hours now so I was a bit worried when I couldn’t locate the entire hard-boiled egg. And then Liv told me she ate the “oke.”

“You mean, the yoke?” I said.

“No, the OKE.”

“It’s yoke.”

“Oh, okay.”

Oke, yoke, whatever. Hopefully I don’t see it again later.

One of my favorite aspects of this year is Liv’s language development. I get ridiculous amounts of joy over the way she combines words and uses language in general. This morning she kept talking about a show with a boy and his rabbit; Jeremy correctly identified it as “Velveteen Rabbit.” A little while later Liv was talking about the Valentino’s rabbit and I couldn’t help but smile. Only a Nebraska kid would say that…

We’ve experienced a few miscommunications as well. For Valentine’s Day I helped Livia create huge cards for her teachers, one which in large letters read, “MRS. COLE.” It was only last week that another preschool mom told me about something Miss Nicole said. Oh. Miss Ni-cole. Hm.

And finally, on St. Patrick’s Day I woke Liv up and told her she should wear green to school. We dug through her drawers and came up with a blue vest that had a green zipper and stitching. Later on I asked her to tell Jeremy why she was wearing that vest. “Because it’s cold outside,” she very nonchalantly explained. It took some prompting before she told him about “Saints of Patricks Day.” Nice.