GRANDS

I am writing this two days after what would have been my "Pretty Paw Paw's" 86th birthday. This is not a memorial or an unspoken eulogy. This is just my way of loving on my grandparents. I was graciously given 5 of them at birth. I lost the first when I was 17. I wear the rings of one I was never lucky enough to meet. They all have stained my heart...

Mamie
I never got to meet my great grandma Mamie. I wear her rings on my left hand every single day.  When I look down at them, I think of her. I hear that she was strong-willed, but effortlessly classy. I also hear that I favor her a bit, and I love that. I miss her, even though I never knew her.

Ernest
The one great grandparent I was blessed with was Ernest. He later added his middle initial and was eternally known as E.F.G. I think I get my humor from this man. If my calculations are correct, he was 73 when I was born. I have seen photos of him staring at me through hospital glass. Everyone says that his was the first name I called out..."PawPaw Uhnest."  I remember going to his little house and playing dress up with his coats and hats. I remember the smell of a hot stove while he was working on canning vegetables. I remember rocking on his porch (on a glider than now belongs to me) and watching cars pass by. I remember him asking me if I'd studied "arithmetic" at school. I remember that red jacket and coat he always wore at Christmas. I remember that little dish of rubber bands you kept in your kitchen that I always played with (your great-great granddaughter now loves to play with that dish). Classy and charismatic until the very end.

Floyd
This one hurts my heart. Sept. 2 would have been his 86th birthday. He died when he was 69. I was 17. It was the hardest thing that I'd ever had to face at the time. My Paw Paw loved to read. He always asked me what I was reading, and even more importantly, what I was writing. He loved reading what I wrote. He loved telling me how much he enjoyed it. He told me that I should write children's books. He literally looked at me and said this. I was a child. I wasn't even thinking of being a teacher at this point. One day I will fulfill his wish. I fully believe he sent me many, many mentors to guide me in that direction.

Maxine
Oh, Margie! She hated that name, by the way, so that is why she was lovingly referred to by her middle name, Maxine, or "Mac." Granny, as I knew her, loved fiercely. If you had a bad haircut, a bad outfit, or (in my case) a bad husband, she was telling you about it in the most loving way she could muster. During my divorce I felt awful. I felt like everyone in the world was judging me. My precious granny saw me through it. She got me. She stood by me. And after about 2 years she said, "Do you really want to be an old maid school teacher?" I promise you people, I met Bradley not 2 days later. And can I just tell you...Maxine LOVED her children and her grands, but she LOVE, LOVE, LOVED the ones we picked to marry (Kevin, Randy, Sheri, Eddy, Bo). So this woman ADORED Bradley. She called him "Luckey." She told me I was lucky to have him. My last memories are of B coming home and asking if we could go take Granny to eat at LaHa.

Emma was born on 2/4/15. Granny died on 3/27/15. She had a month. My granny got to hold that baby and tell her how much she looked like that "handsome Luckey." My girl got to sit in the bed with her Great Granny at Hospice House a month later and give her some of the last memories she had. I will savor those moments for the rest of my life. I will miss that woman for the rest of my days. I think about her every day. God's promises are real. This was her favorite verse:

"But be very careful to keep the commandment and the law that Moses the servant of the Lord gave you: to love the Lord your God, to walk in obedience to him, to keep his commands, to hold fast to him and to serve him with all your heart and with all your soul."
Joshua 22:5

Betty
Y'all. She is 86. She takes swim classes. She manages a business. She is the matriarch of our family. She loves Doo Wap music. She plays the piano. She could straight up school you on anything about the Bible. She's my grandma. She is Emma's great-grandma. And honestly, she is the coolest 'old chick' you will ever meet. My grandma raised 3 boys, so when I came around I think she just kind of had a bit of a FREAK OUT! and we've been joined at the hip ever since. She calls me Mandy Jo. She takes me on shopping trips (still!) But most of all, she ADORES my little girl and they play the piano together every Wednesday.  Seeing these two together every week is music to my soul. They just get each other. 

Fred
I am going to be completely honest. Out of all of these 5, I am the most like him. Take us or leave us. Good AND bad. If you know Fred, you know what I mean. I am fairly certain that when I was born, this man's world changed forever. He'd raised 3 sons and now he had a granddaughter. Out of every person in my life, this man has always made me feel like I was the Princess. I didn't deserve it, but he gave it to me. And if that weren't enough, I was dad's princess too. But now, I have this girl. We visit Fred every Wednesday without fail. He looks at her with the most sincere eyes. He prays that the days will come when she wants to spend the night with them (and they most certainly will). He wishes that she smiles with reason and laughs with hope. 

***

If I had known how wonderful it would be to have grandchildren, I’d have had them first. ~Lois Wyse

The One About Friendship...

A few weeks ago, as we were leaving the nursery at church, a sweet little girl we know said, "Bye, Emma." It seems silly, but this made me all kinds of emotional.  Emma had her first friend.  It made me so excited to think about my daughter making new friends as she grows from a baby to a little girl.  I've been thinking a lot about my friends, past and present, and how they've helped me become the person, and in some cases, the mother that I am today.

It's so true that friends come and go throughout our lives, but I like to think that the ones who mattered most (at whatever stage in life) leave us with footprints, stamps, bad tattoos, scars (literally), old t-shirts, and many, many memories.  It is my prayer that my sweet little girl will be as fortunate as I have been in the friendship department.  I hope and pray everyday that she will meet the friends that bring out her fun side, the ones that hold her accountable, and the ones that God planned for her since the beginning of time.

Below is a list of all of the types of friends that I've had, and the types of friends that I hope and pray my girl meets along her journey through life. I've attempted to write it as a letter, of sorts, to my daughter, in hopes that she will one day relate to the friendships that I've had.  I hope that one day she'll know the love of the types of friends, and that she will know how much these very friends of mine love her.

In an effort to not straight up call them out by name, I've dubbed each of them with a nickname.  Since this one is about friendship, I've also given them nicknames modeled after one of my favorite shows.  (Friends fans will get it.)  I hope you each know who you are and how dear you are to me.

1.  The One You Were "Born" With: I heard a quote once about cousins.  It was something along the lines of them being our first best friends.  How true this is.  Whether your cousin/best friend is older or younger, being born in the same family at around the same time makes you instant best friends for life.  This is the best friend who knows exactly how weird your family is, because they are a part of it.  They were there to hear about your first day of school, your first kiss, your graduation, your wedding, and everything in between.  Maybe you don't get to see them as often as you'd like, but nothing changes the bond that you have with your first best friend.

2. The One Who Is Your "OLDEST" Friend: I should clarify.  This friend is probably not your oldest friend, but she's the one you've known the longest.  You journeyed through the ups and downs of junior and senior high school together.  You might have even went to college together, which was where the real fun started.  She could be the complete opposite of who you are, but that could also be what has drawn you to one another for over 20 years of friendship.  She keeps you up-to-date on fashion trends, she signs you up for 5K's that you don't want to do, makes you wear ridiculous shoes at her wedding (you were probably even there the night she met her future husband), but she would give you the shirt off of her back if you needed it.  She came back home after college, like you did, and you've enjoyed watching each other grow into adulthood.

3.  The One Who God Knew You Needed: You probably call this person your "soul mate." You probably met her at a time when your paths were destined to cross.  You probably had no idea how alike you were, or how different.  You probably had no idea the things you would go through, together and personally.  You probably had no idea that this person would pull you from the deepest, darkest times in your life, simply by being there.  You probably hope you did this for her too, when she needed it.  When you look back on the course of your friendship, you will know that God put her straight in your path, and you in hers.  And your life has been so much better because of that.

4. The One Who Is Your Person: Although you likely met her well into adulthood, you still know how to have a good time together.  She's seen you through your career, the end of relationships and the beginning of new ones, and most importantly, she's been alongside you through the journey into motherhood.  She's seen you at your absolute worst, but she always reminds you of when you've been your best.  She holds you accountable.  She knows what you're thinking.  She knows what you'll say before you even say it.  You can pass a look (maybe at a staff meeting) and she knows exactly what you're saying. She is your rock.  She is a forever friend.  Hold onto her.

5. The One Who Married Your Sibling: God bless this girl (or guy, if you don't have any brothers). This person became possessed married your sibling.  She fits into your family like she was always supposed to be there.  She loves your children.  She helped make you an aunt for the first time. She doesn't get grossed out when your dad does weird stuff.  She goes on shopping trips with you.  She supports and encourages you.  But most importantly, this person is the one your sibling chose to do life with, and you love them simply because your brother or sister loves them.

6.  The One Who Knows What It's Like To Live With Your Husband:  This friend knows what it's like to live with your husband, because she suffered through it did it as a child. You were probably worried the first time you met her, but ever since then, friendship with her has been easy.  Hopefully, you have more in common with her than you ever imagined.  Hopefully she appreciates you and treats you like you were always supposed to be a part of her family.  She will love your children like they are her own.  She will not be afraid to tell your husband like it is.  She will be a part of your theme wedding without question. She will go on wine-tasting trips with you.  She'll be someone that you would have probably been friends with, even if you didn't marry her brother.

7.  The One Who Is Your Mama: Dear girl, I know what is in store for us.  One day you will be a teenager and you will think that I am the biggest idiot to ever live.  I know this, because this is how I felt about your Nana from about 1996-2001 (give or take a few years). I know that we will have our issues and our differences, but I will never, ever think you are anything but amazing.  I hope and pray that one day you will think of me like I think of your Nana.  She's gone from being the person I thought  understood me least of anyone to the person I trust with my most deepest wishes, dreams, secrets and prayers.  I know that your Nana is the one I can turn to with anything.  She will listen with love instead of judgment.  She will give advice when she thinks it's best, but sometimes she will just listen, and that will be all I need.  I pray every single day that I will one day share this friendship with you.

8.  The One You Are Married To: Out of all of these types of friends, this one is the most important.  I hope that you meet this man at a point in your life when you're ready for the depths that this friendship will go to.  I hope that you begin a friendship first, which you may very quickly realize is so much more.  I hope and pray that he will treat you like the gift from God that you are.  I hope that he keeps you grounded and holds you accountable.  I hope that he confides in you about everything.  I hope that he is the best friend you've ever had, because that is the way it should be.  Last of all, I hope for your sake, and especially his, that your daddy likes him.  A lot.

Friendship is one of the most important parts of my life.  I could write paragraphs for so many more friends that have blessed my life.  Friends shape our lives at every stage.  Sometimes it takes looking back on life to realize that, but it happens all the same.  I am so thankful that I have these friendships. I can't wait for my sweet girl to know the joy of a best friend.

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 (NIV)

Evergreen...Eventually

**Yesterday my dearest friend Kelly asked me if I had been blogging lately.  I told her no, because I hadn't had anything to inspire a blog lately.  Her reply was, "Umm.  That's odd." What can I say? The girl knows me.  I told her that I guessed I would just wait until the s@!# hit the fan before I wrote another blog.  Well folks, the s$#@ has indeed hit the van. So, without further delay, this one is for you Kelly!**

Several months ago, Bradley and I decided that we were ready for a new home.  We first debated on the build/buy issue.  After lots of thoughtful consideration, we decided that we would buy now, have more babies, save more money, end poverty, save the world, adopt homeless animals, find a house plan that we could agree on, and then we would build our forever dream house.  Honestly, I just wasn't sure that our marriage could stand the true test that is building a home together.  Then again, maybe I just wasn't sure Bradley would survive.

I was happy that we decided to buy.  Choosing floor plans and light fixtures and toilet seats (oh my!) is just not my jam.  Through a Luckey family friend, we met our absolutely incredible realtor.  (If you'd like his name, I will happily share it, but I think I'll leave him out of my rant...er, blog.)  This poor man had his work cut out for him from Day 1.  To say that my husband is high maintenance when it comes to certain things would not do it justice.  Buying a house, as it turns out, really brings out the diva in Mr. Luckey.  He was constantly on the phone with our realtor or sending emails with lists of multiple houses that we'd like to see ASAP.  This man took us to at least 20 houses over the course of a few short weeks.  Like two weeks, poor guy.  He made our schedule work, he dealt with our never-ending tardiness and he even held Emma when we had to take her along to see houses.

We had all but given up hope.  I would love a house that Bradley would hate, and vice versa.  It just wasn't working out.  We had decided that we would continue living in The Shack at Beard Avenue, which is what I decided to start calling it, and we would go back to the search for a house plan so that we could build.  I like to think that I possess quite a few highly-favored virtues, but patience has never been one of them.  The thought of searching for a house plan and then getting bids from builders and then waiting for the house to be built was just not appealing to me at all.  

Obviously, my God knows that I am not a patient woman.  Just when we'd given up hope, someone posted a link on Facebook to a home for sale in Trinity.  There was even a video tour.  I looked at it several times.  It was old.  Like, really old.  But it was charming.  It had land.  It was in the school district that we wanted to be in.  Reluctantly, I showed the listing to Bradley.  He didn't hate it either.  Quite the contrary, he loved it.  He was ready to make an offer before even seeing the house.  We called our realtor right away and made an appointment to see the house on Saturday.  As I've come to find out now, we almost didn't get to see the house because there were so many showings already scheduled.

Another virtue that I am not necessarily ready to write a book on is optimism.  My proverbial glass is perpetually half-empty. In two days time, I allowed myself to list all of the negatives about this house before I even laid eyes on it.  It was old.  It wasn't brick.  It was old.  It would be a money pit. It was old.  It was too far from civilization.  It was old.  You get the idea.  I had my mind made up that I was going to hate this house.  Bradley was already in love with it.  This was going to be bad.

Saturday arrived.  We saw the house.  I really saw the house. I didn't see it for everything that it was, but everything that it could be....would be, if we made it our home.  So we did.  We made an offer that night, and by Monday morning we were officially under contract.  We closed on March 31st and were officially the proud owners of the Farmhouse at Evergreen and The Shack at Beard Avenue.

We, meaning Bradley, immediately left the closing attorney's office and went to start pulling up carpet.  We found beautiful heart pine floors underneath dirty carpet.  Thank you, Jesus! The day we closed, our "floor guy" came and started his initial estimate of repairs/replacements of the flooring.  He gave us an estimate, we paid a deposit, replacement floor was ordered and life at Evergreen seemed imminent.  We hired a painter to paint over the rainbow of colors in the Evergreen house.  Y'all  know I love rainbows, but this house needed to be painted.  She started and finished in a week and half.  It looks like a new house, beautifully painted in perfect colors just waiting for a family to get there and love it....

Which (finally) leads me to the s*!@ hitting the fan.  Apparently, flooring doesn't just manifest itself when needed.  There are steps.  Seeking out the right wood, sending it to be milled, delivering said milled wood, and then allowing it to sit in the home for 3 weeks to, get this....acclimate to the environment.  If there were a pile of wood sitting on the floor at our new home, I wouldn't be writing this blog.  We are nearing the 2 month mark since closing and there is no pile of wood at my house.  We have been assured it will be there Monday.  We shall see.

One of the (virtues?) I do happen to possess is eagerness.  Maybe over-eagerness? Once we went under contract, I started packing.  I packed up things that I knew we wouldn't need.  (We have had to open approximately 12 boxes to retrieve things that I knew we wouldn't need).  The Shack at Beard Avenue is tiny for 3 people.  Add boxes everywhere and two useless dogs and things get hectic.  Needless to say, my over-eagerness has caused a lot of overstressed people in our house to be thrusted to their wits end.

I whine about all of these things to get to my point.  We will have our house at Evergreen...eventually.  It will be everything we dreamed of and more...eventually.  We will sell The Shack at Beard Avenue...eventually.  Eventually, this little house that was Emma's first home will be someone else's.  Eventually, these boxes will be unpacked, a house will be made a home, and we will find new things to stress about, because that's what we do.  Eventually, we will be making new memories and forget all about the time in between; the dot, dot, dots... (The ... is actually called an ellipsis, which I have had to explain to my husband/blog editor multiple times.)

When my stress seems like it will boil over at any moment, I promise to read this blog and remind myself that God is our provision at all times.  He provides us with a home to keep us safe through our dot, dot, dots. He provides us with family to love us through our dot, dot, dots.  He provides us with sunshine and Nana's swimming pool to survive our dot, dot, dots.  He provides us with promise of something that we never dreamed of, but something that He knew all along.  He is the start.  He is the finish.  He is everything that doesn't need to be said.  He is our dot, dot, dots.

"The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride." Ecclesiastes 7:8

This is CAT. She came with the house :)


Thanks for this, my sweet Kelly!

You "Don't" Say.... (Part 1)

Bradley and I are approaching our 2nd wedding anniversary. We assume that most couples two years in have not had the opportunity to experience all of the life changes we have (i.e.  starting a business, getting married, having a baby, leaving a career, buying a house).  Tackling all of these things within our first two years of marriage has been no easy feat.

These are all things that this man I love, this man that God planned for me, this incredibly giving and generous man, has opened his mouth and said to me over the last 2 years. We actually wrote this blog together...sort of. He gave me "the list" and I provided the commentary. I love him more every single day.  I can't imagine my life without him.  And I hope he has learned as much in these last 2 years as I have. I will be in big trouble if he ever decides to write a blog...

1. "Are you mad at me?"

This is Bradley's favorite. Clearly the man is wise to my ways, because he can tell when I am even the slightest bit miffed. Well, now that you mentioned it sweetheart, yes, I am mad at you. Why on earth would you ever say this to a woman? Of course I am mad at you. Give me a minute and I will tell you why...

If you just assume that I am always mad at you for something, you may find yourself on the fun side of "making up" more often (wink, wink). 

2. "Can you sew up my pants?"

Bradley's job takes him outside a lot. He has several pair of "field pants" that have special legs that keep him from getting scratched by plants, bitten by bugs, and swallowed by quicksand, I imagine. His cheapness, however, prevents him from replacing these pants when they need  to be replaced. You have obviously lost your dang mind if you ask this one. Sure dear. In between serving dinner, cleaning up from dinner, feeding the dogs, cleaning up the dog pee, changing the diapers and washing your disgusting clothes, I would be more than happy to {watch a Martha Stewart YouTube video and} sew your pants. 

3.  "I understand."

Excuse me while I freaking LOL.  In no way will you ever even have the slightest clue, inkling or idea. You most definitely do not understand. Until you grow ovaries, breastfeed an infant, or have to shave your legs (in the summer), you will never understand. 

4. "I am so tired/exhausted/worn out." 

Oh really? So then you aren't the one who began snoring at 8 pm? Did you get up with the baby at 11pm, 12am, 1am (you get the idea)? Did you have to get up at 4am because your boobs hurt so bad and literally connect yourself to a machine that squeezes milk from your body?  Please.

5.  "You need to ______."

You obviously have a death wish if you utter these words. Let me tell you what I need to do. I need to sleep, pee, poop, eat, and shower. Just know that whatever you think I need to do will likely never happen if you say it out loud. 

6. "It's freezing in here."

I'm so sorry you are cold. Let me go adjust the thermostat to the 8th-level-of-purgatory hotness that would make you comfortable. Never mind that I have to sleep with a nursing bra on, spend half of the night with a child wrapped around me, and lay next to your body, which, while I love, tends to send out heat rays that would challenge the fires of hell. 

7.  "Your hormones are all out of whack."

Can you even tell me which part of my body these hormones generate from? That's what I thought. I welcome you to spend 9 months growing a child, eating for two, making dozens of visits to the doctor, and creating a "birth plan," only to have 1 minutes notice before you are put to sleep, your body is cut open, and a human being is taken out and almost immediately attached to your breast. Then we can talk about my hormones. 

***Before anyone gets bent out of shape over any of this, I have to tell you that Bradley is truly my best and most devoted  friend. I would never say anything that would hurt him, so I let him read all of my blogs before I publish them. This one was actually his idea, because we can look back on our experience as newlyweds and first time parents and we can laugh about it. We can cry too, but mostly we can laugh. These past 2 years have taught us so much about ourselves, our marriage, and our faith in God's plan over our plans. There is no one on earth that I would rather spend this life with, no one I would rather parent with, and no one I would rather tell to think before he speaks. 

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech, but with actions and in truth."  1 John 3:18

Thou Shalt Only Serve Cous Cous on Bath Night (and other toddler commandments)

The following is a list of things that Bradley and I have learned the hard way. Here is hoping that you don't have to. 

1.  Thou shalt only serve cous cous on bath night. I can't lie. Watching my child learn to feed herself is absolutely horrifying. It's messy. It's disgusting. It will require a bath every night, which could lead to dry skin, which will require some good lotion. 

1a. Thou shalt purchase a drop cloth/drip pan/tarp for meals. We own a piece of plastic specifically designed for placement under a high chair. It is bigger in diameter than one of the tires on my dad's backhoe. It's not big enough.

2.   Thou shalt welcome small insects into your home. Toddlers eat everywhere. My kid is a grazer. She will have some breakfast in the high chair, but then she likes to go mobile with her second breakfast. Clearly she isn't Emily Post when it comes to table manners, so we've got crumbs. And we have ants. Lots. Of. Ants. I hate ants. 

2a. Thou shalt always have a friend who studies the "hoo-doo voodoo." My best friend Stacy likes the essential oils. She's convinced me I need them. I've bought them. Lots of them. Then I just wait on her to tell me what to do with them. (Lots of ants were murdered before the creation of this blog.)

3.  Thou shalt never, ever attempt moving with a toddler. We bought a new house. It's an old-new house, so we've got to make some updates before we move in. We (meaning I) are attempting to pack up the current home. Below are photos of our living room right now and the way I manage to pack during the day, respectively. 

4. The mama shalt always, always put on the bedtime diaper. We buy the hippie-dippie-doo diapers because they are supposed to hold the contents more...securely? Honestly, they work, but only if they are put on properly. This means placing it significantly above the bellybutton. My husband cannot do this. He knows it. He will bathe the child, lotion her up and then call me for diaper placement. This avoids pee leakage, or worse. 

5. Thou shalt not be "Judgey McJudgerson." I've judged you. If you are a mother now or even if you were a mother before I was, I've judged you and I am sorry. We are mothers. Regardless of how we birthed, adopted or came to have our children, we are mothers. Instead of judging one another, lets lift one another up. (And if you need to pay me back for the judging...my kid ate her breakfast off the floor this morning)

5a. Thou shalt DVR every episode of "DocDaniel's & McMickey's Neighborhood Lion Pirate Guard Clubhouse" episode that you can. I told you that I judged you. I was that parent who was never going to turn on the tv for her toddler. Fourteen months later, I am also that parent who needs to take a dang shower. So, record on mamas, record on. 

6. Upon learning you will be parenting the fairer sex, thou shalt choose an appropriate name for her lady parts. This is actually a conversation we had before Emma was born. I thought we had decided to call "it" her "TT" unless we were talking to the doctor. We decided that, until she's older, we didn't want to use anatomically correct words. My husband did great with this for the first month. He now refers to "it" as her "hooter." Bless.

6a. Thou shalt cut one another a little slack every now and then. Raising a kid is hard. It's fun, it's serious, but it is freaking hard. Go at it as a team and you'll be more likely to stay sane. Laugh when you can, even when it is totally inappropriate. Remember to purposely make each other laugh. (Like when your husband is traveling and gets to finish a little early and sends you videos of a cute little mountain town he's in...)

**People always tell you that time flies when your children are small.  I don't think you can believe it until you've lived it. It does pass by so very quickly. My encouragement to you is to embrace the chaos. I have never been a neat freak, a health nut, or a perfect spouse. Toddlerhood is definitely not a time to start becoming any of those things.  It's a time to learn who you are as a parent, to learn how much mess you can tolerate, and to soak up every messy memory you can. 

"Rear Window" Romance

Disclaimer: Bradley reads all of my blogs before I post them.  He didn't like this title. He thought it should be "An Ode to Bradley and Dirty Panties."  He lost that battle. 

I didn't  plan this blog. The material for this one literally arrived on my doorstep a few days ago. 

I order a lot of stuff from Zulily. It's mostly stuff for EF, but recently I've been shopping for things for the new house. A while back I ordered some new drinking glasses and a few cute canister jars. We got a Zulily box on Monday. I assumed I knew what was inside so I didn't open it right away. 

Zoom to Tuesday afternoon. Emma is napping and I decide to pack some things. I open the Zulily box, intending to find my glasses and canisters. They were there, but so were these....

I have "censored" this photo...because gross. Oh wait...

...the "rear windows."

So, I immediately email Zulily to make sure I wasn't charged.  I wasn't. They apologize. And I don't have to worry about sending these back, I can just donate them to my favorite local charity.  These went in the trash.  You're welcome "local charities."

Bradley and I got a good laugh out of this. We needed a good laugh. But then I started wondering, "Is this romance today?" I'm going to be honest...even if/when I had the parts to appropriately fill out these "undergarments," I wouldn't have.  But when these came, I imagined my one-year-later-and-still-post-baby-body self attempting to strap these on. Nothing about that was romantic.  Nothing about that was sexy. 

I did not fall for my husband because of his ability to make grand, romantic gestures. He was romantic in his own way, but not overly so in that make-me-barf kind of way. 

Don't get me wrong. I love a good romance, but probably not the kind you'd think. Anything Nicholas Sparks is a little over-the-top for me (sorry my sweet Katie). I am more of a Breakfast at Tiffany's romantic. I do love a good fairy tale, but I learned a long time ago that waiting for Prince Charming to show up could take a while (30ish years) and Frogs and Beasts are everywhere you turn. 

Anyway, my Bradley was his own kind of romantic. Whatever it was that he had...er, has, it worked. We fell head over heels.  A year later we were engaged. A year after that we were married. Then about 10 months after that, we got our sweet Emma Faye. 

I doubt I am the only woman to realize that romance undergoes a serious transformation post-baby. Weekends away turn in to trips to the circus, the park, or the grandparents houses. Date nights are few, far-between and they end at 8:00. Nights away from the baby are agonizing, because you still wake up, wondering why the baby isn't waking you up. 

Bradley and I have settled in to our new romance.  It's not that Nicholas Sparks crap, but it's real, honest, "rub my swollen feet" romance. It's the 5:00 p.m., life-saving text message that says he will bring home dinner. It's the, "Hey, let's go fishing Friday night" date. 

So, to those girls who think that the "Crotchless-with-rear-Windows" romance is what you should strive for, I challenge you to wait it out. Wait for your "prince" who takes you for Thai food and a baseball game. Wait for the guy who makes fun of your love for Harry Potter, but still participates in your yearly movie marathon. Maybe he won't literally sweep you off your feet, but  he will always keep you grounded.  Maybe he won't take your breath away all the time, but he will remind you to breathe. Maybe he won't be your knight in shining armor, but he will be your best friend and fiercest supporter (in an old tshirt). Maybe he won't be Prince Charming, but he will be the love of your life. So wait for him.

One more photo:  Zulily Packing List (with JUST glasses and canisters) 

My sister-in-law noted my "excellent taste" when I told her about this debacle. 

"The" Birthday Party

You'll notice that I am nearly 2 months behind in posting the dreaded birthday blog. That is because I have yet to recover from the party. 

Do you remember your first birthday party? Good. I don't either. I do know (because of video evidence) that I fell out of my high chair while eating cake. After planning, throwing and surviving the 1st birthday of my own child, I now firmly believe I threw myself out of that high chair in an attempt to avoid birthday parties, mine and those of others, for the rest of my life. 

The earliest real birthday party memory I have is of my 8th birthday. Mom and dad splurged for "Happy the Clown" and a Muppet Babies cake. This was 1991 y'all. "Happy" was from Hillsville proper. She made balloon hats and pulled a bunny from a hat. It was the best birthday ever. 

Now, in 2016, I would venture to say that an 8-year-old girl would not be satisfied with Hillsville Happy and a Kermit cake.

A Cinderella-esque ball and a 3-tiered, diamond encrusted cake? Maybe. 

I never intended for "the birthday party" to be more than cake, ice cream and possibly a few balloons...with helium!  I didn't even start planning "the birthday party" until January. 

Several Pinterest searches later and "the birthday party" had turned into "THE" birthday party. It was a full-fledged production, complete with (yes) a 2-tiered cake, a photo booth, rainbow pretzels, rainbow cake pops, a sand art table, and about 2735 man hours of hard labor. 

We invited all of our nearest and dearest. They came clad with presents that we are still finding places for.  They took photos in the rainbow photo booth. They ate rainbow cake and took home rainbow cake pops. They oohed and aahed at the color of it all, probably silently thinking to themselves, "How in the world did she talk Bradley into paying for a rainbow party?" (The same way I talked him into a rainbow wedding, a rainbow nursery, and a year's worth of rainbow baby pictures. You can sign up for my "charm" seminar in a future blog..)

 But ya know what...they came. 

Our girl will never, ever remember that day. She won't remember the rainbows, the presents, or the cake. She won't remember how tired she was and how mommy had to open most of the presents. She won't even remember who was there. 

She will know what a special day it was because she will continue to be surrounded by these people who showed up to celebrate the first year of her life. She will know, because they will be there to celebrate her every birthday, accomplishment and celebration. They will also be there to lift her up in times that aren't celebratory, but maybe difficult and challenging. These people are her village. Our village. 

I am two months and a lifetime late to say thank you. It truly takes a village to raise a child. Our cup, and our village, most definitely runneth over. 

"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22:6

The (!@#$%) Grocery Store

I decided to make this an interactive blog post, so you're welcome to add your own expletive depending on your level of hatred for the grocery store.  On a scale of 1 to we-are-growing-all-of-our-own-food-so-we-never-have-to-shop-again, I'm ready to start planting!

Before I get to our trip today, I need to take you back to the weekend.  My darling husband bought me an awesome juicer.  To "motivate" his purchase, I told him about all the cool baby stuff I could do with it (homemade fruit snacks...hello!)  and the totally-worth-it juice diet I want to start (at a future date, of course).  Honestly, I was more excited about seeing the juice you could get out of lettuce...seriously? He bought said juicer and it arrived yesterday in all of it's juicy glory.  (Note of warning: Amazon Prime is spawn of the devil.  Get a huge juicer on your doorstep in 2 days...yes, please!  If anyone has heard of an AP rehab program please let me know.)

Jump to present day.  Em and I have been going stir crazy and we were ready to bust out of the house today. Our plan was to go have lunch with Bradley, then head to the Fancy, Hippy-Dippy-Doo Grocery Store.  We don't shop there all the time, but there are a few things we like to get there and today seemed the perfect day to go.  Plus, Dr. Oz and mom blogs galore (legit sources, right?)highly recommend buying organic, so why not spend twice as much on things for my daughter to throw at me during dinner?

The first mistake I made was calling my mother.  We typically talk every day and just check-in.  We're chatting and she says she's meeting her sisters for lunch and then babysitting my nephews so my sister-in-law can go to the grocery store.  I tell her we're going grocery shopping too, but I can't imagine having to shop with 2 littles like Aryn would have to.  I then proceed to brag about how WELL-BEHAVED my (almost) toddler is in the grocery store. 

Before we left for the Fancy Store, I was texting my other sister-in-law about my new juicer.  She tells me I HAVE to get my juicing produce from Aldi.  So, we add Aldi to our list of places to go.  Turns out, she was right, which she usually is.  Plus, she's BOSSy.

5 bags of "juicy" produce - $40 at Aldi

We have a great lunch with Bradley and everything at Aldi goes great.  We move on to the Fancy Store.  My best guess is that about 4 feet into the store my daughter lost her mind.  She was OVER being in the buggy!  We make it through produce and meat and then we get to the baby aisle.  She helps me pick out some pouches (because this mama gave up on making baby food after about a month of her not eating it). Because I will not open the pouch and let her eat it, she screams at the top of her lungs for the next 8 aisles, so I carry her (I know. I'm weak) the rest of the trip.

 

By the grace of God, we make it to checkout.  This is where, believe it or not, things get really hairy.  I am promptly shamed by the bag fellow because I didn't bring my own bags.  We may shop at the Hippy-Dippy-Doo store from time to time, but our level of Hippy-Dippy-Doo-ness is not to the point of bringing our own paper packaging to the grocery store. The poor old lady checking me out sees my screaming child and, graciously, comes over to help me put groceries on the conveyor thing. She even tells me how beautiful she is, bless her heart. 

At this point, a very old couple has gotten behind us in line.  They are making sweet faces at Em and cooing at her, like old folks do. Right on cue, my wallet falls and out spills anywhere from $10-$15 one dollar bills. Now, I know that these bills are leftover hands from a family game night of Left, Right, Center.  The elderly couple behind me, the judging bag boy and the checkout lady, however, do not know this.  By their looks, I know they assume I do my day work as a stay-at-home mother and moonlight as an exotic dancer. Bless. I bend over, child in arms, to pick up my dollar bills.  The (now known as sweet) bag boy asks if I need help out, which I readily accept.  He packs my car.  We leave.

3 bags from "Fancy" - about $3,000

Mom Brain

A few days ago I ran out of the lotion I keep on the bathroom counter.  I grabbed a new bottle off of the shelf to be prepared for the next day.  The next day arrived, I showered and applied lotion, all the while thinking to myself, "Wow, this stuff takes forever to rub in." I repeated the process for the next several days until one morning when I discovered that my new lotion was, in fact, body wash.

I call this "mom brain."  However, I think mine has been slowly slipping for a while and motherhood just gave it that extra nudge it needed to slip into oblivion. (Previously referred to as; college brain, love-sick brain, teacher brain, pregnancy brain)

This mom brain phenomenon is not news to me.  I knew it was coming.  I had been told it was coming. I felt safe from it's grasp until the day Bradley brought me my car keys that he'd found in the refrigerator.

I love being a mother.  I love my daughter more than I could ever explain to you with words.  But WHY does this child want my brain? And when does she plan on returning it?  I can tell you every detail of her birth story, every mark on her body, recall every doctor visit and tell you when she crawled, laughed and peed on her daddy for the first time. For the life of me, however, I cannot tell you the last time I went to the bathroom by myself, where my wallet is right now or what I ate for breakfast yesterday.

I can tell you the song that every toy plays, where the sippy cup is currently located and the "healthy" color and consistency of a toddler's poop.  But if you want to know what's happening in the world, what day it is, or the popular new song on the radio, you'll have to visit another blog.

When my brain functioned normally, I could do math, enjoy science, and concentrate while reading.  I was even allowed to teach young children how to do those things.  Today, math consists of calculating how much sleep I will get if I go to bed RIGHT NOW.  Science is texting my science-y husband to ask what blah blah phosphate-oxide-odium is because I saw on a mom blog that it's bad and, OMG, we have to inspect EVERY food label in the house now.  Reading is of books made from cardboard because my kid eats everything she touches.

The mom brain struggle is real. So is the love I have for this brain-stealing little girl, and I will let her steal my brain every day as long as she keeps calling me 'mama.'

Welcome

Welcome to my blog, or as I fondly call it, my "Emma-is-sleeping-and-I-don't-want-to-clean" project.  I have never fancied myself a writer.  I used to love writing. I was that kid - the one who got absolutely lost in the words of my stories. Then I was that girl who craved writing assignments for the simple fact that outlines gave my OCD all kinds of warm and fuzzies.  I was the student who needed to express myself on paper, because I wasn't comfortable doing it out loud.

When I began my teaching career, "Writer's Workshop" was the best part of my day. I wanted to infect my students with the same writing bug that I'd caught so many years before.  There aren't many things more exciting than hearing a 5-year-old read their latest masterpiece.  There was a place for poetry, prose, researching for nonfiction writing, and for fashioning a story modeled after the style of your favorite author.  For a short while it worked beautifully.

The pendulum of public education swung (as it usually does) and writing for the love of writing was put on the backburner, and eventually removed from the stove completely. {Disclaimer: I am a strong advocate for public education.  I survived and flourished through public education.  This is not a post to bash teachers, administrators, or any of the like.} Writing became something that even kindergartners loathed, and they're 5 --- they love everything! 

I recently discovered that at least one school in a local district has no built-in writing time in the daily schedule for K-5 students.  Children are invited to stay after school for a Writing Club, if their parents have the means to arrange for pick-up.  Sad times.

So...in an effort to "maintain a vigorous writerly life," (see my inspiration here) I have decided to start this blog. My hope is that you'll choose to read it and, if nothing else, I'll help you enjoy a laugh that day.  Honestly though, this is mostly a space for me to return to that little girl who loved nothing more than a pack of fresh pencils and a new journal...even if it's just for nap time.

"Be courageous and try to write in a way that scares you a little." ~ Holley Gerth