A glimpse of the future...

Last night at about midnight, Miss G woke up with a huge scream, which was quickly followed by a series of 3 more equally ear-splitting screams. I went in and saw her standing up in her crib holding her arms out saying "Mama, Maaaaammmmmaaaaa." She looked so miserable and scared.

While I'm on the subject, can I just say that the pain-filled screams, the agony on her face when I first entered the room, and the sadness in her little voice put my stomach into knots. I think that knowing my child is scared or in pain and being able to see and hear that fear so clearly is one of the worst feelings I get as a Mommy. For whatever reason, it always seems so much worse in the middle of the night like that...hearing either of my kids wake up from a dead sleep takes my breath away for a moment.

Anyway, I scooped her up and brought her into our room for a little motrin cocktail. (She is cutting 4 teeth right now and it's the only thing that helps when this happens.) She ended up sitting and snuggling with us for awhile before I put her back to bed. My husband and I had been listening to xm radio through the tv while we were snuggling and talking in bed. Our favorite station is "Lucy" because they play some of our favorite stuff from our college days...U2, INXS, etc. Georgia instantly noticed that the tv was on, but not "on." She seemed pretty confused and kept pointing to the tv, asking "Mooosk?" We'd tell her "Yes, music on the tv," but that still seemed puzzling to her as she undoubtedly tried to figure out where Mickey Mouse was hiding.

Well, that perplexed look on her face completely disappeared when the Beastie Boys song "Intergalactic" came on. Georgia's little bootie started bouncing up and down on the bed, and she started flat out jamming! Chris has always said we're in trouble because she is so much like me that it's scary. (Literally, it's frightening...I wasn't known for being the easiest child.) All three of us had so much fun laughing and singing together -- that song is so funny and it's hard not to tap your toes or shake your bootie. The thing is...

...guess who has always been a major Beastie Boys girl? Yep, me.

Georgia definitely "connected" with this song and she proceeded to giggle and dance her way through the song. At one point, she just naturally put herself nose-to-nose and forehead-to-forehead with me for my favorite line, "I'll stir-fry you in my wok!" We both started cracking up as we separated and Chris said "Oh, my word."

I was a bit of a wild child in my later high school and college years, and I am telling you - it was like Chris and I could both see that our sweet Miss G has that same little "spark." Our challenge will definitely be to keep this girl busy and engaged in things that channel that gleam in her eye into healthy, productive activities.

Otherwise, we're in trouble. Take it from me, I used to be trouble.

See for yourself...

I'm up late checking stuff off of my to-do list. I just uploaded pictures and video from my camera and thought I'd add some in here since they match the things I've written about lately.

Emily, since you put in a special request - here is the "before" picture. Um, YEAH. Self-explanatory (I hope) with regards to the need for a haircut. Getting a little unruly there.







Okay, now for the "after" shot. (FYI - she is actually playing the part of Pilchard in this picture.) I realize her ponytail is halfway out, making it look worse, but look how much the lady took off of the sides and the back! The reason her pony is all crazy is actually because it was cut so short on top that it falls out somewhat easily now. *sigh* It looked a little better today -- I think it was just a shock to my system to see it so dang short yesterday. Anyway, here's George. Uh.



Speaking of Pilchard, here she is "assisting" Bob in the shoveling of rocks, in her beloved pink knock-offs, no less.



Moving right along...here's a video to match the "before" picture. I am the box top and soup label collection lady for my son's preschool and Georgia found my bag of stuff -- including the roll of 150 baggies. She had the biggest grin on her face when I came out of the bathroom (that'll teach me to go pee alone!) and was so proud of herself. I decided that I already had a mess to clean up -- why not just grab the camera first? (Oh, and for the record, the big yucky stain on her pajamas is from her vitamins. Sometimes Mommy isn't awake enough to remember to put a towel under her chin when we do vitamins on the way downstairs to breakfast. Pretty, huh?) Personally, my favorite part is that out of all of that mess and chaos, she takes the time to bring me my little baggie of box tops. I mean, come on -- that's gotta be a life skill right there, huh? Mom, if you're reading this -- I'm guessing this reminds you of me being able to pluck something specific out of a 4 foot deep pile of stuff in my room. Organized chaos...looks like it might be hereditary.



I'll finish with a video of the kids from last night. I was making dinner while they were "watching" Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. (I think that's what it was. Clifford, maybe?) Anyway - I heard lots of giggling coming from the living room and here's what I found. She's so delicate, isn't she? *teeheehee*

Backyard education...

So much of my childhood happened in our backyard. When I was little, it ceased to be a backyard and became a jungle, a castle, an ocean, or a forest, depending on where my imagination took me. I can remember getting yelled at by my mom to get out of the garden and yelling back that I wasn't in the garden, I was trying not to fall into the moat at the castle because a prince had just rescued me. (And actually believing that it was true.)

Yesterday I was reminded of these wondrous adventures as Mitchell's imagination transformed our backyard into Bob the Builder's workyard. I was Wendy, he was Bob, and Georgia was Pilchard. (Pilchard is a cat.) Scoop, Lofty, Muck...they were all there. The sandbox was the construction zone, the climber/slide was Bob's house (and sometimes a store), the sideyard was the rock quarry, the grass was the swimming pool, and the woodchipped area was the road.

I was picking weeds while the kids were playing and it was so fun to watch and listen to this magical land develop around him. (I have to say that Miss G never made it out of the backyard and into the workyard, but I know that all too soon she will create wonderful lands of her own out there.)

I should mention that I was asked to babysit his cat several times. Usually it went something like this:

Bob: "Uhhh, Wendy?"
Wendy: "Yes?"
Bob: "No, you need to say 'Yes, Bob' so that I know you're talking to me."
Wendy: "No prob, Bob."
Bob: "Noooooo, not 'No prob, Bob,' it's 'Yes, Bob.'"

(I really should give him a break, huh? Pulling weeds is just soooo boring sometimes!)

Wendy: "Right. Okay."
Bob: "Uhhhh, Wendy?"
Wendy: "Yes, Boooooooooob!"
Bob and Wendy both giggle.
Bob: "So, can you watch Pilchard for me? She's in my way and I've got important work to do."
Wendy: "Well, she's just a baby cat. She doesn't know what to do. You should show her."
Bob: "How about you show her what to do and I'll just keep on working."

(That wasn't a question.)

Wendy: "No prob, Bob."

Bob did end up teaching Pilchard a thing or two, and even got her a shovel of her very own when he was shoveling rocks and she wanted to help. Of course, Pilchard didn't read the unwritten rules that Bob got the yellow shovel and she got the red one, but it all worked out. I think she may have actually answered to "Pilchard" a time or two there towards the end. The last 20 minutes or so of our time outside involved Bob shoveling rocks and Pilchard watching him, often yelling, "Ohhhhh! Wak! Momma!! Wak!!"

I love knowing that regardless of where we live or what our yard looks like, my children can open the back door and step into whatever land they choose.

I am hoping that my invitation to join them never expires. It's another one of my happy places.

Random thoughts on a Tuesday...

*Warning* Blogger with no direction!!

I just got home from getting the kids' haircuts. I brought home two handsome little boys. Seriously - that's what it looks like. The Cost Cutters lady and I did not communicate very clearly because Miss G looks like Mr. G at the moment. Her hair is WAYYYYYY shorter than I wanted it. Oh well -- it will grow, right? Bows, ponytails, barettes -- a MUST these next few weeks! (Ummmm, I have a bit of a "hair" thing with her, does it show?)

* * *

I think that Mitchell must be in the middle of a growth spurt or something. All he does is ask me to eat. And eat. And eat. He is a bottomless pit.

* * *

I bought this goofy little pink terrycloth babydoll dress thing at Walmart recently. (My middle of the night run with Miss G during her refuse-to-sleep-thing while we were out of town.) I love to put it on after my showers, and have been seriously tempted to wear it all day long a few times this week.

* * *

Rocky Ford cantaloupe and Palisade peaches --- August in Colorado! Yum!!!

* * *

Joke of the day from Mitchell:
"What do you get when you cross a duckie, a race car and a fan?"

"Daffy Duck that floats away and crashes into trains!"

Welcome to my world, friends. I don't get it either.

* * *

I had about 10 extra minutes the other day in between seeing clients, so I cruised into this little consignment store that is in the neighborhood, just to see if they had any good jeans for the kids since they both need some for the fall. No luck in the jeans department for Miss G, but I scored about 4 pair for Mitchell and I also ended up buying Georgia a pair of pale pink knock off crocs. See, she went crazy over some twins' shoes at the ped the other day. They both had on pink crocs and she lost her mind -- kept bending down (doing that kid squat that makes my knees hurt just watching) and pointing at them saying, "Oooohhhhhh, SHOOOOOOZ, Mama! SHOOOOZ!" I tried some crocs on for myself at a store a while back because I was curious what the big deal was, and really - they didn't do it for me. They didn't feel very comfy, and (no offense to croc lovers) I think they are less than cute, so I never really even thought about getting some for the kids. Well, when I saw the little pink ones for $2.99 the other day in her size, I thought I would give them a try.

Oh. My.

There were tears getting into the tub last night. She didn't want to part with her pink shoes. Guess what went on her feet the second her diaper was changed this morning? Yep, the pink knock offs. So far, this is the best $2.99 I've spent in quite some time.

* * *

And I'll end with a knock-knock joke since he just walked up and asked if I wanted to hear one.

"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"Train."
"Train who?"
"Train on a dragon when he says RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR."

* * *

Happy Tuesday!

Monday - Marriage and More...

So, I was inspired to jot down the story of how Chris and I met, and then I remembered -- I already did! A whole year ago! It was 15 years to the day that we met and I blogged about it.
He was actually supposed to mow tonight but it's raining -- what are the odds? *teeheehee*

So, today was one of those days where I feel like my son grew up in front of my eyes. Actually, more like when I was in the bathroom. Or doing laundry. Just...today. He seems noticeably older and bigger than he did yesterday.

If you're a mom, I'm convinced that you know what I'm talking about and if you're not, it's quite possible that I sound like I need to have a chat with the doctor or something.

I think it's some new independence that has me thrown for a loop. Things I used to have to ask him several times to do have just sort of happened today. When I woke up this morning, I noticed he was in different pajamas than he went to bed in. I asked what happened and he said he got hot, so he changed. He got himself dressed (I didn't ask him to, he just did it on his own) while I was changing Georgia's diaper this morning. I came back from changing out the loads of laundry and saw that he'd put his bowl in the sink. I said "Hey, thanks for putting your bowl in the sink!" He responded with "You're welcome. My spoon's in there, too."

Okay, am I nuts for letting that get me all choked up?

It's been like that all day long! Every time I turn around today, it seems that I'm met with another "when did that happen" moment.

6 lbs, 4 oz. He started out at 6 lbs, 4 oz. and he had elephant skin. It just sort of hung there on him. His poor little jaundiced body was stuck in the "bug zapper" (a.k.a. the billirubin light-filled suitcase) for 3 days and I remember thinking that for as huge as I felt at the end of my pregnancy, he just couldn't have seemed tinier. His cries were tiny. His diapers were tiny. His little tushy was tiny and fit in the palm of my hand.

One thing I'll never forget about Mitchell is that no matter how far out on my shoulder I held him, he would find a way to get himself positioned under my chin and near my heart. I'd just laugh every time I realized where he'd gotten because it seemed like he moved himself there without me even knowing it.

Well, his sweet cheeks are a little bigger now, but the Doodlebug just did it again.

Pretty please with sugar on top...

I wish that Georgia was old enough to understand the seriousness of my plea. It's simple, really. Please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssseeeeeeeeeeeee, take another nap today.

You see, I have a cold. A yucky summer cold. I got it from the two little munchkins that live here. Actually, biggest munchkin got it first. Littlest munckin decided to have a swig of biggest munchkin's drink while Mommy wasn't looking about two days into his cold and I knew that she would soon be feeling the love. Two days later, and I was sadly correct.

I reaaaallllllyyyyy thought I could battle my way through and not get it. I started feeling the tickle myself and drank Airborne for two straight days and was feeling so much better! Not 100%, but about 92%...pretty good, right?

Well, I have this thing about sleeping with the windows open. I have nothing against fresh air, in fact, I am a lover of all things fresh, but it seems that every time I sleep with an open window, I wake with a cold. Friday night one of my roommates was hot in the hotel and left the window open until 2 a.m. I wasn't even in that room, so I didn't really worry about it - we had a suite and I was on the pull-out sofa bed in the next room -- but I woke up in the morning feeling like I was going backwards again. It could totally be random circumstances, or perhaps the narsty (yes, that's a step beyond nasty) air circulating in the room itself, as evidenced by the fuzzy air vent near the ceiling in the bathroom. I have a feeling it was just a combination of everything. Oh, and did I mention that I stayed up until nearly 2 am and got up again for the day at 6:30? That probably factors in as well.

Today, I feel about 46%. Not good. So, as I wait to see if Miss G will be Mommy's best friend and take a 2nd nap (ha!) today, I thought I'd type out a little whiney blog about feeling blah.

Well, I'm assuming that she's done with her books and is in fact, not interested in more sleep as I now the following coming from her room:

"Mama."
"Heyyyyy."
"Heyyyyyyyyyy."
"Maaaaaamaaaaaa."
"I wanna muk."

She's so subtle.

Home

I did something this weekend that is a very rare occurence around here...I spent the night away from home without my husband and children for my MOPS steering retreat. Going into it on Friday afternoon, I was a bit concerned only because my husband was not having a good day. He was very stressed out by work and a variety of other things...he hit an emotional wall in a way, I think. Anyway -- not exactly the time that I'd love to go jetting off for a day and a half. I would have loved to have been able to sit with him that night, give him a backrub and just be there for him. Instead, there was a semi-frantic exchange of cars and a drive through rush hour traffic for him as he was off to meet my parents for dinner and begin his solo time with the kids. I did get him a card and a little treat on my way to the hotel, but a part of my heart felt sad as he drove away because I felt like I was just adding to his stress. I said some special prayers for him as I walked back into the conference room from the parking lot because I know that when I'm at home with the kids and I'm feeling stressed, it often results in a more anxious, less patient, short-tempered Mommy and I didn't want to be setting him up for the same sort of experience.

Talk about completely underestimating my amazing husband.

I called and talked to him as he was getting the kids into for bed and he already sounded so much better. He told me that everyone had a great time at dinner and that he and Georgia even developed a new trick together, which involved him jiggling her chin around and her making silly noises. Hearing the joy in his voice was a delight for me and I knew then that everything would be fine. Breathing a sigh of relief as I heard him tell me that he loved me and to enjoy my time with "the hens," I hung up the phone with no guilt whatsoever. When I talked to him in the morning, I learned that both kids slept all night (rare these days) and that everyone woke up in a good mood. I even talked to both of them on the phone without it leading to tears about me coming home! Again, I hung up the phone and enjoyed the rest of my day without any guilt about being there.

When I got home last night, I was met by silence, which was a little scary. I will say that there was no blood, broken furniture, and no evidence of fire or flood, so I decided not to panic yet.

As I entered the living room I found my son asleep (asleep?!?!) on the couch, but no sign of my husband or Georgia. As I walked into the empty kitchen past a sleeping Mitchell, I could hear the two of them chattering over the monitor, meaning that she likely just woke up from a nap. (At 5 o'clock?!?!) I was greeted by sunscreen on the counter (a trip to the park), a new trash can (yesssss!) and a picture of the three of them posing in front of a NASCAR car (what?!). Apparently the new Best Buy opened this weekend and my NASCAR nuts got to see the sponsored car parked in front of the store. (He claims he didn't know it would be there, but I'm skeptical.) As I studied the picture of my three happy loved ones, I noticed that both kids were wearing the same clothes that I had left them in the day before. That made me laugh, and I knew that my husband would be claiming to save me from more dirty laundry. I heard Chris say "Let's go downstairs" so I went to greet them.

When my husband brought Miss G down the stairs, I could hear him say "Guess who's here" to her. As they rounded the corner on the landing and we saw each other, the sheer delight in her giggle and the smile that stretched across her entire face both wrapped themselves around my heart. She held her arms out to me and joyfully yelled "MOOOOOMMMMMMAAAAAA!!!!!" I took her from Chris and she instantly wrapped her little arms around my neck, laid her head down on my shoulder and squeezed me with the tightest hug an 18 month old is capable of.

That feeling. That one. That's one of my happy places.

After my world class hug, she immediately sat up, looked at me and in a very serious tone said "I wanna muk." My husband and I just laughed because it was Georgia's way of saying, "Okay, welcome home, yadda yadda...give up the milk, sister."

After a wonderfully comforting bear hug from my husband, he returned to making dinner (pork chops, baked potatoes and a big garden salad - huh?!) and I filled a muk order. As I was putting the milk back into the fridge, I heard Chris say "Hey, buddy -- look who's home!" I closed the door and looked into the living room to see a tousled head of hair, two big brown eyes, and a shy but undeniably joyful smile peeking up at me over the island.

Our reunion was more subdued, but his sleepy grin and gentle hugs melted my heart as I rubbed his back while he woke up and showed me his new Tony Stewart racecar that Daddy had bought for him at "Wullmert." That lasted about a minute and a half, at which point Georgia sniffed out our physical contact and came to voice her displeasure at me hugging anyone but her. My snuggle time with Mitchell turned into snuggle time with Mitchell and Georgia, leading to my husband and I exchanging glances across the room. He could see that I knew I was back where I belonged and I could see that he had been longing for that to happen all day.

Home. I love being home.

BFF?

My son's favorite thing to do in the morning is to go see his sister in the morning before anyone else does. He is usually up before she is and when he hears her making noise, he always excitedly asks "Can I go see my sister??" When we tell him that he can he yells "Yay!!!!!" and throws the door open to her room and says "Good morning, Sweetheart." He has done this for as long as I can remember. (This picture is a few months old -- I can tell by her hair. And obviously, it's after a nap, not first thing in the morning.) Their game that they have developed is pretty funny to watch. Georgia tosses every stuffed animal and blanket out of her crib and tries to land them on Mitchell's head, and he just as quickly picks them up and hurls them right back into the crib. They laugh and laugh and will do it for about 10-15 minutes, most of the time. In fact, that's what I'm listening to right now, as her room is next door to ours.

It is so sweet, and as I listen to their shrieks of joy, I wonder if they will always be best friends at heart? They are joined at the hip and 9 times out of 10, where you find one, you will find the other. It helps that Georgia thinks Mitchell hung the moon and wants to be right near him doing whatever it is that he's doing. Don't get me wrong, there are many scuffles each day over not taking turns with toys, Georgia "ruining" train tracks, and things like that. In spite of these daily bumps in the road, I hear much more laughing than I do tears, and when one is upset or hurt, the other is right there with a hug and a concerned look.

I hope that they remain close as they grow older and it's my prayer that they continue to protect and love each other the way that they do now because they are a great team.

Off to start the day!

"I want"

I was talking to a friend on the phone yesterday (Hi, Renee!) and Georgia came up and said "I want milk." (It actually comes out as "I wanna muk.") I then said that half of what she says these days is preceded by the words "I want." Renee then told me she thought that was pretty good developmentally and I laughed that if she's going to master the art of saying something, "I want" is not a surprising catch phrase for our little ball of fire.

I thought about this as the day went on and had a little revelation of sorts. One of those things you know but don't really think much about. Guess who else lives her life with the words "I want" as a mantra most days?

Me.

Let me demonstrate:

*I want to sell my house quickly.
*I want to be able to find "the perfect" house for us.
*I want my 3 hours of work each week to be easy money.
*I want my husband to be happy at work and not have to work overtime.
*I want my kids to be healthy and well-adjusted.
*I want time for my own study of the Bible each day.
*I want time to myself each day to just relax.
*I want my kids to be kids, just not to make messes like kids.
*I want a housekeeper, you know, other than me.
*I want to be skinny without the jogging. (What's up, Earen? *wink*)
*I want some cute clothes that are beyond inexpensive.

To recap:

I want it easy. I want it now. I want it painless. I want it clean. I want it cheap. I want it convenient. I want it happy.

I want it all.

Times like this, I love the Bible that I use -- it has real life questions in it. Today, I looked up and did the lesson with this one:

"Why is enough never enough? No matter what I have, I dream about what I don't have."

*ahem* Yeah, that seems to fit this morning. I'm going to try and keep this verse on my heart today because, well, WOW. Just wow. It was just what I needed to hear today.

Ecclesiastes 6: 7-9

Enjoy what you have rather than desiring what you don't have. Just dreaming about nice things is meaningless; it is like chasing the wind.

I think that I'll turn my "I wants" into "I'm gratefuls."

*I'm grateful that we don't HAVE to sell our house quickly and that we have such a lovely home to live in.
*I'm grateful for the opportunity to buy a bigger home with more luxuries for our family, no matter where that may be.
*I'm grateful for the ability to work at a job I truly enjoy and to have the chance to be a part of changing the lives of children and families.
*I'm grateful that my husband has a strong work ethic and a wonderful job which provides me with the chance to stay home with my children, since I know that's where I belong for now. I'm grateful for the lessons he is learning during his overtime work as I know they will serve him well as he continues to advance in his career.
*I'm grateful that for the most part, my children ARE healthy and well-adjusted. The gift of a healthy child should never be taken for granted...I need to remember that.
*I'm grateful for the chance to worship freely in this country and for the foundation that my parents laid for me so long ago. I'm thankful for Christian music stations as many days, that's the only real time I'm able to have with God's word - -in the car, doing dishes, etc.
*I'm grateful for having a family that I love surround me each day. I know that I could very well be someone who only had time to myself and I would be so lonely.
*I'm grateful for the messes that my children make each day because it means that we spent time having fun and learning together. It also means I had the chance to be with them today.
*I'm grateful for the neverending piles of laundry, dishes and dirty floors because it means we have enough clothes to wear, food toe at, and a house to live in.
*I'm grateful for the yummy food that has given me this ample figure. *hee hee* Actually, I'm grateful for the chance to grow closer to the Lord as I soon begin a Christian-based weight loss group.
*I'm grateful for the fact that I am able to clean out all of our closets at least twice a year and give those clothes to charity.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...that feels so much better. I think I'll print this out and keep it where I can read it every single day as a reminder to myself of how to get rid of the "I wants."

P.S. - Wouldn't you know it, just as I finished typing this, my sweet baby girl woke up and said "I wanna MAMA."

I'm so grateful to be loved and needed by my precious children.

In case you were curious...

Here is a sampling of what Hurricane Georgia is capable of accomplishing in under 10 minutes:

*emptying the entire book cabinet of books
*decorating the living room with 150 napkins (for the 3rd time in one day -- their current home is part of our "staging" process -- guess I need to find them a new spot)
*taking every ziploc baggie out of the box
*stealing hot sauce packets out of the front of the silverware drawer (note to self: move to the back of the drawer when I go downstairs) and running around the living room with them, all the while giving Mommy a heart attack that the clenched little fists will burst the hot sauce packets open all over the new carpet.
*getting snot all over 3 couch pillows while practicing her newly developed ottoman-climb-flip-onto-the-sofa acrobatic move
*partially unscrewing her sippy cup lid and proceeding to dump the entire contents (thankfully just water) onto the highchair tray after an exasperated Mommy straps her in there in order to try and get dinner on plates instead of chasing her around the entire downstairs

The next person who tells me "she's a busy girl" gets to keep her for the day and then see if they still think that's an accurate description. She is WAYYYYYYY beyond busy, folks.

I know that all too soon I will be wanting this stage back but now I'm remembering why 18 months was a tough stage for me with my son. And he was about 1/3 of her in the ol' mischief department.

By the way, the reason she's able to get into all of those drawers is because he never did so they don't have drawer locks.

Yet.

Self-reflection...

First of all, thanks to my fellow blogging friends who inspired me to bling out my blog a bit. I got the bug to glam it up a little after looking at everyone else's cool pictures and things. (Plus, I am avoiding my tower of dirty laundry at this point.)


I just got done finishing up my "homework" for a Bible study that I've been a part of all summer. Every week that we met, we would each bring pictures that corresponded to different things we were talking about. We'd share our pictures with each other and explain why and how they fit into each area and when we went home, we put them into a scrapbook and did some journaling.

I'm truly amazed at how much good this little bit of self-reflection has done for my heart! It was fun to do, sometimes challenging and I have gone back to read what I've written several times. This morning, I was wrapping up the last part of my scrapbooking and as I finished, I realized that I'm a bit sad to be done with this because it's been so good for me.

I've truly enjoyed the soul-searching element of it, and each and every time, it's caused me to focus on the gifts in my life and to see exactly where I've come from, where I am now, and where I want to be in so many different areas. Above all, it's been a very concrete way to reflect about how the Lord has worked in my life. I have written the words "amazed", "astounded", "humbled" and "overwhelmed" more times than I can count.

Here are the things I've already done:
*Blessings
*Answered and unanswered prayers
*People that I love
*People who have influenced my spiritual journey
*My purpose in life

As you might imagine by looking at that list, many of the same people keep popping up in my pictures, but my thoughts about them and the ways in which they have touched my life are different each time. I discovered this morning that I'm not ready to be done yet, so I'm attempting to come up with some more things that I can still tackle as I attempt to scrapbook my way through the "core" of my life.

Here are some of the ideas that have to come to mind:
*Choices - both good and bad
*Gratitude
*Questions I have
*Fears/Doubts
*Celebrations

Feel free to toss out any ideas you might have, and I would LOVE to hear about it if you decide to try this yourself. It has been a very powerful way to engage in some pretty deep self-reflection. I have really missed scrapbooking, as I used to do it all of the time, but then just couldn't seem to find the time and didn't do anything for about two years. This has been a wonderful way for me to be creative and get back into a relaxing hobby that I love. I can't wait to keep going!

We're back...

This is the new "cheese" in our house.


We have reached a new Santa milestone. He willingly sat on his lap and talked loudly enough that Santa could hear him. There were no tears, well, unless you count mine.


(There's the cheese again.) I happen to think that one of the most best places to find the essence of childhood is in a swimming pool.

So, we are back from our weekend away and we are all tired. A good tired, but still -- tired. We packed a LOT into one weekend, and really the only thing that wasn't packed in there was a good amount of sleep. I guess that's what happens when you cram in time with good friends, fun places to go, and beautiful surroundings to enjoy. We can always catch up on sleep. (Oh, and Earen - I guess that means I won't be jogging this week. *wink*)

Just in case you're wondering, Friday night was a repeat of Thursday night with the addition of a 1:30 a.m. trip to Walmart for Georgia and I. We were both in our pajamas for soy milk and swimsuits. We ended up getting: new sunglasses for Miss G that she insisted on wearing through the store (complete with the plastic rectangular holder), soy milk, a size 3T bikini for Miss G (she wears 18 months), and a cute, pink terrycloth robe/dress thing for me. The smallest bathing suit they had for me was literally 4 sizes too big. Bummer. And shocker. Doesn't it seem like Mom is the one who gets the shaft in things like that? Oh well -- I got to watch them swim anyway.

I came home from this weekend with renewed gratefulness for the love and friendship I am blessed to have in my life. The laughs, food, scenery and love that I shared during this one weekend are more than many people experience in a lifetime.

Blessed. I am blessed.

Oh, boy...

This weekend could get verrrrrrrry interesting, my friends.

As I type this, it is 3:09 a.m. and I am the only one in the house who is awake. After I finish this entry, I'm going to go do laundry. And I'm not kidding.

We are supposed to leave tomorrow for a short weekend trip away with my best friend and her family for an early 60th birthday celebration for her dad. Here's the thing - both of my kids are sick. And cranky. And whiny.

I'm up at this time of the night because Miss Georgia slept from about 7:30 until about 11:00 and then decided screaming would be good. For a few hours. Again, so not kidding.

The deal with her is this -- she will scream at the very tippy top of those little lungs until I come get her. If I say "Georgia, no screaming. You need to use your words," she will stop screaming, say "Tay" and hold her arms out to me.

Yeah. I said "uh-oh," too.

Seriously. What do I do with that? On the one hand, I don't want to teach her that if she screams like that, she'll get what she wants (a.k.a. mommy's attention). At the same time, I don't want to make her feel as though I won't comfort her when she's upset. (There's also the issue of her brother sleeping next door.)

She actually did wake him up tonight -- I believe that is the first time we've had that happen. She really got her pipes tuned up tonight! Poor Mitchell - he was so tired and confused. I think it worries him when she's upset like that, too. He was upset so I let him come to bed in my room.

So, after a dose of motrin, here's how it's looking at the moment:
*nursery: Georgia is snoring away (massive runny nose/congestion)
*my bedroom: Mitchell and Stacie (my best friend) are both completely sacked out in my bed
*living room: My husband is asleep on the couch

I'm now wide awake as the screamfest was a major stress to me and I am now unable to go to sleep, and not sure where I'd do that if I wanted to, at this point. I'm glad that some peaceful sleep has come to everyone -- hopefully I can take a nap tomorrow or something.

In the meantime, I have dishes to do (we left the dinner ones in the sink tonight), laundry to do, bags to pack, carpets to vaccuum, floors to mop, bathrooms to wipe down, and snacks to pack.

Gee, wonder why I can't sleep....again.

In the meantime, I just read some of my fabulous book for Bible Study and am struck by a passage, which includes scripture. I've been thinking about it for about an hour now and know it's one that I'll be memorizing and taking out for a spin in my mothering journey this week.

"The scripture tells parents not to simply report evidence of God Moments to their children, but to find ways to insure that those truths make a lasting impression. 'These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up' (Deuteronomy 6:6-7)."

Impress them on your children, as you sit, walk, lie down and get up. Wow. That's a little different than just making sure I mention a thing or two in passing.

This last hour, I've not only been pondering meaningful ways in which I can try to place God's handprints on my children's hearts throughout their days, I've also been slapping myself with the reality stick and honestly examining which sticky, messy handprints of my own I've left behind so far.

I know that He is bigger than I am, and that comforts me as I think about His handprints covering mine up. As I think about things like that, I know too that in order to have the impact that I need to on my children's hearts, I will need to not forget to wrap my own heart in His word in all that *I* do each day.

One thing that I've really thought a lot about during the course of this Bible study is the fact that I am immeasurably blessed by the fact that my parents laid a sound spiritual foundation for me. I fell away from The Lord for many years during and after college, but I know that without a doubt, what brought me back is the solid, core beliefs that were, well, impressed upon my heart by my parents as a child.

They couldn't live my life for me. They couldn't make me be someone I wasn't. They couldn't choose paths for me. There was that whole "free will" thing that came into play, and that was completely out of their hands. I'm sure it broke their hearts to watch me drift and go through lots of pain along the way. I know that they never stopped loving me or praying for me, and for that I am beyond grateful. It is a tremendous lesson for me as a mother -- that what I'm doing for, with and around them really does matter. It really will impact their adult lives.

So, starting today, I look to meaningfully impress upon my children's hearts the love and hope of our Lord, for I know just how powerfully it can change someone's life. I'm my own best example.

I love my life.

I really do. I love it.

Love my house.
Love my husband.
Love my kids.
Love my family.
Love my friends.
Love my freedom.

I am blessed. I am truly, truly blessed. That's all I have time for but really, that's all I needed to say right now. I've had a tough week or two emotionally but when it all comes down to it, I have nothing to be really down about. My "problems" are other people's dreams.

I'm blessed and I know it. I'm so thankful to the Lord for all that He has given me.

Priorities...

I'm slowly figuring some things out.

(By the way, is it possible that this is the "30's" thing I've always heard about? Where your 30's are all about finally becoming YOU and figuring out who that is?)

Prioritizing...I can do that. That's what I've always thought about myself, but I'm finding out that maybe that's not exactly as true as I've led myself to believe.

If I'm so adept at prioritizing, then why have I *consistently* knocked taking care of myself to the bottom rung of the ladder? As in, when life gets stressful, it's the first thing to go?

When I'm pressed for time, do I say no to playdates? No, but my workouts are the first thing to go.

When I'm emotionally drained, do I stop answering the phone or listening to my friends when they are having problems of their own? No, and instead of turning to people - I many times turn to food (and don't realize it half the time.)

When I'm stressed out, do I back away from commitments for a short time? No, but my own Bible study and personal reading gets shoved aside.

Stuff like that. Why is that? I'm working on the answer and hoping to change some things.

I guess for me, it's like anything else in life. I'm still searching for some balance...giving of myself to others generously without giving so much that there's nothing left in the tank for me at the end of the day. Or the beginning of the day. Or the middle. I do often find time for myself in the middle of the night though -- you know, when I can't sleep because I'm so stressed out. Ha!

Oh, and the key? Losing the guilt. I'm big. Big. On self-induced guilt. I need to just build a bridge and get over it.

This is definitely something I'm beginning to pray about and I'm trying to build some concrete things into my life and daily routine to help me along. It's a very daunting task.

YOU are the baby!

Friday night Chris had to work a bit late, which was fine since the kids and I were supposed to go to a birthday party for my best friend's nephew. Well, the birthday boy got sick, so instead we went to dinner with my mom and dad. You know what? Georgia apparently sees herself very differently than I do. There was a little boy who looked like he was about her same age sitting at a table behind us. Every once in a while, Miss G would turn around to look at him. After a few minutes, she pointed over at him and actually had the nerve to tell me "Beebee."

Ummmmm...excuse me??!! Are YOU calling HIM a baby??!! YOU are the BABY!

Seriously. That broke my heart in a teeny way that probably makes sense only to other Mommies who are in denial about their youngest, and probably last, child growing up too quickly. My baby -- my BABY -- just seemed so big when she did that.

My sweet baby girl.

And then I just sat and watched her the rest of the meal. Really watched her. I felt like a first time mom again -- I kept telling my mom and dad to look at her, to watch what she was doing. It was like having my eyes newly opened to just how sweet and silly and completely adorable she is.

We had pretty slow service so there was lots of time to watch her. She spent lots of time putting a straw wrapper that she'd ripped into two pieces on top of her head. She'd then sign "hat" and say "hack" and laugh at herself proudly. Shortly after, she'd shake her head until both pieces fell off, then she'd repeat the process.

My sweet baby girl.

Mitchell had requested a "smoovie" so we had them make an adult-sized portion and split into two cups for the kids. Georgia was very excited to taste hers and her reaction was hysterical. She pursed her little mouth into a mini-version of her Daddy's famed "chimp lips" to suck on her straw. She took two big swallows and her eyes immediately grew even bigger and brighter than they normally are, which is saying a lot. She then threw both arms into the air and shouted (literally) "Yayyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

My sweet baby girl.

She had a grilled cheese and applesauce for dinner. I was again snapped out of my denial bubble when I paused to consider that I no longer need to tear her sandwich into little dime or nickel sized bites. I just test her food to make sure it's not too hot and let her at it. No more cramming fistfuls of tiny bites into her mouth...now she's all about taking the biggest bite she can out of her big girl sandwich. When it came time for applesauce, I would offer her bites and she would immediately giggle and hang her head as far backwards as it would go, being very silly. It wasn't until I said "Here, Georgia's turn," that she took any interest in the applesauce. She immediately sat straight up and held out her little hand to take the spoon. Together, we scooped up the applesauce and steered it into her mouth. After the first bite, she showed off a big grin, very proud to have been part of feeding herself. I don't think she took another bite of grilled cheese until we had scooped every last bite of that applesauce out.

My sweet baby girl.

When we had finished dinner and it was time to leave, I stood up and got my purse and the diaper bag and went around to the other side of the highchair to undo the straps. Miss G thought I was leaving without her and immediately started fussing and reaching for me saying "Mama!! Mama!!" I got her out of her highchair and when I picked her up, she immediately kissed my cheek, as she's in a big giving kisses phase, then wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head down on my shoulder for a snuggle.

Ahhhhh, there she is....my sweet baby girl.

My boy is the sweetest.

No, seriously. He is.

Yesterday I had a RAGING headache. I don't get headaches. I had also been up pretty late the night before not feeling well. You know when you feel like you could be sick but you're not sure? That was me. Since I work with kids, the last thing I wanted to do was get them sick, so I cancelled my day. My in-laws graciously offered to keep the kids for a little while so that I could rest, but I chose to run an errand I'd been putting off instead while I could do it alone. One of those things that just felt better to cross off my list, I suppose.

Anyway, I came back to pick them up and then knew I *had* to lay down when G took her nap or I'd be in big trouble later. So, for the first time in probably a year, I attempted to take a nap when my daughter slept.

You know, you always hear that as great advice when you are a new mom. "Sleep when the baby sleeps," people will tell you. Maybe (okay, most likely) I'm an odd duck but I just could never do that. I'd either get caught up in housework, or reading, or something -- I just couldn't relax enough to sleep, I guess. Plus, when you have another child, it's that much harder.

In any case, I decided that I must nap yesterday so after I put Georgia down, I told Mitchell that I needed to lay down, too. He knew I didn't feel well and I guess he was more concerned about me than I realized. Instead of taking that chance to run around like a crazy man, he chose to instead, follow me into my room and climb in bed with me. I almost immediately fell asleep because I was just so in need of rest, but I do remember him saying "I'll be right back, Mommy."

Do you know what that absolutely precious boy did for his Mommy?

He got two stuffed animals and his two favorite bedtime books and brought them to me. He gave me the animals one at a time and sort of tucked me around them, and them around me and instructed me to snuggle with them so that I could feel better. He then announced that he would be reading to me. I wish I could say that I clearly remember him reading those books because I'm sure it was the sweetest thing ever, but I was snoozing away.

I just remember randomly waking up throughout that two hours and he would be sitting by me or in my room playing trains on the floor and when I'd look at him, he'd come over and give me a kiss and ask if I was okay. Then he'd tuck the animals back in around me.

*sigh*

My prayer is that he never loses that desire to care for the people he loves and that he does it without hesitation and with all of his heart. I don't know at what age children usually start to lose that quality -- the innocent ways in which they go about their lives, but I hope that at least some of it stays forever.

Yesterday was one of those days where I wasn't just proud to be a Mommy. I was exceptionally grateful to be his Mommy.

My little Doodlebug -- there's only one.

Vacation Bible School...

It's this week. I was initially worried about how things would go since we have taken the summer off of school. My little buddy used to have a serious separation issue so I wondered if I would have to deal with that again, but he did great.

The theme is some sort of "ranch" thing, and he has decided that it is "Cowboy School." Okay. Cowboy School it is!

We got there right when it started on the first night so most of the kids were already in the sanctuary. I hadn't previously signed him up so I had to take Miss G to the table and get him all checked in. I took him into the sanctuary to help him find a seat and expected that to be problematic since none of his friends from school were in there. He just found a spot by himself -- in a pew with other kids but not necessarily near them -- and hung out. They started to sing some songs and I watched as he just sat back and chilled out, taking it all in.

After I got him signed up, I went to tell him goodbye. All he said was "Mommy, I don't know this song." I said "Well, I bet if you listen you'll know it tomorrow when they sing it again." He said "Okay. Are you leaving now?" I said "Yes, we'll be back to pick you up later." He said "Okay. See you soon!"

Astounding. And pride swelling. And semi-heartbreaking. All at the same time.

Why is that I simultaneously want him to be so grown up and such a little guy at once? Bittersweet would be a good word here.

Anyway - it is so fun when he surprises me. I go to pick him up and not only is he now with the crowd, he has a huge orange bandana with his name on it around his neck and he is dancing around and singing at the top of his lungs. Usually in situations like these, he'll sit quietly and clap his hands but be too shy to sing, even though he's wild man at home when music is on. I loved seeing him confident enough to get in there and express himself in front of others like he does at home.

Then I got even another surprise. The pastor asked the group if anyone remembered any of the special stories they heard at VBS that night. Big pause. No hands. Until...my "shy" little guy jumps (literally) to his feet, waves both hands around and shouts "Oh, I know! I know!" I couldn't believe it, but what he said next was a really cool thing for me to hear him say.

"We heard stories JUST like the ones that Mommy reads me out of my special Bible story book before bed every night!"

I just about fell over. See - yeah, who wouldn't like their kid to make them sound like Supermom? Nice, right? Well, for me -- THAT day was anything but a Supermom day. More like Grumpymom. In general, it was a day where I didn't feel like a good mom at all. Yet, at the end of the day, there's my little guy jumping to his feet and waving his hands around to remind me (forget everyone else in the room) that I it all balances out and that I do manage to make him feel special in important ways. I'm sure I don't have to say that I got all teary - I'm sure that's a given.

The funny part about VBS though is that when it was over and he came to find Miss G and I towards the back, he greeted us with a "Howdy" and a "Yippee-ka-yay Partners!" It was so funny. When he found out that my hubby was working late, he started to cry and said "But I wanted to tell him Yippee-ka-yay, Partners!" So, after I strapped him into his carseat, I dialed the office and gave him my cell phone. When he greeted my hubby with it, there was a long pause, so it went something like this...

"Yippe-ka-yay..................................................Partners!"

Sounded so funny on the phone. When I got the phone back after they were done chatting, my husband revealed that he had a mini-heart-attack when Mitchell said that. When I asked why he said "All I could think of was that line from Die Hard." I didn't know what he was talking about at first until he reminded me that Bruce Willis says "Yippee-ka-yay, mother...!"

I reminded him that it wouldn't come out that spicy. I believe he has learned "freakin" from good ol' Mom as he was struggling with his carseat buckle the other day and used it appropriately and in context. It is among my non-cussing, yet still apparently cussing words. (I see that as I don't at all like it coming out of my 4 year old's mouth.)

Uh, YEAH. Don't quite have that "perfect mom" thing down yet, do I?

8 Things You Probably Don't Know About Me...

Okay, Casey - I told you I would, right? Here ya go! Anyone else with a blog - have at it, I'm tagging you to be next!

1. I lived on Easter Place growing up and therefore thought that the Easter Bunny would always visit my house first.

2. Strangely, even though I believed this up to about -- oh -- 6 or 7 years old, I spilled the beans about the whole Santa thing to my friend when I was 3 years old. Yes, 3. My mom got a very irate call from his mother and I had to tell him that I was just teasing him to make him cry. I was a little verbally, um, advanced? for my age, I'm told. Shocking, yes?

3. I am PHOBIC about lightning.

4. My left foot is a half size bigger than my right foot.

5. I am a picker. And a popper. Of zits and things like that. Just ask my husband.

6. When I was 6 years old, right before we went on vacation to Disneyland, I developed a horrible skin rash after running through the sprinklers with my neighbor. The water was hitting the trees in his backyard and then coming down on us and apparently the trees had just been sprayed with something. My mom said it looked like I had some raging contagious illness and while we were at Disneyland people were awful to me. They would talk about "that nasty little girl" and tell their kids not to sit next to me or touch me and I guess it made me just bawl my eyes out. My amazing mom took me to the t-shirt store (this was the 70's so the rage of making your own t-shirt was big) and made me a yellow t-shirt that said "It's An Allergy" in big black letters on it and they washed it out in the sink for me so that I could wear it EVERY single day for the rest of the trip. I distinctly remember my mom putting a positive spin on it for me by saying that at least we'd have the pool all to ourselves. And we did!

My point in saying this is that I to this day I can still remember being horrible to a girl named Jill in kindergarten because she had a skin disease and then the next year I got my own. (Oh, that God!) Even as a 30-something woman, I wish I could find Jill and say I'm sorry.

7. I always wanted to be in a spelling bee but never was. Probably worked out for the best on that one.

8. My first car was a poop brown 1981 Toyota Carolla hatchback. I wrecked it two weeks to the day after I got my license.

How is that for a random list?? Can't wait to see some more!

Things I don't want to forget...

I'm taking a break from my seemingly never-ending chore of "staging" the house to go on the market in order to make sure that I document some things I've been thinking about lately. These are little things that I so completely adore right now but are definitely not things I'd likely remember once the kids stop saying and doing them. I try to print my blog out every month or two and put it in my scrapbook stash, so I figure this is as good a place as any to preserve a little history.

*Disclaimer: If you're sick of gushy proud Mommy posts, you might just want to come back another day.*

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Georgia, at nearly 17 months, has this awesome habit of standing on her head at completely random times. It can be in her crib, in the middle of the living room, at the park, in the kitchen, on the sidewalk, or even in the (ewww) bathroom. When she does it, she just comes to a screeching halt, bends herself in half, plants both hands on the ground, and then puts the top of her head on the ground. She usually stays that way for about 15-30 seconds, then gets up and resumes life. It reminds me of Tivo, actually. Like when you pause real-time TV and then just unpause it. I used to think she was gearing up to try doing somersaults like her big brother does all of the time, but lately when I've watched her, it's more like she just decides that the world might look sort of cool upside down at that very moment.

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After he's done reading books and right before he falls asleep, Mitchell - at age 4 and a half , will lay on his back in his bed, put both feet on the wall, place his hands behind his head and stare at the poster next to the top of his bed that has 100 years worth of aircraft while he listens to music. I often just stand in the doorway and peek in - he doesn't know I'm there. I can't explain it adequately, but it is obvious to me that he is IN that poster. He is flying one of those planes. There is a wonderful, imaginative story being created in that little head of his. It is one of those precious moments in time (besides being peacefully asleep) where he has a look of complete innocence.

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Georgia says "Mama" about 458,234 times each day. I'm estimating here. About 400,000 of them are actually questions, demands or statements. Some of the following are examples:

Says: "Mama!"
Means: "Can I have some freakin' milk over here please??"

Says: "Mama?"
Means: "What the heck is this thing?"

Says: "Mama?!"
Means: "How dare you leave my sight! Where in God's green earth are you, woman?!"

Says: "Mama."
Means: "I need a hug."

I love that she does this -- it makes me smile about 89% of the time, which is yet another estimate. The remaining 11% of the time I forget how much I'll miss it when she doesn't do it anymore and I take it for granted.

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My husband is a Looney Tunes freak. He loves Looney Tunes, namely Daffy Duck. When we were dating I used to give him random Daffy stuff for gifts - a DD mug, some socks, ya know - nerdy stuff like that. Well, he has apparently created a mini-him in the form of Mitchell with regards to being an avid fan of the slapstick cartoon. One of Mitchell's favorite things in the whole world to do is to watch "Movie Tunes" with his Daddy.

Things have recently been taken to a new level.

When cleaning out the closet in Mitchell's room, Chris found the Looney Tunes talking clock that I bought for him. In hindsight, it was a solid purchase. Good "wow" factor, and here's the important part -- he lived in a town an hour and a half away from me -- the clock wouldn't be a problem. Fast forward 7 years and two kids later and the clock has come back to life. Chris promptly hung it in Mitchell's room and his biggest thrills of the day are on the hour when the clock brings the characters to life to say a particular phrase. He then sprints into wherever I am and imitates what he just heard announced on his clock. My favorite is his Yosemite Sam impression: "It's 1:00, ya mangy polecat!"

Incidentally, the carpet layers accidentally knocked the clock off of the wall and broke it, causing much heartache. I should have known Super Dad would find a way to fix it. He did, and all is well in the land of Movie Tunes.

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When I'm driving, sometimes I will look at the kids in the rearview mirror and see that they are holding hands across the aisle, looking at each other and laughing. I cannot begin to describe what that does to me.

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Mitchell's "5 Things" he was grateful for last night at bedtime:
1. Kix
2. His Thomas swimsuit
3. Chocolate milk
4. His toes
5. Doors

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When I say goodnight prayers with Georgia before bedtime, she snuggles her DuckDuck by her head and lays down in my arms. I say the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer and at the end she pinches her fingers together, and touches her chest twice by her shoulder and says "Mee-men". That's her saying "Amen" and I about cry each and every night because it is so cute.

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Georgia is in love with Mickey Mouse. If she hears the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme music, she will immediately start shouting "Maaaaaa" (mouse) at the top of her lungs and throw her arms in the air with every exclamation.

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When Mitchell talks on the phone to Chris during workdays, his last question is always this: "Daddy, what time are you coming home to tackle with me?"

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These are just everyday, random happenings in our house but I love and treasure each and every silly one. I just can't let myself forget them.

Not Buyin' It.

I went on a girls' trip a few months ago and one of my friends brought the dvd for "The Secret". I'd heard about it but didn't really know what it was all about so I was interested in watching it. As I watched, I was not nearly as energized by it as my friend was, who claims that it has truly changed things in her life, and for her husband as well. Fair warning -- if you loved it too, I'm about to somewhat rain on your parade. Nothing personal, this is just my reaction to it.

I guess for me, most of it was stuff I already knew or thought about. It's not that I didn't gain *anything* from it, it just didn't leave me as gung-ho and rah-rah as I expected it to, which is surprising, as this friend and I are usually very closely aligned with things like this and our reactions to them. For me, it struck me that the biggest and first part of the dvd (I don't know about the book) was all about money and personal financial gain. To me, that seemed to be the emphasis of where one should put their "positive energy into the universe"...so that it came back to YOU in the form of getting rich. Like the guy who said that he thought positive, whited out what he owed on one of his bills and replaced it with the number he'd like to have in his bank account, and (direct quote or close to it here) "checks just started coming in". Seriously...let's get real, people. Can we get the rest of that story, please? Did you invest more? Did you work overtime? I'm sorry - but people do not just start randomly sending you money in the mail unless you have recently picked up a 2nd job as a televangelist or something. And if they DO just start randomly sending you checks for no reason, then I'm off to Wally World for some white out.

I was really struck by the fact that they kept saying how "The Secret" can change the world. Make things better for everyone. Change lives. Well, then wouldn't it make sense that in the financial part that giving of your own time and money to others is one of the biggest ways to do that? I mean, if the whole premise is that positive energy attracts positive energy and brings good into your own life, how in the world could philanthropy be anything but a huge beacon of positive energy? Do you think it was mentioned once? Even once? Nope. I was really in awe over that one and it left me feeling like the only money message I got was a yucky, materialistic, selfish one. Nice.

My other issue was how they kept saying "The Universe." Now, I am a Christian and will tell anyone who wants to know about it and about where I am with my faith. By the way, I know that I have at least a few people checking in on my blog who are not Christians. Not that there's anything wrong with that. (Hee hee -- just a little Seinfeld in there for you. If you are not a Seinfeld fan, it was supposed to be a little humor. It's 5 am and I'm not completely awake yet, so just keep that in mind.) I do want you to know that I completely watched this with an open mind and expected to love it because on the drive up to the cabin, my friend told me that when the people said "The Universe", to her she took it as them saying "God" because that matched up with her. I really do have an open mind, but the other things they said kept me from thinking that they were meaning anything than what they were saying. At the same time, it was OBVIOUS that they hoped they could rope in people like my friend and were trying to peddle their wares to people of any and all religious perspectives.

Infomercial city.

Maybe, in hindsight, that was my big beef. It seemed like they just couldn't wait to energize you and convert you to their way of thinking and it was like one of those middle of the night (and we all know I've seen those!) Real Estate Riches infomercials. I mean, after all it had worked for them! They were rich, they had been healed from illness, they had attracted hot women into their lives! All you had to do was think positively, throw some positive energy out there into the ol' universe, and you were good to go. I smelled a reallllllllllllllllllllly long infomercial. As I said before, I did take away some good things and some things that I've actually been able to apply to my own life, but for the most part....it was cheesy sales pitchy, dawg. (Ack. I'm tired.)

One man in particular really hit a nerve with me. He was some sort of physicist (okay, I can't even spell that word) and he sort of seemed to mock me and all that is at the core of my life. He said that "there is no big chalkboard in the sky" where God writes your name and what the future holds for you. (Meanwhile, they put up a cartoon chalkboard behind him and write his name on it with cartoon chalk while he's talking. It was like a slap to me.) He went on to say that you are in charge of your own destiny and you are the one who determines what happens in your life. Well, guess what. I think differently and apparently if he would get wind of that, my name would be written in cartoon on his cartoon chalkboard and a little cartoon Tara would be drawn below my name with a dunce hat.

I feel like the chalkboard is a really stupid analogy, first of all. Beyond that, I feel like I am responsible for both the good and bad decisions that I've made in my life, but I will tell you this much -- what one person calls "intuition" and "positive energy" (that would be him), another person (that would be me) calls "God" and "prayer". He can seriously bite my big ol' Christian butt. I guarantee you that when I was sitting in my big, white wedding dress one fine fall day in 1997 about to make what continues to be the absolute worst decision of my entire life by marrying the wrong person, it was not my "negative energy" that had me in a heap in the middle of the floor, ready to vomit, and unable to move 5 minutes before I had to walk down the aisle. It was not God's plan for me...that was CLEAR AS A BELL, but I did it anyway. My little chalkboard in the sky had my name on it, but not The Jerk's. That was my own doing. And guess what? It got undone a year later. It's called free will, and I had plenty of it on that day.

I guess I should get to the reason that 3 months later this is all still on my mind. I am in a Bible study with some women from my MOPS group and we are reading a book called God Moments and I feel like it is my version of "The Secret". It's like me yelling "In your face!" to Mr. Cartoon Chalkboard, although two things are blatantly evident: (a) he can't hear me and (b) he wouldn't care anyway.

In any case, I am so enjoying this book and this is energizing me. This is giving me hope. This is what my soul needed at a time where it seems I have stress coming at me from every angle. I am so glad that I'm reading it and know it will be one I re-read several times.

Oh, and a special thanks to Renee (I still can't figure out how to make your "e" have the accent mark, I'm sorry!) for helping me connect the two things a few weeks ago. When you said that this is like "The Secret", I about jumped out of my seat because it really, really is.

What a guy.

My hubby. He constantly surprises me. (Oh, and it's 1:36 a.m., by the way - still a terrific sleeper over here!)

Tonight he ended up being a little bit later than he thought he would be in getting home from work. He called to let me know (let's hear it for nagging him enough to win that battle!!) and said it was because he was doing something for the kids. I asked what he was doing and he said he was writing them a letter about the 4th of July.

He calls it his "Christmas".

I guarantee this letter will make me cry when I read it. I married one of the biggest patriots that has ever lived. He is bold and proud of his patriotic streak to the point of being almost nerdy. We attend Memorial Day services at the local veterans' cemetary even though we haven't personally had any tragedy in that department...we're there simply to honor those who have fallen for our country. As I mentioned, he is ALL ABOUT the 4th of July. He's like a child on Christmas morning...he just absolutely adores the whole day. Today he left for work in his red, white and blue tie with a big American flag lapel pin. Tomorrow we will all be decked out in head to toe red, white and blue for Daddy.

I'm really looking forward to reading his letter. That part of him is one of the things I love best about my husband...he will NOT stand by and let his children take for granted the things that he feels are most important. They can obviously choose to feel differently when they grow up, but it won't be for lack of trying on his part. The thing is, he isn't forceful or pushy...but he makes his points and he makes them clear and obvious for the kids...what they should appreciate and why. It really is a neat thing, even if it makes me chuckle from time to time. If you've seen the movie, "The American President" it totally reminds me of when Michael Douglas is lecturing his daughter about The Constitution and he said "This is exciting stuff!" That would SO be my hubby.

I still have a memory in my head from when Mitchell was tiny...and I'm talking like 2 weeks old or something. I was making breakfast and I looked over at my boys. There was my husband, sitting at the table holding and reading to Mitchell...this tiny little thing just looking up at him with these big, dark eyes and his mouth drawn into a little "o". Know what he was reading to him? A book that held a collection of his favorite American documents. Peace treaties, The Constitution, speeches made by various political figures, etc. I just had to laugh because that was about the very last thing you'd ever catch me doing, yet there he was, completely joyful in the moment. He is itching for the day he gets to help with Social Studies homework!

Anyway -- I haven't even read it yet and I know that this letter is a family heirloom in the making. It's my husband in a nutshell and I love it.

I need a vacation...

Seriously. That could be my only line right now.

Here's the nutshell:

*Grandma and Grandpa are moving to assisted living. As in, at this very moment, my husband and family are loading a truck with their belongings and moving them in. The blessing of having your grandparents live until you are in your (ouch) mid-30's is that they get to be part of a HUGE chunk of your life. Be at your wedding. Know and love your children. The sucky part is having to watch the bottom fall out on their life. It's been hard, but what a privilege to return the love and care that I was given as a child. It's like walking on my heart to be part of it, but at the same time, I wouldn't have it any other way.

*We are putting our house on the market very soon. We just have to get the new carpet and flooring in, and we'll be good to go. No work needed to prepare for that. (HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

*The good news is that the kids both seem to finally be, well, you know. That word that I'm afraid to type and put out there for fear of jinxing it. It rhymes with smealthy.

*I'm tired. As in I could lay down and sleep for about 3 days. If I don't put on makeup, it is a certainty (hasn't failed to happen yet) that someone I know will tell me how tired I look. Heck, even if I do put on makeup, that's still a distinct possibility. Love how I must look to the world.

*All of my butt kickin' weight loss has once again been snuffed out. WHY can't I be one of those people that doesn't eat when she's stressed? I swear, it's like I can't NOT eat when I'm stressed. It's bad. I should get some willpower or something.

I think that's about it. Oh, other than me trying to be on the steering team for my MOPS group, be the co-volunteer coordinator for Mitchell's school and taking on another client.

Why do I do this to myself?

Did I mention that I need a vacation? Let me know if you'd like to paypal a contribution for the ol' vacation fund.

The only one in the family with this problem...

That would be me. And not sleeping.

The other three people in the house are sawing logs. They all looked about the same when I came down here, too...halfway between lying on their backs and sides, one arm up by their heads, and deeeeeeeep in sleep.

Me? Not so much.

I fell asleep at oh -- I would say about 9:30 pm on the couch. My husband woke me up at about 12:30 a.m. to go to bed. I halfway wish he would have just left me there because I'd probably still be asleep. Instead, I laid in bed awake for about 3 hours and then finally came down here to dink around. I should probably be folding laundry. Or doing other house related things...Lord knows there are enough of them. The thing is, when I can't sleep, I'm still tired enough that I don't want to *do* anything that requires effort.

Ohhhh - a yawn! Could it be?? I better go try to get at least a few more hours of sleep. I guess the sleep all night thing runs on his side of the family, huh?

Consipracy Theory...

Yes, a blog with no direction. Make that blogger with no direction.



I'm tired. Last night wore me out. I've decided I need to watch my kids more closely -- apparently they have some sort of secret code that I am bound and determined to crack. That's all I can figure out -- it was too well orchestrated to be a random accident.



My husband (poor guy) had to work late last night. Make that laaaaaaaaaaaaaaate. Which is fine, that happens. Usually, it's not a big deal. We do dinner. We do bathtime. We do bedtime, one at a time. Then Mommy (that's me) comes downstairs to do whatever she wants. Usually it's cleaning, laundry, dinking on the internet, watching shows, etc.



Last night we did dinner. (No problem.)



Last night we did bathtime. (No problem.)



Georgia went to bed, but unlike her normal waving night night and blowing kisses, she fussed. Her fussing turned into crying about 5 minutes later. About 5 minutes after that, it turned into screaming. SO, Mitchell and I took a break from his Ratatouille book that we were reading to go get her resettled. Mission accomplished. We finished his book and did his whole bedtime routine thing. (No problem.)



I came back downstairs. About half an hour later...I would begin what I now think of as the calm down, night night circuit.



8:45 - Georgia wakes up BAWLING her little eyes out. I come to the rescue, get her resettled, check on a slumbering Mitchell and head back downstairs to keep on cleaning up the kitchen.



9:00 - Mitchell wakes up SCREAMING for me (not good on the ol' throat, by the way). Again, Mommy to the rescue -- back rub, tear dabbing, music starting, forehead kissing -- and downstairs I go.



9:15 - Georgia's turn.



9:30 - Mitchell's turn.



9:45 - Georgia's turn.



10:00 - Mitchell's turn.



And so on ...



I'm sure you think I'm exaggerating that it was that closely timed, but give or take about 3 minutes on either side, it was LITERALLY every 15 minutes. I don't know what the heck was going on up there but strange things were afoot. (Kudos to my fellow horrible 90's movie watchers who know what I'm talking about.)



My husband gets home shortly before 11 p.m. and the first thing he asks me is what's wrong. I don't know what gave it away -- my half torn out bun, my t-shirt stained red with the nasty store-brand fake children's tylenol, the makeup that was halfway down my face and leftover from the day before (true fact), or if it was finding me in the kitchen sink bathing in my newfound love, Stoli Blueberi. (Not really, I didn't even make myself a drink last night but in hindsight, that would have been a stellar plan.) He told me tonight that I looked like I'd been run over by a truck. Always nice to hear.



I told him about our two deviants upstairs and their seriously twisted 15 minute plan and predicted that since it was her turn, Shortstack would be wailing in about 5-8 minutes. He laughed and said "Oh, honey -- I'm so sorry" in that way that you know he truly WAS sorry but I'm not sure if he was more sorry that I'd been dealing with his two screaming offspring or that I was clearly losing my mind. We chatted about his day and like clockwork, my little girl did not let me down. He looked at the monitor, looked at the clock, looked at me and said "Wow. I guess you weren't kidding." Ummmm, yeah. Not kidding.



Since he was home, I decided to bring her downstairs and let him deal with her for awhile. (I don't mean that like "Here, butthead -- deal with her!" I mean that as in "Please, dear man, take pity on me and help." I feel sort of bad -- he just switched from the adult pool to the kiddie pool -- both were filled with cry babies yesterday. Anyway -- she was okay for all of oh -- about 10 seconds and then she just let loose again. The only thing she wanted was to cuddle up on Mommy's shoulders and rock in the recliner.



We finally trudged back upstairs and he thought I was nuts, but I decided to try and put her down one more time. His vote was for letting her sleep with us, but knowing my little hurricane the way that I do, I could almost guarantee you that there would be NO sleep. For anyone.



I did the whole hold my breath and tiptoe out of her room thing at about 12:15, I think. For whatever reason...she decided that yes, she was finally ready to give Mommy a break. Yeah, riiiiiiiiggggghhhhht. She just passed the baton, people. The up all night relay was now in the hands of the anchor -- our friend, Mitchell. Chris and I were laying in bed talking about how SUPER fun pretty much 80% of our life is right now (and I'm not talking kids -- just random crap) when our little man brought in the big guns.



I mentioned (like, in passing) in the last post that he just had his tonsils and adenoids out last week. Well, when he gets to the end of his pain meds, he doesn't like to swallow. At all. So, saliva tends to pool in his mouth and then it becomes a sort of steady stream when he cries. Or screams like a wild banshee. Both of which he decided to do at this point. He was trying to explain to us what was upsetting him, but it was quite difficult to determine what he was saying. Picture a drunk, not so adept ventriloquist with a large drooling problem who is in some serious pain and you will essentially have been a fly on Mitchell's transportation themed bedspread.



My husband and I looked at each other and without even saying a word, decided that he could just sleep with us. Neither one of us had the energy to keep this whole thing up all night, and it was clear that it was going to be an all-night affair. He headed downstairs for a medication refill and a popsicle and I took my slobbery mess of a boy to the bathroom for a little cleanup work. We all reconvened in our bed, got the medicine down, chased it with some water and snuggled in for the night. They boys slept great...I just sort of laid there, dozing in and out of consciousness.

Anyway -- it's now 9:15 and no one is making a peep. So far so good, but I'm sure I've just completely jinxed myself. My saint of a hubby is currently picking up the living room, as I've been instructed not to do anything but relax. I'm off to the couch and am still fighting the urge to make out with the Stoli.

I'll let you know.

Helpless...

I hate feeling helpless, especially when it comes to my kids. Really, I do. Hate. It.

My little man had surgery last week to remove his tonsils and adenoids...and that is a story for another day. They told us that his recovery would be about 10-14 days in total, with somewhere around days 6-7 probably being the worst, as that's when scabbing takes place.

Doesn't that just hurt to think about?

Everyone tells you that the only thing they remember is getting to eat as much ice cream and have as many popsicles as they want when they had the same surgery as a kid. Well, I've learned that if you've talked to one former tonsilectomy patient, you've talked to them all. It doesn't hurt as bad when you're little, you love the cold stuff, etc.

Well, I'd like to talk to someone's MOM. I'm telling you -- this has been a LOOOONNNNNGGG week for ol' Mom. When he's hurting, that medicine can't kick in fast enough. Yes, it's short lived, but he is in some wicked pain between dosings sometimes. It's different than your typical "Owie, I fell and scraped my knee" cry you get most of the time -- it is a "I HURT. Truly hurt to where it scares me, Mommy" type of cry and it breaks my heart in two and makes me feel helpless.

Sunday morning he was just a mess. I needed to go to the grocery store to grab some things and everyone else was still in their pajamas. Now, not only is going to the GS by myself a treat these days (yes, I know it's beyond sad) but I was just generally not in the mood to pacify ANYONE while there. I wanted to listen to my iPod, cross stuff off of my list and get out of there. When Mitchell learned I was going, it was an instant meltdown. I'm not talking tantrum, I'm talking meltdown approaching insane levels.

Now, if you just had surgery on your throat, you can probably guess that screaming at the top of your lungs is not going to be something that will help your cause. 45 minutes of that...well, you can probably just figure that one out. He was a mess. A. CERTIFIED. MESS.

The thing is, my husband and I were caught between a rock and a hard place. We realized that part of what was driving this behavior episode was not feeling good, even though he hadn't complained AT ALL yet that morning and slept all night, but no way in the world do we want to reward that sort of tantrum behavior with "Okay, okay -- stop screaming, you can go!" I mean, he hadn't complained about pain at all after initially waking up and we'd given him all the medicine we could give him at that point. I'm sure he was really tired and probably in more discomfort than he told us he was...and that's the thing. He can talk. He's 4, but I don't think he has the words and the ability to truly tell us what's wrong in situations like this. I also think part of it was, he and I had been glued at the hip since his surgery and this was literally the first time I'd be leaving his side in over 5 days and he didn't expect it. I think that definitely factored in. Regardless, it just didn't feel right to say "Okay, since you did such a fine job of displaying such awful behavior, of course you can come! We'd love to teach you that acting that way is exactly how to get what you want." Again -- we were torn, but him staying home was the best thing anyway. And even though I was doing all of the things that I knew were best for him, I still felt absolutely helpless.

So, we just went into our normal routine of dealing with tantrums -- which really don't happen much anymore. He'll get lippy with us, but the big, dramatic, heartwrenching meltdown thing is very rare these days. So, upstairs we went so that he could sit in a safe place (on his bed in his room) and calm down. When it was clear that the only thing he would be doing is continuing to scream at me, cry hysterically and try to grab me, we went to the next routine step -- removing toys, books and music from his room. It's really the only thing that will calm him down when he gets like that. Trying to hold him and cuddle him doesn't work -- he gets all combative. So, with a guilty heart, I would give a warning that he needed to sit on his bed -- that's all, just sit on his bed -- and believe me, he KNOWS the drill. I'd give him some time, count to 10 out loud, and then remove a beloved toy from his room while he grabbed my shirt, screamed at me, kicked the door, etc. This went on for about 45 minutes. Oh, and the windows were all open so I'm sure the neighbors really enjoyed the whole thing as well.

It's quite the pretty picture, yes?

Then, with a mostly empty room, my little buddy finally agreed to just lay on his bed and calm down. I also had to chuckle at the way he went about it -- he said "OhhhhhKAY!" as he climbed ontu his bed, as though I was the one who'd been keeping him from getting up there for so long. I sat with him, rubbed his back, helped him stop crying and encouraged him to just lay there and think for awhile. I went across the hall to clean the kids' bathroom and somewhere between the sink and the tub being clean, he fell asleep. The time that I checked on him and saw him asleep was 10:30 a.m. Now, keep in mind that this is a little boy who doesn't take naps anymore, and if he does, it's falling asleep on the couch at about 5:30 pm...just before bedtime on days when he's played like crazy in the morning.

Oh, and his little sister was downstairs with my husband during all of this, in case you're wondering. That's the other reason for moving upstairs -- she doesn't need to witness all of that.

ANYWAY -- so, he kept sleeping and kept sleeping. I kept checking and kept checking. Finally, it was time for me to leave with Georgia for a birthday party, and I'd been dreading that all day since he wouldn't be coming. We thought for sure that it would be battle number two...but it wasn't, because he was still asleep at 2:45 p.m. Yes - -over 4 hours later, and still asleep.

I went to the party, had a great time, but all the while kept thinking about my baby boy at home and wondering how he was doing. I knew my husband would be great when he woke up and was prepared for more tears and drama -- he was armed with medicine and many hugs -- and he has his own set of tricks to get Mitchell out of a funk...I wasn't worried about that. I just felt guilty for not being there...and...helpless.

I called as we left the party, at about 4:45 p.m. and he had been awake for about 10 minutes. Yes, he slept for 6 hours!! Chris said that he cried for about 5 minutes after he woke up, but after some Daddy cuddles, a Capri Sun, a popsicle and a dose of pain meds, he perked up. I'm sure that his tantrum induced the sleep in the first place, but obviously, he just needed some rest. Lots of rest. It made me feel a little bit better that he slept that long -- the tantrum most likely would have happened over something else that morning anyway because that's how he gets when he's that tired. (It didn't entirely remove my guilt -- part of me still thinks I should have just taken him to the store, and the other part of me is patting myself on the back for not taking him -- story of my life.)

When we got home, about 10 seconds after I put the garage door up as I was pulling into the garage, I saw my little man fling the door to the house open and wave at us with a huge grin on his face. THAT was what I needed to see -- my happy little guy was back. He and his Daddy were playing "Red Sox" in the living room while they watched the game and they were both sporting their jerseys and backwards baseball hats. He was happy to see us and loved the balloon that we brought home for him. I got a huge hug, a kiss on the cheek, and he told me "I love you, Mommy. I'm sorry I was so mean this morning. I was really tired." I kissed and hugged him back and thanked him for apologizing. And then I got him some ice cream.

All was once again right in the world.

Over the top

So, my husband is a self-described NASCAR addict, and apparently it's genetic. Either that or he's into brainwashing. My four year old son is now an official NASCAR fan. Enthusiast. Addict.

Whatever.

It's actually pretty cute how into the whole thing they get together. That's actually what's going on right now. My husband is camped out in the recliner with a beer and my son is on the floor with his speedway and race cars re-enacting the big crash that just happened. They're both all decked out in their race gear and neither one seems to think that five hours is too long for a race. *yawn*

As you may or (hopefully for you) may not know, NASCAR is heavy on the advertising. I am surprised these guys don't have individual caps put on their teeth for their sponsors. Well, my little sponge, errr - boy, has now added many of the sponsors to his ever growing vocabulary of words he recognizes when he sees them in print.

For instance, we'll be driving down the street and he'll yell (not say, YELL) "Hey, Mom! Look! There's the UPS truck - just like Dale Jarrett!" I have yet to drive to the pediatrician without hearing, "Look, Mom! There's the Bass Work Shop" as we pass by Bass Pro Shop. He is an encyclopedia of commercial knowledge in the realm of NASCAR sponsorship.

My husband's favorite driver is Dale Jarrett, so he is also Mitchell's favorite driver. They also like to watch Dale Earnhart Jr. Dale is a big word in our house. It comes up often. Yesterday I found out...maybe a little bit TOO often.

We were driving home after a long day of packing, cleaning and moving things to a storage unit in preparation for putting our house on the market. We decided to just stop somewhere quick and cheap for lunch since we were all hungry and ended up at Del Taco. Mitchell asked what it was called and yes, you guessed it...it is now known as

Dale Taco.

I'll admit, that's pretty funny. I think we both got a good chuckle out of it but I told my husband that this whole NASCAR thing has obviously gone a little bit too far. I mean, Mitchell is half hispanic and it's a bit worrisome to me that he hears "del" as "Dale". Good thing his grandma is teaching him spanish!

The kids' meal came with a boy and a skateboard that magnetically stuck together. Mitchell started playing with it and said "Look, Mom! I got Dale Taco and his skateboard." I just looked at my husband and he started cracking up, shrugging his shoulders and saying "What's the problem?"

News flash -- Dale Jarrett is in the top 10 for the first time all season. There is major, big-time high-fiving happening in the living room. Such timing.

Ohhh, and a sad update there. His engine blew up. Hats were thrown. Lemon words were used. Read below for an explanation of that one.

*************************************************************************************

Oh, and just as an aside...a friendly warning from me to all of you who have not yet entered the arena of living with a four year old who is thoroughly convinced that he is smarter than you are. (He's actually somewhat convinced me on several occasions, but that's a whole different story.) Be prepared to defend, explain and hear a repetition of every single word that ever comes out of your mouth.

On the way home from Dale Taco, we were pulling up the driveway and my husband made some smart aleck comment about something and I in turn whipped out my most favorite non-cussing cuss word. "Friggin" is somewhat of a staple for me, but I think it's on its way out. Mitchell has latched onto his teacher's idea of "apple words" (words that make you smile and feel good when people say them...words like love, happy, friend, thank you, please, etc.) and "lemon words" (words that make you pucker and wrinkle your nose...words like stupid, go away, etc.) to govern what should and should not be said in our house.

As soon as the friggin' sentence left my lips in the van, Mitchell scolded me by saying, "Mommy, we don't say 'friggin'. It's a lemon word."

Thank you, Mrs. P.! School may be out for the summer, but it's obviously still very much in session at home!

Easy Button, My Arse...

I just wanted to take a quick moment and say to the executives at Staples...

You suck.

As I was tediously wrapping "World's Best Teacher" mugs in newspaper last night, I thought about their stupid "Easy Button" commercial and how I would give my left boob for one. As in, my brain seems to think it really exists and now I'm bitter because I don't have one.

Oh, and I hope that the left boob shout out won't go unnoticed. *wink*

Old habits die hard...

I have really had a not good week as far as taking care of myself. The things I used to do (eating, exercise-wise) have again become the things I'm actually doing. It's all based on emotions and stress and I hate it. I know I'll get through it but DANG. It just sucks to work so hard to make things better only to have a few things thrown in your path and send you right back to square one. Just felt like whining.

And it's my blog. So I did.

Can an adult drown in 2 inches of water?

That's what I'm beginning to wonder. I feel like the things that are stressing me out and consuming my brain are like 2 inches of water and that I'm having trouble keeping my head up long enough to really breathe.

By two inches of water I mean that most of my stress is good stress, and even the stuff that's not are things that other people would LOVE to have as "problems". Really, I feel like instead of spending time being all stressed out and thinking about these things, I should be investing more time in actually counting my blessings.

I got an email a couple of years ago that I still remember and wish I had saved. It was something like "Thank you Lord for these dirty dishes because it means that my family has enough to eat." I mean, how true is that?

Here I am stressed out about packing up all of the CRAP (have I mentioned how extensive our collection of crap is??) while someone else could probably fit everything they own in one box and NONE of it is crap to them. In fact, if they had access to my "crap", they'd probably bitch slap me for even calling it that. Add to that, I have a fantastic, supportive hubby and two amazing kids to go through everything with -- and I might get downright beat up for whining.

Yes, there are things in my life that are stressing me out and would likely stress out 90% of the population, but I guess all it took was for me to have a phone call with a friend (who lost her baby boy last summer) and to watch the news last night in order to feel like I have the world on a string.

I need to just get over myself already and simply appreciate all of this stress that I have, as crazy as that sounds.

As I sit here typing, I can't help but feel like I've blogged about this before. It's because I have!