Rhett, loving the swing.
It's bright out here!
Trying to be brave enough to let go of the stroller...it never happened, but I'm sure it will sooner than I'm ready for it!
"Oooh! Good shot, Avery!"
On your mark!
Get set!
GO!!!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Action Shots from T-Ball and the Park Saturday. Enjoy!
23
Rhett, loving the swing.
It's bright out here!
Trying to be brave enough to let go of the stroller...it never happened, but I'm sure it will sooner than I'm ready for it!
"Oooh! Good shot, Avery!"
On your mark!
Get set!
Rhett, loving the swing.It's bright out here!
Trying to be brave enough to let go of the stroller...it never happened, but I'm sure it will sooner than I'm ready for it!
"Oooh! Good shot, Avery!"
On your mark!
Get set!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Have You Ever....
....been convinced there was someone in your house? You hear a noise that could only be made by a lurking rapist, mass murderer or, at best, a thief?
It used to happen to me quite a bit when I lived alone, but since I've gotten married, I rarely think about it. I have my big, strong husband to protect my children and I. But last night, he was out of town. And the kids and I went to visit friends and didn't get home until right after dark. I hate getting home after dark when no one else is here.
So last night, the kids and I were in the kitchen, snacking and talking when I heard it. The noise. I tried to be cool. I didn't want to startle the children. So I stood up from the table and walked toward the front of the house, which was completely dark. I was going to walk into all the bedrooms, turning on all the lights, but I didn't want to be that girl. You know, the high-heeled idiot in the scary movie who goes right toward the bad guy and as you watch her get closer, you are like "GO BACK, YOU IDIOT! WHY ARE YOU WALKING RIGHT TOWARD HIM???? RUN!!!"
So I came back. And debated. Do I get a butcher knife, tell Avery to dial 911 if she hears anything, or just act as if nothing is wrong? I decide not to scar my children and just sit down and be cool. But then I hear it again. And I say, very calmly, "Shhh...kids, be quiet for a second."
Avery says, "Why, Mom? Did you hear something?"
Reese immediately begins sucking her fingers, and says "I scared, Momma." So much for being cool.
I tell them it's fine, but honestly, I'm scared. I am alone with three children, one of whom can't walk or speak, one of whom won't do a dadgum thing I tell her to and one who knows everything and isn't scared of anything.
I decide that we will all three sleep in my bed. I will take the phone and I will lock the bedroom door and we won't come out until morning. But how do I get this across without sounding panicky? I say "Hey, wouldn't it be fun to have a slumber party in my big bed since Daddy is gone?" "YEAH!" they yell! And before I can say a word, Avery runs into her bedroom (where the bad guy is probably waiting) and comes back with her stuffed puppy. I breathe a sigh of relief and then think "What a loser mom I am...letting my child go back where the devil is. I'm a deadbeat."
I say, "Ave, let's all go get in Mommy's bed. It will be so fun."
We go in the bedroom. I leave all the kitchen and living room lights on. I want the bad guy to think I'm up all night, waiting for him. After the kids are all in the bedroom, I come out and say quietly to the dark, silent, front of the house, "I have two phones and a gun. If you come get us, you will either get caught or shot, so don't even try to mess with my kids or me."
I go back to the bedroom, certain I've either angered or scared the intruder. As I walk in, Avery pops up from behind a chair with a "RRRRAAAAARRRRR!" "Ha ha, Momma. You thought I was the monster that's in my room!" Real funny you little toot. You won't be laughing when I have to single-handledly disarm, capture and torture the boogey-man all to save your smarty little bottom.
I begin removing makeup. I hear a door slam. I look up and it's Avery. She has just left the bedroom, gone back to her room to get Reese's puppy and come back. Good Lord, how many times are we going to tempt this perverted murderer before he finally comes rushing in with a knife, gun, brass knuckles and Chinese throwing star?
I lock the bedroom door and we all get in bed. I lay on Aaron's side so I can see the door. I stare relentlessly at the bottom of the door, waiting to see the shadow of two feet so I can call the cops. We are watching Barnyard and it's loud. I am glad because he'll think that we aren't paying attention and that's when he'll strike. After an hour of vigilant security work, I begin to be exhausted. I don't know how much longer I can wait on this dude to do his worst. The kids are all asleep now. Avery raises her head sleepily and says, "Mom, can you please turn off the TV?"
I turn off the TV, sure he'll strike now that he thinks we're asleep. I watch the door for at least 30 more minutes and he never shows. I'm not sure how or when I ever fell asleep, but we woke up this morning, safe and sound.
Can you imagine a bigger idiot than me?
It used to happen to me quite a bit when I lived alone, but since I've gotten married, I rarely think about it. I have my big, strong husband to protect my children and I. But last night, he was out of town. And the kids and I went to visit friends and didn't get home until right after dark. I hate getting home after dark when no one else is here.
So last night, the kids and I were in the kitchen, snacking and talking when I heard it. The noise. I tried to be cool. I didn't want to startle the children. So I stood up from the table and walked toward the front of the house, which was completely dark. I was going to walk into all the bedrooms, turning on all the lights, but I didn't want to be that girl. You know, the high-heeled idiot in the scary movie who goes right toward the bad guy and as you watch her get closer, you are like "GO BACK, YOU IDIOT! WHY ARE YOU WALKING RIGHT TOWARD HIM???? RUN!!!"
So I came back. And debated. Do I get a butcher knife, tell Avery to dial 911 if she hears anything, or just act as if nothing is wrong? I decide not to scar my children and just sit down and be cool. But then I hear it again. And I say, very calmly, "Shhh...kids, be quiet for a second."
Avery says, "Why, Mom? Did you hear something?"
Reese immediately begins sucking her fingers, and says "I scared, Momma." So much for being cool.
I tell them it's fine, but honestly, I'm scared. I am alone with three children, one of whom can't walk or speak, one of whom won't do a dadgum thing I tell her to and one who knows everything and isn't scared of anything.
I decide that we will all three sleep in my bed. I will take the phone and I will lock the bedroom door and we won't come out until morning. But how do I get this across without sounding panicky? I say "Hey, wouldn't it be fun to have a slumber party in my big bed since Daddy is gone?" "YEAH!" they yell! And before I can say a word, Avery runs into her bedroom (where the bad guy is probably waiting) and comes back with her stuffed puppy. I breathe a sigh of relief and then think "What a loser mom I am...letting my child go back where the devil is. I'm a deadbeat."
I say, "Ave, let's all go get in Mommy's bed. It will be so fun."
We go in the bedroom. I leave all the kitchen and living room lights on. I want the bad guy to think I'm up all night, waiting for him. After the kids are all in the bedroom, I come out and say quietly to the dark, silent, front of the house, "I have two phones and a gun. If you come get us, you will either get caught or shot, so don't even try to mess with my kids or me."
I go back to the bedroom, certain I've either angered or scared the intruder. As I walk in, Avery pops up from behind a chair with a "RRRRAAAAARRRRR!" "Ha ha, Momma. You thought I was the monster that's in my room!" Real funny you little toot. You won't be laughing when I have to single-handledly disarm, capture and torture the boogey-man all to save your smarty little bottom.
I begin removing makeup. I hear a door slam. I look up and it's Avery. She has just left the bedroom, gone back to her room to get Reese's puppy and come back. Good Lord, how many times are we going to tempt this perverted murderer before he finally comes rushing in with a knife, gun, brass knuckles and Chinese throwing star?
I lock the bedroom door and we all get in bed. I lay on Aaron's side so I can see the door. I stare relentlessly at the bottom of the door, waiting to see the shadow of two feet so I can call the cops. We are watching Barnyard and it's loud. I am glad because he'll think that we aren't paying attention and that's when he'll strike. After an hour of vigilant security work, I begin to be exhausted. I don't know how much longer I can wait on this dude to do his worst. The kids are all asleep now. Avery raises her head sleepily and says, "Mom, can you please turn off the TV?"
I turn off the TV, sure he'll strike now that he thinks we're asleep. I watch the door for at least 30 more minutes and he never shows. I'm not sure how or when I ever fell asleep, but we woke up this morning, safe and sound.
Can you imagine a bigger idiot than me?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Roto Rooter
You know it's going to be a great day when you get up first thing to use the bathroom and see this:
A note from my husband. It made me smile a little bit that he wrote "Reese's friend didn't leave." He's speaking of the Little People boat driver who was flushed yesterday afternoon. I was worried that it would mess things up, but it didn't seem to yesterday. We all used the bathroom several times yesterday evening and even in the middle of the night and it all seemed fine. I guess my poor husband was the lucky bathroom go-er who got to figure out that Little People don't, in fact, flush too well.
The downside to this, besides the fact that I keep forgetting that my bathroom is out of order, (which is only a problem when you've given birth to three children, forget to do your Kegel exercises regularly, and therefore don't have a tremendous amount of bladder control) is that I have to wait on the plumber this morning and miss my favorite Pilates class at the gym. (I know, boo hoo, poor me.)
The upside is this: I got to call Roto-Rooter. Aaron left me a list of three plumbers to call and Roto-Rooter was last on the list. I called them first. I've been hearing the Roto-Rooter song since I was a child. "Roto-Rooter, that's the name, and we send your troubles down the drain," or something like that. Anyway, I've always wanted to call Roto-Rooter. I love the name. In fact, I plan to say, as often as possible, "I had to call Roto-Rooter." "The Roto-Rooter guy is at our house." "We had Roto-Rooter come out and fix our toilet."
So what if I'm weird? At least I can find the silver lining instead of whining about wetting my pants 40 times this morning and having to skip gym class, where I'd probably just wet my pants 22 more times. It's called positive thinking, people.
A note from my husband. It made me smile a little bit that he wrote "Reese's friend didn't leave." He's speaking of the Little People boat driver who was flushed yesterday afternoon. I was worried that it would mess things up, but it didn't seem to yesterday. We all used the bathroom several times yesterday evening and even in the middle of the night and it all seemed fine. I guess my poor husband was the lucky bathroom go-er who got to figure out that Little People don't, in fact, flush too well.
The downside to this, besides the fact that I keep forgetting that my bathroom is out of order, (which is only a problem when you've given birth to three children, forget to do your Kegel exercises regularly, and therefore don't have a tremendous amount of bladder control) is that I have to wait on the plumber this morning and miss my favorite Pilates class at the gym. (I know, boo hoo, poor me.)
The upside is this: I got to call Roto-Rooter. Aaron left me a list of three plumbers to call and Roto-Rooter was last on the list. I called them first. I've been hearing the Roto-Rooter song since I was a child. "Roto-Rooter, that's the name, and we send your troubles down the drain," or something like that. Anyway, I've always wanted to call Roto-Rooter. I love the name. In fact, I plan to say, as often as possible, "I had to call Roto-Rooter." "The Roto-Rooter guy is at our house." "We had Roto-Rooter come out and fix our toilet."
So what if I'm weird? At least I can find the silver lining instead of whining about wetting my pants 40 times this morning and having to skip gym class, where I'd probably just wet my pants 22 more times. It's called positive thinking, people.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Embarrassing Moment
A couple of weeks ago, we were hanging out with some new friends and the husband asked me what my most embarrassing moment was. I honestly couldn't come up with one. Oh sure, I have times when I've wanted the Earth to swallow me whole, but I don't guess I have one moment that stands out above all others. First of all, I'm not that easily embarrassed, and second, I was teased and humiliated so much when I was young, that I have developed a defense mechanism which includes me embarrassing myself before anyone else can do it for me.
But my friend's husband's question must have stayed in the back of my mind because a really stupid embarrassing moment hit me last night as I lay in bed, just before I fell asleep. It's really stupid, but since his wife reads this blog, I thought she could pass it along for me...
I was about 9 or 10 at church camp. I hated church camp. Not because I'm an atheist or anything, but mainly because I hated any situation in which I would have to introduce myself to knew people. I didn't have a great situation going on at school and my name seemed to be an easy target for kids who wanted to torment me. I swear (I'm probably exaggerating here), but every time I had to introduce myself to a class or new person, someone always made a comment about my name. Either they didn't understand it or they rhymed it with Grody, or changed it to Dodo or Doo Doo. All of which, to this day, make me fight back tears. Honestly, people...don't make fun of my name unless you want me to hold a grudge against you that will last a lifetime. I can still remember every person in my life who has laughed at my name, including a Kindergartner. And I was kidding about the grudge, but not about remembering it. I'm an elephant when it come to laughing at my name...don't go there.
ANYWAY, (deep seated issue, anyone?) I was at church camp. About to introduce myself to the group. Petrified, not wanting to utter a word. I was sucking on a watermelon Jolly Rancher at the time and about to choke on my watermelon-flavored spit, I was so nervous. But, not wanting to call more attention to myself by not standing up like everyone else, I stood. I said "Hi, I'm Dodi ______ from the Church of Christ in ___________, Oklahoma." But somehow, when I said "Dodi," the Jolly Rancher was stuck to the roof of my mouth and it came out "Jody." The group leader said "Hello, Jody, thank you for joining us here at Osage Hills." I didn't correct him. I've done this countless times in my life and I only started correcting people a few years ago. Jody never got made fun of. Dodi was teased mercilessly. So, I would just keep my mouth shut. Usually, it was an introduction that was made in passing and didn't really matter. But, since this was the first day of camp and the main introduction to all the other campers in my group, it kind of mattered. So for about two full days, I was Jody. I answered to it, I let others introduce me as Jody, the counselors called me Jody. And no one teased me even once. It was pure bliss.
And then I wore my monogrammed Calvin Klein jeans. First of all, I know it's lame to have monogrammed jeans. I don't know if that was popular back then, but my Nana bought me two pair at the Prairie Flower and I loved them. I had a khaki pair with burgundy monogramming and a denim pair with light blue monogramming. And of course, I brought both pair to church camp. (Church of Christ camps wouldn't allow shorts...they are too sexy.) And wore the khaki first. The burgundy stood out fairly well against the khaki, but it never really occurred to me. You know where this is going, right? We were actually at some outdoor activity, when an older boy, a counselor I think, said "Hey, Jody, why do your pants have a D A A?"
Holy crap (yeah, I thought naughty words at church camp.)
"What do you mean?" I said casually?
"I mean, if your name is Jody, how are your initials D A A?" he responded, logically.
Oh my God, if you love me at all, let me die right now.
"My name isn't Jody. It's Dodi. I never said it was Jody." I said, acting as if he was a complete idiot for calling me by the wrong name.
"You told everyone it was Jody. Everyone has been calling you Jody." he said. He wasn't acting mean, but I hated his guts at that moment.
"OH, are they? I hadn't noticed." I said, trying to be cool, but obviously lying.
He then announced to anyone within ear shot my real name, laughing because he was such a dope and had been saying it wrong. I was totally humiliated. I stood there, cringing, as I heard the same old jokes from P-town. "Where did you get a name like that?" "Hey, Dodo, what's happening?" The same people who had been friendly and nice to me for the past two days, suddenly turned on me. I was weird again, different. And Lord knows, being different in the 3rd grade is a curse. The week was ruined.
So, there you have it, B. An extremely embarrassing moment that causes me to sweat and shake even now, as I write about it. I hope you're happy!
But my friend's husband's question must have stayed in the back of my mind because a really stupid embarrassing moment hit me last night as I lay in bed, just before I fell asleep. It's really stupid, but since his wife reads this blog, I thought she could pass it along for me...
I was about 9 or 10 at church camp. I hated church camp. Not because I'm an atheist or anything, but mainly because I hated any situation in which I would have to introduce myself to knew people. I didn't have a great situation going on at school and my name seemed to be an easy target for kids who wanted to torment me. I swear (I'm probably exaggerating here), but every time I had to introduce myself to a class or new person, someone always made a comment about my name. Either they didn't understand it or they rhymed it with Grody, or changed it to Dodo or Doo Doo. All of which, to this day, make me fight back tears. Honestly, people...don't make fun of my name unless you want me to hold a grudge against you that will last a lifetime. I can still remember every person in my life who has laughed at my name, including a Kindergartner. And I was kidding about the grudge, but not about remembering it. I'm an elephant when it come to laughing at my name...don't go there.
ANYWAY, (deep seated issue, anyone?) I was at church camp. About to introduce myself to the group. Petrified, not wanting to utter a word. I was sucking on a watermelon Jolly Rancher at the time and about to choke on my watermelon-flavored spit, I was so nervous. But, not wanting to call more attention to myself by not standing up like everyone else, I stood. I said "Hi, I'm Dodi ______ from the Church of Christ in ___________, Oklahoma." But somehow, when I said "Dodi," the Jolly Rancher was stuck to the roof of my mouth and it came out "Jody." The group leader said "Hello, Jody, thank you for joining us here at Osage Hills." I didn't correct him. I've done this countless times in my life and I only started correcting people a few years ago. Jody never got made fun of. Dodi was teased mercilessly. So, I would just keep my mouth shut. Usually, it was an introduction that was made in passing and didn't really matter. But, since this was the first day of camp and the main introduction to all the other campers in my group, it kind of mattered. So for about two full days, I was Jody. I answered to it, I let others introduce me as Jody, the counselors called me Jody. And no one teased me even once. It was pure bliss.
And then I wore my monogrammed Calvin Klein jeans. First of all, I know it's lame to have monogrammed jeans. I don't know if that was popular back then, but my Nana bought me two pair at the Prairie Flower and I loved them. I had a khaki pair with burgundy monogramming and a denim pair with light blue monogramming. And of course, I brought both pair to church camp. (Church of Christ camps wouldn't allow shorts...they are too sexy.) And wore the khaki first. The burgundy stood out fairly well against the khaki, but it never really occurred to me. You know where this is going, right? We were actually at some outdoor activity, when an older boy, a counselor I think, said "Hey, Jody, why do your pants have a D A A?"
Holy crap (yeah, I thought naughty words at church camp.)
"What do you mean?" I said casually?
"I mean, if your name is Jody, how are your initials D A A?" he responded, logically.
Oh my God, if you love me at all, let me die right now.
"My name isn't Jody. It's Dodi. I never said it was Jody." I said, acting as if he was a complete idiot for calling me by the wrong name.
"You told everyone it was Jody. Everyone has been calling you Jody." he said. He wasn't acting mean, but I hated his guts at that moment.
"OH, are they? I hadn't noticed." I said, trying to be cool, but obviously lying.
He then announced to anyone within ear shot my real name, laughing because he was such a dope and had been saying it wrong. I was totally humiliated. I stood there, cringing, as I heard the same old jokes from P-town. "Where did you get a name like that?" "Hey, Dodo, what's happening?" The same people who had been friendly and nice to me for the past two days, suddenly turned on me. I was weird again, different. And Lord knows, being different in the 3rd grade is a curse. The week was ruined.
So, there you have it, B. An extremely embarrassing moment that causes me to sweat and shake even now, as I write about it. I hope you're happy!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
My Dad Got Married
My dad got married Saturday. It's almost surreal. I now have a step-mom and three step-siblings. Do you even say that when you are an adult? It's a bit difficult for me to wrap my brain around the whole thing, so I don't try. I just say "Hey, Dad's happy" and move on.
I enjoyed the wedding and I do like the new step-family, so that's a plus.
I don't know if Dad and his new wife would agree, but my favorite part of the wedding was the kids. They were all dressed alike, and after looking at the pictures (there are no pictures where all of the kids are looking at the camera at the same time), I wonder why I don't dress my kids alike more often. It's just so precious. I should do it now while they are too little to protest!
These are just my dad's grandkids. There were three other kids, dressed just like this, at the wedding. They were adorable.
P.S. Look how JD is looking at that pot of dirt. You know he's just dying to get his hands in there!
Friday, March 7, 2008
Snow Day!!!
Don't you just love snow days? You don't even have to be a kid to appreciate that cozy, safe feeling you get when the weather outside is frightful and the fire is so delightful...sorry. Got away from myself for a second.
Here's the masterpiece. All I can do is grin at this.
Yesterday was the first big, snowman-making snow we've had in in a loooooooong time. We are in the northern part of Texas and we usually end up with sleet and some slushy ice. But yesterday was perfect. We had those huge, fat, white snowflakes pouring down. It came down so fast that there was tons of snow within hours. The kids, who have only seen snow a couple of times and usually have to be at Grammy's in Northern Oklahoma to see any worth rolling, throwing or building with. So you can imagine their excitement yesterday when they got to get all bundled up and play outside.
Remember catching snowflakes with your tongue? Reese had never experienced that before. When I asked the girls what it tasted like, Avery played along and said "Chocolate" or "Strawberries" but not Reese. She's way too literal. She kept saying "No choc-ate, Mommy. It just 'no!!!"
Rhett was dying to be outside with his big sisters. Honestly, I was dying to be out there too. I love to play in the snow. I knew it would be cold, but I decided to try anyway.
This is why we came in immediately. Rhett doesn't like cold. And he definitely doesn't like to wear a hat and coat. He was stuck watching from the window. I stayed in with him and made hot chocolate for their "breaks." You know, the breaks they take every 10 minutes where they remove every piece of warm clothing because it's wet and cold and then after about 6 minutes of hot chocolate in front of the fire, they are ready to put it all on again and go back out? And you can't say no because it never snows in Texas and this may be the last time in a long time they get to do this.
Avery went back and forth lots of times. I finally quit taking her coat and boots off and just let her warm up for a while and go back out.
Avery went back and forth lots of times. I finally quit taking her coat and boots off and just let her warm up for a while and go back out.
Reese didn't want to come in as much. Every time Avery would come in, I'd ask Reese if she wanted to come in. She would respond with "No Momma, I play in snow...I like it!"
When she finally did come in, her entire body was shaking. She was so cold, her feet were aching when I put her in the tub. But boy, did she have fun.
Then Daddy came home from work and the fun started all over again. They decided to build a snowman? Why isn't Reese wearing her coat? "Because we can't find it" was the response I got. Sheesh, Moms have to do everything.
Then Daddy came home from work and the fun started all over again. They decided to build a snowman? Why isn't Reese wearing her coat? "Because we can't find it" was the response I got. Sheesh, Moms have to do everything.
Here's the masterpiece. All I can do is grin at this.
And Dad being, well, Dad, wasn't satisfied with just a snowman. He decided they would build an igloo. I thought this was a huge undertaking, but didn't voice my opinion. I wondered when he would give up. Here he is out here, alone, while the girls are inside in front of the fire, totally ignoring him. Avery keeps saying "Is Dad almost done with the egg-gloo?" but she has no interest in going out. He finally did give up on the free-standing igloo idea, but what he ended up with is much cooler, in my opinion.
He packed the snow on the outside of the Little Tykes firehouse. He always comes up with something!
The snow has already melted quite a bit and by tomorrow, it will probably be impossible to tell that there ever was snow. But like Avery said, "We'll never ever forget that snowman, even though he melted because we had a great time out there!"
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Pollyanna Alert
At the risk of sounding like a "life-is-so-perfect" Pollyanna, I had to use this blog for one purpose only today: to brag about my husband.
He has made my life so much easier today, that I have to give him the credit he deserves and I wanted everyone to know just how wonderful he is. Not to boast (my husband is better than your husband!), but to balance out the general "Husbands are jerks/big babies/idiots" attitude that seems to prevail much of the time.
Our baby, Rhett, had a rough night last night. Really rough. He went to bed around 8:15, as usual, but was up at 10, 11, and 12. At 12 a.m., my husband went to sleep with the girls because we were waking up the entire house in the living room. Rhett was apparently, really uncomfortable and very unhappy because he screamed more than I've heard him scream in a long, long time. It just never stopped. At about 12:30, I think we fell asleep, because I don't remember seeing the clock between 12:30 and 2-ish. But after about 2 am, we were awake the entire night. He had fever at one point, according to the Mommy's Forehead Thermometer. It went away on it's own...thank God, because I was so exhausted, I just lay there thinking "Could the Tylenol somehow find it's way to me so I don't have to get up and get it?" At 5:30, Aaron's usual waking time, he came in to find us exactly as he left us. Me, with my eyes held open by toothpicks, and Rhett struggling against sleep and fussing continuously. Aaron took his shower and got ready for work and then came in around 6 and said "Are you guys going to be ok?"
I honestly didn't know at that point. I haven't been that sleep deprived in months. I was miserable. And do you know what my sweet husband did? He left the room.
But then he came back and said "I just checked my schedule and I don't have anything until my 2:00 meeting, so I'll hang out here this morning and take Avery to school and you can rest." He took Rhett into the living room and I got a solid two hours of sleep before Reese got up. It was Heaven. And it's not that I am so happy that I slept. I could still use a nap, for sure. It's that my sweet husband would take the morning off of work, when he probably needs to get things ready for his meeting, just so I could get a couple of hours of sleep. It's things like that that honestly make me fall in love with him all over again.
So, for those of you who have to endure my griping when he doesn't do things perfectly, please refer me back to these moments because he really is the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful man in the world. Sheesh...is this really me talking? That Oprah book must be screwing with my mind. I've been brainwashed to be happy and appreciate what I have. GASP!
He has made my life so much easier today, that I have to give him the credit he deserves and I wanted everyone to know just how wonderful he is. Not to boast (my husband is better than your husband!), but to balance out the general "Husbands are jerks/big babies/idiots" attitude that seems to prevail much of the time.
Our baby, Rhett, had a rough night last night. Really rough. He went to bed around 8:15, as usual, but was up at 10, 11, and 12. At 12 a.m., my husband went to sleep with the girls because we were waking up the entire house in the living room. Rhett was apparently, really uncomfortable and very unhappy because he screamed more than I've heard him scream in a long, long time. It just never stopped. At about 12:30, I think we fell asleep, because I don't remember seeing the clock between 12:30 and 2-ish. But after about 2 am, we were awake the entire night. He had fever at one point, according to the Mommy's Forehead Thermometer. It went away on it's own...thank God, because I was so exhausted, I just lay there thinking "Could the Tylenol somehow find it's way to me so I don't have to get up and get it?" At 5:30, Aaron's usual waking time, he came in to find us exactly as he left us. Me, with my eyes held open by toothpicks, and Rhett struggling against sleep and fussing continuously. Aaron took his shower and got ready for work and then came in around 6 and said "Are you guys going to be ok?"
I honestly didn't know at that point. I haven't been that sleep deprived in months. I was miserable. And do you know what my sweet husband did? He left the room.
But then he came back and said "I just checked my schedule and I don't have anything until my 2:00 meeting, so I'll hang out here this morning and take Avery to school and you can rest." He took Rhett into the living room and I got a solid two hours of sleep before Reese got up. It was Heaven. And it's not that I am so happy that I slept. I could still use a nap, for sure. It's that my sweet husband would take the morning off of work, when he probably needs to get things ready for his meeting, just so I could get a couple of hours of sleep. It's things like that that honestly make me fall in love with him all over again.
So, for those of you who have to endure my griping when he doesn't do things perfectly, please refer me back to these moments because he really is the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful man in the world. Sheesh...is this really me talking? That Oprah book must be screwing with my mind. I've been brainwashed to be happy and appreciate what I have. GASP!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Road Rage
Have you ever been a victim of road rage? I've had the occaisional tailgater, or honker, or flipper-offer, but if I'm being honest, I've done the same to others at times, so I don't consider myself a victim in any way. And I've never really had to deal with any personal encounter while driving. Until today.
Wait. Is it called road rage if it happened in a parking lot? I'll let you decide.
I was going to Target with the kids. They had just been to the dentist and we were already out and about so I thought I'd pick up a few things while we were out. I pulled into the parking lot and headed toward an aisle that was a bit of a distance from the front doors. I always think those are the best places because there are usually lots of spots and not lots of traffic. That's what I used to think.
I drove down the aisle just a little ways and saw three or four open parking spots on either side. The cart guy (is that what he wants to be called) was lining up carts on the left side, so I drove into one of the spots on the right. Just as I turned in, I heard a long, loud HONK! Startled, and afraid I was about to hit something, I slammed on my brakes. I turned to see where the honking was coming from and there was a car behind Cart Guy. He had his blinker on, and apparently had been waiting for the very spot I had just pulled into. Now, if there hadn't been about 7 open spots all within the vicinity of my spot, I would have kindly backed out and moved. But considering there was a spot on the left side that was even closer to the store, not to mention two right next to me, I didn't see the big deal. I continued into the spot and parked. I forgot the honker and set about getting the kids out of the car. As I pulled Rhett out of his seat and held the door open for the girls, I heard a loud male voice yell, "Why don't you get off your f-ing phone and pay attention!" Did I mention I was on the phone? Oh yeah, I was talking to my husband. About important dental business. And I was paying attention. Really.
I thought of ignoring him, but was kind of scared he would approach me if I didn't at least acknowledge him. So I responded, very cheerfully, "I'm sorry. Did I take your spot?"
"You know you took my damn spot. I had been sitting there waiting!" he yelled.
I said "I'm so sorry. There were lots of open spots. I wouldn't have minded moving if I had known it was a big deal. I apologize."
"Yeah, well, you didn't move!"
I chose to let it go at that point. Lucky for me, I'm more than halfway through my book, A New Earth, so I was able to see that he was responding from his ego, not from his true self. And that if I reacted negatively or argued with him, I would be responding from my own ego and would then feed both of our pain-bodies, which would lead to a much worse argument. Now, if I had already finished the book and was completely conscious, I wouldn't be writing about it now. It would be left in the past, where it belongs...but I love telling a story (I'm sure that's my ego) and writing purges my soul.
I was rather proud of the way I handled myself. I was very calm, very polite, and very apologetic. I didn't say or do anything I'm embarrassed of. I walked into Target, ran into him about 5 minutes into my trip and was able to hold my head high. And as I watched him glare at me, all I could think of was his poor little daughter, whose sweet little blonde head lay on his shoulder. She stared at me, looked at my girls, walking beside me, and then looked away. He continued to glare and I gave the girl a look that probably meant nothing to her, but was intended to mean "I'm so sorry. Not because I took your father's parking space, but because he shouted the f word at a stranger over a stretch of cement."
And I was so glad that I didn't let my angry feeling get the better of me. I would have been mortified and ashamed if I had argued with this man and been ugly in front of my children. I can't imagine what that man is like at home.
Speaking of his home...I wish I knew where it was so I could toilet paper it.
Wait. Is it called road rage if it happened in a parking lot? I'll let you decide.
I was going to Target with the kids. They had just been to the dentist and we were already out and about so I thought I'd pick up a few things while we were out. I pulled into the parking lot and headed toward an aisle that was a bit of a distance from the front doors. I always think those are the best places because there are usually lots of spots and not lots of traffic. That's what I used to think.
I drove down the aisle just a little ways and saw three or four open parking spots on either side. The cart guy (is that what he wants to be called) was lining up carts on the left side, so I drove into one of the spots on the right. Just as I turned in, I heard a long, loud HONK! Startled, and afraid I was about to hit something, I slammed on my brakes. I turned to see where the honking was coming from and there was a car behind Cart Guy. He had his blinker on, and apparently had been waiting for the very spot I had just pulled into. Now, if there hadn't been about 7 open spots all within the vicinity of my spot, I would have kindly backed out and moved. But considering there was a spot on the left side that was even closer to the store, not to mention two right next to me, I didn't see the big deal. I continued into the spot and parked. I forgot the honker and set about getting the kids out of the car. As I pulled Rhett out of his seat and held the door open for the girls, I heard a loud male voice yell, "Why don't you get off your f-ing phone and pay attention!" Did I mention I was on the phone? Oh yeah, I was talking to my husband. About important dental business. And I was paying attention. Really.
I thought of ignoring him, but was kind of scared he would approach me if I didn't at least acknowledge him. So I responded, very cheerfully, "I'm sorry. Did I take your spot?"
"You know you took my damn spot. I had been sitting there waiting!" he yelled.
I said "I'm so sorry. There were lots of open spots. I wouldn't have minded moving if I had known it was a big deal. I apologize."
"Yeah, well, you didn't move!"
I chose to let it go at that point. Lucky for me, I'm more than halfway through my book, A New Earth, so I was able to see that he was responding from his ego, not from his true self. And that if I reacted negatively or argued with him, I would be responding from my own ego and would then feed both of our pain-bodies, which would lead to a much worse argument. Now, if I had already finished the book and was completely conscious, I wouldn't be writing about it now. It would be left in the past, where it belongs...but I love telling a story (I'm sure that's my ego) and writing purges my soul.
I was rather proud of the way I handled myself. I was very calm, very polite, and very apologetic. I didn't say or do anything I'm embarrassed of. I walked into Target, ran into him about 5 minutes into my trip and was able to hold my head high. And as I watched him glare at me, all I could think of was his poor little daughter, whose sweet little blonde head lay on his shoulder. She stared at me, looked at my girls, walking beside me, and then looked away. He continued to glare and I gave the girl a look that probably meant nothing to her, but was intended to mean "I'm so sorry. Not because I took your father's parking space, but because he shouted the f word at a stranger over a stretch of cement."
And I was so glad that I didn't let my angry feeling get the better of me. I would have been mortified and ashamed if I had argued with this man and been ugly in front of my children. I can't imagine what that man is like at home.
Speaking of his home...I wish I knew where it was so I could toilet paper it.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Zoo
What kind of self-respecting mother/blogger goes to the zoo and forgets her camera? Yep, you guessed it! ME! We took the whole family to the zoo on Aaron's birthday Saturday and I forgot pictures! I was so disappointed, I bought a disposable Fuji camera. I am so used to being able to take any picture I want without running out of film, that I ran out of exposures an hour into the trip. I'm really bummed that I can't share the cute pictures of the kids with you, but I can share a funny little story from that day. Pictures aren't necessary for you to grin. (I hope!)
We were at the Dallas Zoo. In each of the different zones/areas/whatever of the zoo, there are footprints from that type of animal. For example, on your way up to the elephant habitat, there are huge elephant footprints in the cement walkway. The girls found this extremely exciting. Avery would ask, "What kind of animal made this?" and then walk in it to see if its footprints were bigger than hers. She was obsessed with going to see the gorillas, so the monkey area was our first destination. As we walked along the cement path, she would say "Mom, look at these Chinese footprints!" I'm like, "What? Chinese footprints?" And then I would look around, hoping that there were no Chinese people around to question why in the world my daughter would assume that Chinese people were a zoo exhibit. I can assure you, we are much more worldly than that. First of all, we don't think people who are different in us belong in a zoo. Second of all, Avery knows all about Chinese people because we have neighbors who are from China and who visit there every year and bring us homemade Chinese food. So you can imagine why I was horrified that she would assume Chinese people were so amazingly different that they would be on exhibit.
Anyway, every time she saw a footprint on the way to see the gorillas, she yelled it. "Look! More Chinese footprints!" I was beginning to get a bit irritated (I don't like for other people to embarrass me. I like to be the one in control of embarrassing myself.) I said "Avery, those are not Chinese footprints! These are all animal footprints! Only animals belong in the zoo. Please quit saying that!" She looked at me as if I had two heads, then simply shrugged and walked on. She didn't say much more. Until we got to the chimpanzee cage. And I said "Look, Avery, there are chimpanzees!" She said, in a whisper so I wouldn't get onto her for saying it again, "Did they make the Chinese footprints on the sidewalk?"
All of a sudden, I understand. Chinese is her word for chimpanzee. DUH.
We were at the Dallas Zoo. In each of the different zones/areas/whatever of the zoo, there are footprints from that type of animal. For example, on your way up to the elephant habitat, there are huge elephant footprints in the cement walkway. The girls found this extremely exciting. Avery would ask, "What kind of animal made this?" and then walk in it to see if its footprints were bigger than hers. She was obsessed with going to see the gorillas, so the monkey area was our first destination. As we walked along the cement path, she would say "Mom, look at these Chinese footprints!" I'm like, "What? Chinese footprints?" And then I would look around, hoping that there were no Chinese people around to question why in the world my daughter would assume that Chinese people were a zoo exhibit. I can assure you, we are much more worldly than that. First of all, we don't think people who are different in us belong in a zoo. Second of all, Avery knows all about Chinese people because we have neighbors who are from China and who visit there every year and bring us homemade Chinese food. So you can imagine why I was horrified that she would assume Chinese people were so amazingly different that they would be on exhibit.
Anyway, every time she saw a footprint on the way to see the gorillas, she yelled it. "Look! More Chinese footprints!" I was beginning to get a bit irritated (I don't like for other people to embarrass me. I like to be the one in control of embarrassing myself.) I said "Avery, those are not Chinese footprints! These are all animal footprints! Only animals belong in the zoo. Please quit saying that!" She looked at me as if I had two heads, then simply shrugged and walked on. She didn't say much more. Until we got to the chimpanzee cage. And I said "Look, Avery, there are chimpanzees!" She said, in a whisper so I wouldn't get onto her for saying it again, "Did they make the Chinese footprints on the sidewalk?"
All of a sudden, I understand. Chinese is her word for chimpanzee. DUH.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Deep Thinking
You know how I said I was all shallow and into makeup and hair and junk? Well, I'm going to try some serious deep thinking and I'm inviting the world (all 29 of you) to join me!
If you watch Oprah regularly, you've probably heard her talk about Eckhart Tolle's books- specifically, his most recent, titled A New Earth - Awakening to Your Life's Purpose.
So, you may or may not know that she and Eckhart Tolle (and I thought my name was different!) are going to start a weekly class in order to discuss the book and encourage people to read and engage with others. You have to sign up for the class online, but it is free.
I haven't read the book. In fact, I just went to buy it today and am going to try to read it today, tonight and tomorrow so I can be ready for the first class, which is tomorrow night. Hey, I'm not feeling well today, so what else have I got to do?
So anyway, if you want to try to be happier or live "in the moment" a little more, or to just maybe become more aware of your place in the world, join me. If you live in my neighborhood, here's a little extra incentive: I just bought three bottles of wine, none of which cost less than $5 (my usual wine-purchasing criteria.) and I'll share them with you while we discuss our newfound enlightenment.
Seriously, folks, maybe this isn't for you. Maybe it is, who knows? It might be too deep or too weird, but I think it's at least worth a shot. What have you got to lose????
For more information, check out www.Oprah.com/anewearth
Disclaimer: Oprah did not ask me to promote this (even thought we are super great friends). Neither did Eckhart. But if they did, wouldn't that be a funny book club? Oprah, Dodi and Eckhart. Our parents must have all smoked from the same pipe! (sorry Mom)
If you watch Oprah regularly, you've probably heard her talk about Eckhart Tolle's books- specifically, his most recent, titled A New Earth - Awakening to Your Life's Purpose.
So, you may or may not know that she and Eckhart Tolle (and I thought my name was different!) are going to start a weekly class in order to discuss the book and encourage people to read and engage with others. You have to sign up for the class online, but it is free.
I haven't read the book. In fact, I just went to buy it today and am going to try to read it today, tonight and tomorrow so I can be ready for the first class, which is tomorrow night. Hey, I'm not feeling well today, so what else have I got to do?
So anyway, if you want to try to be happier or live "in the moment" a little more, or to just maybe become more aware of your place in the world, join me. If you live in my neighborhood, here's a little extra incentive: I just bought three bottles of wine, none of which cost less than $5 (my usual wine-purchasing criteria.) and I'll share them with you while we discuss our newfound enlightenment.
Seriously, folks, maybe this isn't for you. Maybe it is, who knows? It might be too deep or too weird, but I think it's at least worth a shot. What have you got to lose????
For more information, check out www.Oprah.com/anewearth
Disclaimer: Oprah did not ask me to promote this (even thought we are super great friends). Neither did Eckhart. But if they did, wouldn't that be a funny book club? Oprah, Dodi and Eckhart. Our parents must have all smoked from the same pipe! (sorry Mom)
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I'm Losing It
This morning, on the way to take Avery to school, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone. I looked in my purse to double check and even let Avery have a turn at looking. Nope. Not there. "Oh well," I told Avery,"It's probably just charging at home. No biggie." After all, I can live a day without my cell phone. It's not like I have to talk while I'm driving. In fact, I shouldn't, especially with my kids in the car. This is a good thing.
And then it starts to ring. Actually, I thought I heard it ringing at one point, but convinced myself that it was just the radio because I currently have "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash as my ring tone and it's hard to tell if it's my phone or just someone talking. Then, I heard the very distinctive "you have a message" tune. There is no mistaking that because it sounds very Oriental and I have nothing else that makes that sound.
So I check my purse again. Not there. I check the diaper bag. Nope. It's time for my Pilates class at the gym so I have to let it go for a bit. I have to force myself out of the car because my obsessive-compulsive nature wants to find the phone. NOW. I hate, absolutely HATE, to lose things. I have a spot for everything and it frustrates me to no end when it isn't there. But I let it go. It's always someone else's fault too, because I always put things where they go. (Does sarcasm show up on your computer?)
After class, I buckle Reese and Rhett into the car and begin my search. Glove compartment, under the seats, in the very back where the groceries go. In the kids' car seats, under the kids' car seats. Inside the doors, in the pockets on the back of the seats. EVERYWHERE. It isn't there. And then it rings again. I will go crazy if I don't find it. I can't tolerate hearing it ring and not being able to find it. I begin to sweat. And feel the irritation creeping.
I try to follow the ring and just as I get close, it stops. I see the box. The carboard, heavily taped package I'm about to take to the UPS store. Those dadgum kids. They've put the phone in the package and then I taped it. Now I have to rip it open. Dadgum kids.
I rip all the tape off the bottom of the box. I take everything out of the box and search every square inch of the box and it's contents. Not there.
I am losing it. I'm seriously losing it. I have to let it go. I have a day's worth of errands to run and two kids who are hungry. I have to go.
And it rings again. I'm driving and I can't search, but I feel like I might cry. Not because I'm sad I've lost my phone, but because I'm frustrated and the damn phone is taunting me!!!
I get to the store and take a deep breath. The store with kids is never easy and I'm already frustrated. Rhett starts to cry. He doesn't have his pacifier. It must have been dropped at the gym. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease let me have one in my purse. I dig. And dig. And dig. It's not in any of the pockets. And then I see the outside pocket of my new snazzy purse. I forgot about that pocket. Maybe I stuck his paci in there. I reach in. No paci. But guess what?
Yep, the cell phone. I remember now, buying the purse and thinking "Oh, look at that handy little pocket on the side. That's just perfect for my cell phone because I won't have to dig when it rings." Dammit.
And then it starts to ring. Actually, I thought I heard it ringing at one point, but convinced myself that it was just the radio because I currently have "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash as my ring tone and it's hard to tell if it's my phone or just someone talking. Then, I heard the very distinctive "you have a message" tune. There is no mistaking that because it sounds very Oriental and I have nothing else that makes that sound.
So I check my purse again. Not there. I check the diaper bag. Nope. It's time for my Pilates class at the gym so I have to let it go for a bit. I have to force myself out of the car because my obsessive-compulsive nature wants to find the phone. NOW. I hate, absolutely HATE, to lose things. I have a spot for everything and it frustrates me to no end when it isn't there. But I let it go. It's always someone else's fault too, because I always put things where they go. (Does sarcasm show up on your computer?)
After class, I buckle Reese and Rhett into the car and begin my search. Glove compartment, under the seats, in the very back where the groceries go. In the kids' car seats, under the kids' car seats. Inside the doors, in the pockets on the back of the seats. EVERYWHERE. It isn't there. And then it rings again. I will go crazy if I don't find it. I can't tolerate hearing it ring and not being able to find it. I begin to sweat. And feel the irritation creeping.
I try to follow the ring and just as I get close, it stops. I see the box. The carboard, heavily taped package I'm about to take to the UPS store. Those dadgum kids. They've put the phone in the package and then I taped it. Now I have to rip it open. Dadgum kids.
I rip all the tape off the bottom of the box. I take everything out of the box and search every square inch of the box and it's contents. Not there.
I am losing it. I'm seriously losing it. I have to let it go. I have a day's worth of errands to run and two kids who are hungry. I have to go.
And it rings again. I'm driving and I can't search, but I feel like I might cry. Not because I'm sad I've lost my phone, but because I'm frustrated and the damn phone is taunting me!!!
I get to the store and take a deep breath. The store with kids is never easy and I'm already frustrated. Rhett starts to cry. He doesn't have his pacifier. It must have been dropped at the gym. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease let me have one in my purse. I dig. And dig. And dig. It's not in any of the pockets. And then I see the outside pocket of my new snazzy purse. I forgot about that pocket. Maybe I stuck his paci in there. I reach in. No paci. But guess what?
Yep, the cell phone. I remember now, buying the purse and thinking "Oh, look at that handy little pocket on the side. That's just perfect for my cell phone because I won't have to dig when it rings." Dammit.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Sleeping Beauties
There is no real meaning behind this post (unlike all the others, which are chock-full of profound, deep sentiments) except that I love these pictures. There are two reasons I love to see pictures of my babies sleeping. One, they look precious while they are sleeping. So peaceful and sweet and quiet. Two, I have a level of insomnia that drives me crazy. I can be as exhausted as all-get-out (the only term that fits here, in my opinion), get into bed and lie there for hours, wide awake. So when I see my children sleeping peacefully, in positions and places that I could never fall asleep in, I can't help myself. I have to savor the moment.
For the record, Reese is the best sleeper in the house. She gets this from her daddy. They can both fall asleep anywhere, at anytime if they are tired enough. My husband has fallen asleep sitting up on the couch while we were entertaining guests. I'm not kidding. He can sleep. Reese can, too....
I cannot fathom being able to sleep like this. There is no fear, no worry. This amazes me. I could only fall asleep like this if someone forced me to wash down 3 or 4 Ambien with shots of Jack Daniels. Even the Vicodin/vodka mixture didn't inspire this kind of easy relaxation.
On Valentine's Day, after the sugar crash....
Ignore the fat lady in the middle. Look at these babies. Moments like these are few and far between, but they are my reason for waking up every morning. This is pure bliss.
Say it with me...."Awwwwww."
Monday, February 25, 2008
Conversations With Avery
If you currently have or ever have had a 4-year-old (excuse me, 4 and a half), these conversation notes will not come as any real surprise. However, since Avery is my first child, I am still rather shocked and amazed at the things that come out of her mouth. Some of these resulted in her getting in trouble and some of them just made me laugh. I'll let you decide which ones.
Avery: Mom, your ribbon thing is broken.
Me: I know. I'll have to ask Dad to fix it.
Avery: Dad can fix everything, can't he?
Me: Yeah, pretty much. He's a pretty good guy.
Avery: Yeah, he's pretty great. You should marry him.
Me: Well, honey, I did marry him.
Avery: Oh. Yeah. Well, you made a great choice, Mom.
Avery: Mom, why did we have to go to Pa Pa's to buy him a suit?
Me: Well, sometimes boys have a hard time picking out clothes and he just asked Momma to help him.
Avery: I think that's not a good idea, Mom. Pa Pa's house is so far and now I'm tired and he should just pick out his own clothes.
Me: We were being nice and helping him. He's getting married and he needs some help to get ready. And it's not that far. Going to Grammy's is much farther.
Avery: Now, I know that's not right, Mom. When we go to Grammy's, I just watch movies and I know Pa Pa's house is a lot farther.
Me: Pa Pa lives 2 hours away and Grammy lives 5 hours away. The difference is that I forgot to bring the DVD player, so you are bored.
Avery: (mumbling) I sure wish I had a mom who didn't forget so much stuff. Then I could be happy all the time.
Avery: Mom, can you make me eggs for breakfast?
Me: You don't like eggs.
Avery: I love eggs!
Me: You never eat them when I make them for you.
Avery: Well, if you will make them like they are at the mall on the playground (two, big plastic fried eggs) then I will like them. I like them when they are just white and those two yellow things.
Me: So you want fried eggs? And you'll eat every bite if I make them?
Avery: Oh yes, Momma, I will totally eat them because those are my favorite kind.
.....10 minutes later.....
Avery: Mom, I don't really like this kind of eggs.
Me: (Exasperated sigh) Good grief, Avery!
Avery: Well, you shouldn't have had three kids.
Me: What in the world does that have to do with anything?
Avery: If you didn't have so many kids, you wouldn't be frustrated. Three kids is hard work.
This next one occurred in the drive-through line at Arby's. We were there for literally 20 minutes. I'm not sure what the problem was, but we were all frustrated.
Avery: What in the world is taking so long?
Me: I have no idea. That same car has been up there for 10 minutes.
Avery: Just honk at 'em.
Me: I can't, Ave. That's rude.
Avery: Mom, you honk at people all the time when they are being bad drivers. Just honk at that guy because he's in the way too much.
That's all for now...but I'm sure, not forever!
Happy Monday!
Avery: Mom, your ribbon thing is broken.
Me: I know. I'll have to ask Dad to fix it.
Avery: Dad can fix everything, can't he?
Me: Yeah, pretty much. He's a pretty good guy.
Avery: Yeah, he's pretty great. You should marry him.
Me: Well, honey, I did marry him.
Avery: Oh. Yeah. Well, you made a great choice, Mom.
Avery: Mom, why did we have to go to Pa Pa's to buy him a suit?
Me: Well, sometimes boys have a hard time picking out clothes and he just asked Momma to help him.
Avery: I think that's not a good idea, Mom. Pa Pa's house is so far and now I'm tired and he should just pick out his own clothes.
Me: We were being nice and helping him. He's getting married and he needs some help to get ready. And it's not that far. Going to Grammy's is much farther.
Avery: Now, I know that's not right, Mom. When we go to Grammy's, I just watch movies and I know Pa Pa's house is a lot farther.
Me: Pa Pa lives 2 hours away and Grammy lives 5 hours away. The difference is that I forgot to bring the DVD player, so you are bored.
Avery: (mumbling) I sure wish I had a mom who didn't forget so much stuff. Then I could be happy all the time.
Avery: Mom, can you make me eggs for breakfast?
Me: You don't like eggs.
Avery: I love eggs!
Me: You never eat them when I make them for you.
Avery: Well, if you will make them like they are at the mall on the playground (two, big plastic fried eggs) then I will like them. I like them when they are just white and those two yellow things.
Me: So you want fried eggs? And you'll eat every bite if I make them?
Avery: Oh yes, Momma, I will totally eat them because those are my favorite kind.
.....10 minutes later.....
Avery: Mom, I don't really like this kind of eggs.
Me: (Exasperated sigh) Good grief, Avery!
Avery: Well, you shouldn't have had three kids.
Me: What in the world does that have to do with anything?
Avery: If you didn't have so many kids, you wouldn't be frustrated. Three kids is hard work.
This next one occurred in the drive-through line at Arby's. We were there for literally 20 minutes. I'm not sure what the problem was, but we were all frustrated.
Avery: What in the world is taking so long?
Me: I have no idea. That same car has been up there for 10 minutes.
Avery: Just honk at 'em.
Me: I can't, Ave. That's rude.
Avery: Mom, you honk at people all the time when they are being bad drivers. Just honk at that guy because he's in the way too much.
That's all for now...but I'm sure, not forever!
Happy Monday!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Protect Thy Food
If you have siblings, you know this rule by heart. I, as the oldest of four, learned early on that if I wanted my share of the proverbial pie, I better be first in line. This is probably why I panic if I see my husband take 3 or 4 pieces of pizza. I'm afraid there won't be enough for me. My weight proves that I have never gone hungry, but it's a deep-seeded fear that arises frequently.
I'm beginning to notice this same fear in my children. Since Rhett has begun testing table food, and enjoys it immensely, my girls are slowly learning that, if they want to ensure that their food remains their food, they better either hide it or eat it. Quickly. Sometimes they forget. And Rhett lies in wait for the opportunity to strike.
The positive side of all of this....he will clean up every crumb. I always know that, if I give him enough time and freedom, the floor will be spic and span in no time.
I'm beginning to notice this same fear in my children. Since Rhett has begun testing table food, and enjoys it immensely, my girls are slowly learning that, if they want to ensure that their food remains their food, they better either hide it or eat it. Quickly. Sometimes they forget. And Rhett lies in wait for the opportunity to strike.
Here he is after a particularly delicious find. Reese left a donut on her chair. Big mistake, Reesie.
Her loss is his gain. Look at his grin. He can't believe his good fortune. Chocolate donuts beat pureed carrots any day!
She has just realized her mistake. I know she's upset because any emotion other than sheer joy causes her to cram those fingers in and suck like there's no tomorrow. It's her happy place.
I don't think he realizes he has hurt his sisters' feelings. I think he would feel bad if he knew she was sad about losing her chocolate donut.
Although, I must admit, the way his eyes are darting about as he eats, constantly on the lookout for someone who would possibly confiscate the donut, makes me wonder if he doesn't know exactly what he has done.
The positive side of all of this....he will clean up every crumb. I always know that, if I give him enough time and freedom, the floor will be spic and span in no time.
P.S. For any of you middle children who are worried sick about Reese's emotional damage over this incident, rest assured.. She got another donut. And she kept it close to her until it was completely gone.
P.S. Again...I have so much trouble formatting when I add more than one picture. It drives me nuts and I dont know how to fix it. If you know how, please email me ASAP and tell me what in the heck I'm doing wrong!!!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
My Husband
There are times my husband drives me crazy. He doesn't clean up after himself very well, he ignores me so he can play video games and he usually doesn't notice household chores to be done. In other words, he's a normal man.
But then, sometimes, he does something that makes me forget (almost) all of those things and I remember why I fell in love with him in the first place. The last time this happened was Valentine's Day.
We aren't big V-Day people. We barely even notice the day as far as our romantic relationship is concerned. But now we have kids. And I grew up getting Valentines from my parents and I want to continue that tradition. If my kids are like me, they will spend many adult years receiving Valentines ONLY from their parents, which leads to an amazing amount of bittersweet tears...but I digress. Back to the present.
And speaking of presents. I forgot them this year. Well, I didn't actually, totally forget, but I procrastinated. If I buy them too early, there's a chance they will be found. So I waited. Until the day before Valentine's Day, when I realized my husband was out of town and not coming back until the following day and I would have no time without children to buy Valentines. Crap. I failed again.
So I call my husband and ask him to pick up a little something for each of the kids. Now, I have to say, he loves to buy gifts for the kids. I knew he wouldn't mind, but I couldn't imagine what he would bring home. Not that it wouldn't be great - the kids would love it - but it probably wouldn't be what I would have picked. (I'm kind of a control freak) I figured he'd come home with enough candy to put them into a diabetic coma and possibly a stuffed animal either too big to keep in the house or covered with enough lace and possibly gold to keep me up at night planning on how to get it out of the house without hurting any feelings. I should have trusted my husband more. What he brought far surpassed any of my lame expectations.
Here is what he brought the girls.
Sure, what you see here is no big deal to you. A fuzzy bag with pencils, a little candy (not overboard at all), and a rose that plays a little song. Cute, right? What's the big deal, right?
Ok, let's look at the next picture. Look at all the goodies in the bag. Tiny paints, tiny notebooks, pencils and pens that light up. A few pieces of candy, but just the right amount. Precious stuff, right? But still, anyone can buy a bag of junk, right? What's the big deal, right?
Here's the big deal:
I had assumed that he just bought the bags full of stuff, as is. They were so perfectly proportioned with fun junk with a little candy mixed in, I thought it had to be commercially done. And the rose sticking out when he carried them in looked like something you would see in a store.
Then he handed me a sack and said "Here's all the leftover stuff." There were spare candies, pencils, and paint sets. I said "Did you buy all this stuff separately?"
"Yeah," he said. "I can't believe it, Babe. You picked all of this out and put it all together?" I asked. "I love it. You did so great, Honey. It's absolutely perfect." I told him.
His response made my heart melt. "Well, I knew you were upset that you forgot, so I went in and tried to imagine what you would do for them. I tried to pick out things that you would like and I knew you wouldn't pick all candy. I just tried to think of what Momma would do."
Oh. My. God. If the kids weren't in the room right now........
Seriously, though. All I could do was give him a huge hug and a kiss. I thought he would never be able to outdo last year's Valentine gift (the large capacity washer and dryer), but he did. He's a prince. A prince who leaves his underwear in the middle of the floor, but a prince, nonetheless.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Diary of a Bad Mommy (Volume 5)
Yesterday, my brother, Bo, had a coaches' meeting here in Dallas. It was a day trip, so I was his ride to and from the airport. I picked him up and took him to the hotel for his meeting and then came back home. The whole family went back to pick him up after his meeting so we could all go out to eat before he had to be back at the airport.
We went to a place called Snuffers for some cheese fries and other junk food. It's a bar too and they were offering draft beers for dirt cheap. Aaron and I decided to order one. We don't get out much and cheap beer is one of those things we get kind of excited about. I don't know if it was the frosty glass or the price, but it tasted yummy. Since Aaron was driving and only having one, I decided to order another. Two beers isn't a big deal, right?
Well, two beers isn't. And I didn't even get three drinks into the second one when disaster struck. I don't know why, but Rhett was squealing for something at his end of the table. I reached over to hand him another cracker and knocked my GLASS over. It shattered everywhere. Beer went all over my baby. Beer. On my baby. He was screaming and the waiters were all staring at us. I'm sure they were trying to decide which one of them would call Child Protective Services on the drunk lady in the back.
Now, Rhett is kind of a weenie about loud noises, and the crash was very loud. We were all a bit startled, so I assumed that he was screaming because it scared him. And his pants were soaked in beer. (Oh my gosh, did I just say my baby's pants were soaked in beer? Someone call Betty Ford.) I removed his pants and snuggled him for a bit while the waiters scrambled to clean all the glass off of the table and floor. He seemed fine. I set him back down in the freshly cleaned high chair and all was well.
He started to fuss a bit and I decided to get him out and walk around with him. And that's when I noticed the problem. Tiny cuts on his hands and knees. Little shards of glass had apparently either gotten through his pants or had been on the high chair when I put him back in.
So not only did I spill beer all over him, but my glass cut the poor little baby. I feel like the biggest dirtbag loser in the world. Especially for finishing the replacement beer the waiter brought me while Rhett sat in the highchair bleeding. Jeez. Could I be any worse?
We went to a place called Snuffers for some cheese fries and other junk food. It's a bar too and they were offering draft beers for dirt cheap. Aaron and I decided to order one. We don't get out much and cheap beer is one of those things we get kind of excited about. I don't know if it was the frosty glass or the price, but it tasted yummy. Since Aaron was driving and only having one, I decided to order another. Two beers isn't a big deal, right?
Well, two beers isn't. And I didn't even get three drinks into the second one when disaster struck. I don't know why, but Rhett was squealing for something at his end of the table. I reached over to hand him another cracker and knocked my GLASS over. It shattered everywhere. Beer went all over my baby. Beer. On my baby. He was screaming and the waiters were all staring at us. I'm sure they were trying to decide which one of them would call Child Protective Services on the drunk lady in the back.
Now, Rhett is kind of a weenie about loud noises, and the crash was very loud. We were all a bit startled, so I assumed that he was screaming because it scared him. And his pants were soaked in beer. (Oh my gosh, did I just say my baby's pants were soaked in beer? Someone call Betty Ford.) I removed his pants and snuggled him for a bit while the waiters scrambled to clean all the glass off of the table and floor. He seemed fine. I set him back down in the freshly cleaned high chair and all was well.
He started to fuss a bit and I decided to get him out and walk around with him. And that's when I noticed the problem. Tiny cuts on his hands and knees. Little shards of glass had apparently either gotten through his pants or had been on the high chair when I put him back in.
So not only did I spill beer all over him, but my glass cut the poor little baby. I feel like the biggest dirtbag loser in the world. Especially for finishing the replacement beer the waiter brought me while Rhett sat in the highchair bleeding. Jeez. Could I be any worse?
Monday, February 18, 2008
He's Growing Up Too Fast!!!
Are you getting tired of posts about Rhett? Good, me either.
He just graduated to a big boy car seat. The girls didn't weigh enough for a toddler seat until they were a year old. The weight limit on an infant seat is 20 pounds. Rhett passed that before he was 6 months old. We have spent the last three months searching for the latches to Avery's old seat. You see, when we realized he weighed 21 pounds and therefore, needed to be moved to a bigger seat, we got Avery's seat out of the garage and took it apart to wash all the pieces. Apparently, Reese found the latches entertaining because when we went to put everything back together, two of the latch pieces were missing. She gets the blame because she is notorious for walking off with things and because she can't defend herself.
So, for three months, we have searched for the latch pieces. We were desperate not to have to buy a new $150 car seat when we had a perfectly good one in the garage. We even looked into buying a used seat and using the latches off of it. We cleaned the garage from top to bottom. We cleaned out all toy boxes and baskets. We have racked our brains for three months and then it hit me. CONTACT THE COMPANY AND ORDER NEW LATCHES. Duh. I'm not sure how someone as dumb as me has been allowed to drive around with children in the car, but that's the case. And look how precious Rhett looks in his big boy seat. 
He's happy. No more screaming and crying in the car. Well, except for me, when I realize all my babies are growing up and they are going to move out and I'll be all alone with no one to snuggle with. WWWHHHAAAAAAAAAAAA!
He's happy. No more screaming and crying in the car. Well, except for me, when I realize all my babies are growing up and they are going to move out and I'll be all alone with no one to snuggle with. WWWHHHAAAAAAAAAAAA!Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Story of the Broken Heart
In honor of Valentine's Day, I thought I'd share the "broken heart" conversation I had with Avery yesterday. We were baking cookies for her school Valentine party and one of the heart-shaped cookies broke. The conversation that followed had my laughing out loud, even though I was mildly depressed. (See yesterday's post.)
Avery: Momma, that heart broke! That means broken heart. Do you know what that is?
Me: Yes, do you?
Avery: Yes, it means your heart is broken because you didn't get what you wanted.
Me: How did you know that?
Avery: Mom, I always know that stuff, even when I was three.
Me: Well, you are basically right. It usually means that someone you really love or like didn't want to be your friend or something and it hurts your heart. Your heart doesn't really BREAK, it just feels sad inside so people say you have a broken heart.
Avery: I already know that, Mom. Can I eat that one since it was broken?
Me: Not now. We can maybe eat it if there are enough leftovers when I get finished.
Avery: Ok, I'm just going to give that broken one to Jacob (a boy at her school).
Me: Well, that's kind of mean. Why in the world would you want to give him a broken one?
Avery: It's not mean. It's normal. I want to give it to him.
Me: I doubt we'll give anyone the broken heart. I don't think that would make anyone happy.
Avery: Well, Mom, Jacob just broke my heart. I asked him to play with me on the slide and he said he didn't like to play with girls. And that just broke my heart inside me. So I want to give him the broken heart cookie to tell him that my heart is broken.
How can you argue with that kind of logic? I had to give her a whole cookie just for being smarter than I am.
I pity the poor fool who breaks her heart in high school. Broken cookies today, dog crap under his car door handles later.
Avery: Momma, that heart broke! That means broken heart. Do you know what that is?
Me: Yes, do you?
Avery: Yes, it means your heart is broken because you didn't get what you wanted.
Me: How did you know that?
Avery: Mom, I always know that stuff, even when I was three.
Me: Well, you are basically right. It usually means that someone you really love or like didn't want to be your friend or something and it hurts your heart. Your heart doesn't really BREAK, it just feels sad inside so people say you have a broken heart.
Avery: I already know that, Mom. Can I eat that one since it was broken?
Me: Not now. We can maybe eat it if there are enough leftovers when I get finished.
Avery: Ok, I'm just going to give that broken one to Jacob (a boy at her school).
Me: Well, that's kind of mean. Why in the world would you want to give him a broken one?
Avery: It's not mean. It's normal. I want to give it to him.
Me: I doubt we'll give anyone the broken heart. I don't think that would make anyone happy.
Avery: Well, Mom, Jacob just broke my heart. I asked him to play with me on the slide and he said he didn't like to play with girls. And that just broke my heart inside me. So I want to give him the broken heart cookie to tell him that my heart is broken.
How can you argue with that kind of logic? I had to give her a whole cookie just for being smarter than I am.
I pity the poor fool who breaks her heart in high school. Broken cookies today, dog crap under his car door handles later.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I Will Not Be Happy
I will not be happy or think positive thoughts today. Even though I have many, many, MANY reasons to be thankful and happy with my own life, I won't admit it. Even though there are tons of people in the world who have so many terrible, sad things going on in their life, for today, my life is terrible. Do you want to know why? I'm going to tell you anyway.
First of all, my alarm was set for 5:30. I needed to run this morning because my husband is out of town tonight and I won't be able to go tomorrow. But since my allergies were so bad last night before bed, I took a Benadryl. Apparently, the reason it helps with allergies is because you slip into a coma and therefore, don't realize you have allergies. So no running outside. Which means treadmill. 45 minutes of mind-numbing wall-staring running. Ugh. Be thankful I am fortunate enough to have a treadmill when some people don't even have running shoes? Or that my legs work so that I even have the option to run? Not a chance. Not today anyway.
I have PMS.
Add to that, I have adult onset acne. Not diagnosed by a dermatologist, but by myself. For three months straight, I have had zits all over my nose, chin and cheeks. I look like a pubescent nerd. Oh, except for the reading glasses I had to buy so I could work on the computer. I look like a middle-aged, pubescent nerd. Is there such a thing? If there is, I'm it. There should be a LAW against having acne and reading glasses. If we have to get old and blind, for the love of Pete, we should at least get to have clear skin. There should always be trade-offs on this kind of thing. Like girls with flat chests are often thin and look good in spaghetti straps, whereas, big saggy-boobed girls like me don't really gain much weight in their butts and thighs. It's a trade-off. Someone needs to remind God that zits do not belong on the face of an old lady. Be thankful that I can afford to buy zit creme by the bucket? Not a chance. Not today.
I'm also potty-training Reese. Or trying. If I let her be naked, she will try to go in the potty. If I put panties on her, she will tee-tee in them IMMEDIATELY, even if she just got off the potty. Oh, yeah, did I mention the turds? Turds, apparently, only belong on the floor. That seems to be her belief, anyway. I'm tired of picking up turds. And washing pants. And I still have a third one to go through this with. Be thankful that I have three beautiful kids when some people can't even have one? Not a chance. Not today.
I thought I deserved a diet Coke break. Maybe even a mint-creme Oreo to go with it. Two sips into the Coke, I spot one of the stray turds. I get up to grab it before Rhett can get to it and Reese zeroes in on the diet Coke. Getting a drink of my Coke is fine if she asks. She didn't ask. But I was too busy looking for poop to really care. Until she knocked an entire diet Coke off onto the floor. And didn't pick it up. And didn't tell me that she spilled it. Or that Rhett was on the floor. Crawling in diet Coke. So much for a break. Be thankful that I can afford to buy diet Coke when some people have to beg for water? Not a chance. Not today.
Ok, so I really am thankful for all the good things in my life. But if it's all the same to you, I'm going to be grumpy today. And not say one positive thing to or about anyone. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.
First of all, my alarm was set for 5:30. I needed to run this morning because my husband is out of town tonight and I won't be able to go tomorrow. But since my allergies were so bad last night before bed, I took a Benadryl. Apparently, the reason it helps with allergies is because you slip into a coma and therefore, don't realize you have allergies. So no running outside. Which means treadmill. 45 minutes of mind-numbing wall-staring running. Ugh. Be thankful I am fortunate enough to have a treadmill when some people don't even have running shoes? Or that my legs work so that I even have the option to run? Not a chance. Not today anyway.
I have PMS.
Add to that, I have adult onset acne. Not diagnosed by a dermatologist, but by myself. For three months straight, I have had zits all over my nose, chin and cheeks. I look like a pubescent nerd. Oh, except for the reading glasses I had to buy so I could work on the computer. I look like a middle-aged, pubescent nerd. Is there such a thing? If there is, I'm it. There should be a LAW against having acne and reading glasses. If we have to get old and blind, for the love of Pete, we should at least get to have clear skin. There should always be trade-offs on this kind of thing. Like girls with flat chests are often thin and look good in spaghetti straps, whereas, big saggy-boobed girls like me don't really gain much weight in their butts and thighs. It's a trade-off. Someone needs to remind God that zits do not belong on the face of an old lady. Be thankful that I can afford to buy zit creme by the bucket? Not a chance. Not today.
I'm also potty-training Reese. Or trying. If I let her be naked, she will try to go in the potty. If I put panties on her, she will tee-tee in them IMMEDIATELY, even if she just got off the potty. Oh, yeah, did I mention the turds? Turds, apparently, only belong on the floor. That seems to be her belief, anyway. I'm tired of picking up turds. And washing pants. And I still have a third one to go through this with. Be thankful that I have three beautiful kids when some people can't even have one? Not a chance. Not today.
I thought I deserved a diet Coke break. Maybe even a mint-creme Oreo to go with it. Two sips into the Coke, I spot one of the stray turds. I get up to grab it before Rhett can get to it and Reese zeroes in on the diet Coke. Getting a drink of my Coke is fine if she asks. She didn't ask. But I was too busy looking for poop to really care. Until she knocked an entire diet Coke off onto the floor. And didn't pick it up. And didn't tell me that she spilled it. Or that Rhett was on the floor. Crawling in diet Coke. So much for a break. Be thankful that I can afford to buy diet Coke when some people have to beg for water? Not a chance. Not today.
Ok, so I really am thankful for all the good things in my life. But if it's all the same to you, I'm going to be grumpy today. And not say one positive thing to or about anyone. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.
Monday, February 11, 2008
I Am SUCH a Tool Sometimes
Sunday, I was at the hairdresser's getting a highlight and a cut. They usually have really strange music playing. Well, maybe not strange, but totally alternative and kind of hard for a beauty salon. But yesterday, I really enjoyed the CD they had going. It was more mellow than usual. An old song by Sting came on and I said to my hairdresser (who is older), "I love this song...this is a good CD today." She agreed and before I could say anything else, I overheard one of the younger hairdressers say, "Oh my gosh, who put this CD in? This is horrible. Why do we even own this? God, it's like old lady easy listening."
Yeah. That's me. I'm confessing my secrets now. I tell everyone that I love hip hop. And I do. But, truth be told, there is less hip hop and more old lady easy listening on my iPod right now. Think Kenny Loggins, Carly Simon, Johnny Cash, etc. I even have "Jolene" by Dolly Parton on there. So whatever, I like it. And I'm not ashamed anymore. I like loser old lady easy listening music. This is nothing new. Sunday's incident reminded me of a similar time when I was in college.
I had had a car accident (not my fault) and my car had to be in the shop for about a week. The other driver's insurance paid for everything, including a rental car. Which was a Ford Taurus STATION WAGON. Now, as a 21-year-old college junior, this was not my idea of a cool rental car. I was totally mortified to drive through Stillwater in this red, soccer-mom vehicle. But, as we all know, life goes on and I decided one day to brave the roads and run to Braums to get an ice cream cone. As I pulled out of Braum's, cone in hand, I scanned the radio for a good song. (I am, by the way, a perpetual scanner. I don't allow down time on the radio.) You know the song, "Still the One?" I have no idea who sings it, but it's old. 70s old. It's like "We're still having fun, and you're still the one..." Anyway, I like it. It's nerdy, but I like it. It hasn't been popular in my lifetime, but I still like it. So I turned it up. Did I mention that the windows were down? It was a nice spring day and the windows were down. And I had the song turned up. And I was singing. And tapping my thumb on the steering wheel and licking an ice cream cone. At a stop light. Where I happened to glimpse a boy in the car to my right. I turned to look. Two cute boys. In a nice car. Looking at me. Oh yeah, I'm hot, boys. Young, single and ready to mingle. That's right, follow me.
Then it hit me. Young, decent looking girl. In a red station wagon. Eating ice cream. YELLING 70s music along with the way-too-loud radio. They weren't looking because they were interested. In fact, I feel sure they were just soaking up the whole situation so they could laugh hysterically at me when they drove off. And they did drive off when the light turned green. FAST. Yep. I'm a tool.
Yeah. That's me. I'm confessing my secrets now. I tell everyone that I love hip hop. And I do. But, truth be told, there is less hip hop and more old lady easy listening on my iPod right now. Think Kenny Loggins, Carly Simon, Johnny Cash, etc. I even have "Jolene" by Dolly Parton on there. So whatever, I like it. And I'm not ashamed anymore. I like loser old lady easy listening music. This is nothing new. Sunday's incident reminded me of a similar time when I was in college.
I had had a car accident (not my fault) and my car had to be in the shop for about a week. The other driver's insurance paid for everything, including a rental car. Which was a Ford Taurus STATION WAGON. Now, as a 21-year-old college junior, this was not my idea of a cool rental car. I was totally mortified to drive through Stillwater in this red, soccer-mom vehicle. But, as we all know, life goes on and I decided one day to brave the roads and run to Braums to get an ice cream cone. As I pulled out of Braum's, cone in hand, I scanned the radio for a good song. (I am, by the way, a perpetual scanner. I don't allow down time on the radio.) You know the song, "Still the One?" I have no idea who sings it, but it's old. 70s old. It's like "We're still having fun, and you're still the one..." Anyway, I like it. It's nerdy, but I like it. It hasn't been popular in my lifetime, but I still like it. So I turned it up. Did I mention that the windows were down? It was a nice spring day and the windows were down. And I had the song turned up. And I was singing. And tapping my thumb on the steering wheel and licking an ice cream cone. At a stop light. Where I happened to glimpse a boy in the car to my right. I turned to look. Two cute boys. In a nice car. Looking at me. Oh yeah, I'm hot, boys. Young, single and ready to mingle. That's right, follow me.
Then it hit me. Young, decent looking girl. In a red station wagon. Eating ice cream. YELLING 70s music along with the way-too-loud radio. They weren't looking because they were interested. In fact, I feel sure they were just soaking up the whole situation so they could laugh hysterically at me when they drove off. And they did drive off when the light turned green. FAST. Yep. I'm a tool.
My Main Man
Have I mentioned that I love this little dude? I fell more in love with him this weekend as he said what sounded to me like his first word..."Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma." That counts as saying "Mama" right? I thought so. To commemorate the occasion, I've compiled some of my more recent pictures of my little man. Enjoy!
I love that he knows he owns this bed. I can put him in his own bed all I want to, but we all know that, at some point during the night, he'll end up here.
I love him when he's cleaning up his sisters' cereal off of the floor. (As cute as any dog and smells much better!)
I love it when he's "Big Pimpin'" in the hot tub. (Auntie Em's sink.)
I love him when he's snotty, and that's a good thing because he's ALWAYS snotty!
I love, love, LOVE these little meat pie feet. Can't keep my hands (and lips) off of them. LOVE THEM.
I love how he holds his mouth open between bites so he doesn't miss a thing.
I love that, even when Aunt La-La picked him up for a snuggle break, he kept his mouth open just in case the food was coming.
I love it when he cuddles with his big sisters. They watch TV, he watches me.
I love it (and hate it) when he gets into his sisters' marker stash under the cabinet. I gotta get a lock for that thing. Or move them to a higher spot. Duh.
Ok, so it's a bit much. I know this, but I also know that, one of these days way too soon, he'll be a big old boy who will no longer plead for me to hold him. Instead of patting my shoulder while I rock him, he'll squirm and beg to be "let go!" He will no longer fight to get into my bed at night. Instead of being content to lay quietly at my side, rubbing my arm and giving me slobbery kisses, he'll want to wrestle with anyone other than his mom. He'll shun my hugs and kisses in front of his friends and he'll smell like a wet dog 90% of the time. And then he'll move away and marry some girl and she'll get all his snuggles and kisses, so if I want to be an obsessed weirdo about my boy for a while, I will.
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