My Little Ragamuffin

When Lilly was born, everyone told us how different it'd be having a girl.  How it would bring balance to our house.  A little bit more clam.  "2 boys!" they'd say, "Oh you needed a girl!"  

Really.  Here are some of the words used to describe Lilly: pistol, determined, fire cracker, tough, tomboy, go getter, and my own, ragamuffin.  Look at this girl.  No matter how hard I try to keep her clean, she is usually a mess.  She wants to be in on the action.  If her brothers are doing it, so is she.  And if I won't let her, or she can't, she screams.  Loudly. Really, really, REALLY loudly.  What kind of mother won't let her 1 year old on the top bunk?  I'm so unfair.  

On this particular day, the brothers were in the mud hole.  They had reached a new level of mud hole muddiness by filling the entire thing with water and creating a mud lake.
If they were going to be in the mud lake, so was Lilly.
She decided to taste it too.  It might be good.  And like I said, she doesn't want to miss out on anything.
Oh Lilly, my little fire cracker.  My ragamuffin.  I love you even when you make me want to scream right along with you.  I am glad you have figured out how to express yourself so well, but I will be far more glad when you use words instead.  My ears will thank you.   No matter what, I will still dress you in pink and you will always be my beauty.  Even if the pink is mud splattered and so are you.