Sweat drips off my ponytail and slides down my back, where it hits the waistband of my shorts and is absorbed. It's barely nine o'clock, and the heat index has already soared to 100 degrees. I run, trudge, really down the greenway searching eagerly for the mile marker. Connor is sleeping and Anna reads. Finally, I see it, just past the bridge. Four miles! I have run four miles!
While it might seem a small accomplishment to someone who just 1 1/2 years ago ran an entire marathon, it is my first four miler since having Connor. And, I did it despite the heat. I step across the line painted onto the trail and raise my hands, "Praise God." Then begins my little celebration. I dance a few steps, while thinking, "I am Mommy; hear me roar!!! I did it; I did it; I'm awesome." I'm so excited that I even call my husband from the trail. "I ran four miles today," I exclaim breathless from my celebratory dance. "That's awesome," he responds, knowing how much that little accomplishment means to me.
Then I see something up ahead that catches my eye. A woman running with a double jogger similar to mine. She is pushing two children about Anna's age, maybe a bit older. AND she has a dog. She is running with two children AND A DOG. I just ran with two children. My golden retriever is home lying under the table on the patio wondering if she could actually dig under the patio for cooler ground. I lower my head and nod sheepishly as she passes, hoping that if she saw the celebration dance that perhaps she thought I had just run 50 miles, not that it really matters what she thinks. "We're not there, yet," I say as she passes, and honestly unless Dell starts running herself probably won't be for a long time. She smiles....Ms. Superfit....and I realize that whenever you pray for a more humble attitude, God answers, sometimes right in the middle of you puffing up your chest and shaking your tailfeathers. And while I believe God celebrates my accomplishment with me, I think there are times I need to be reminded that my ability and accomplishment come from His grace alone:)
Colossians 3:12
So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
A Beachy Perspective
When I was in high school and college coming to the beach meant hours at the track trying to get in a few last minute runs to improve the appearance of my legs. It also meant hundreds of crunches and ounces of cellulite cream. To make matters worse, the walls of the condo my parents rented for our annual beach trip were covered in mirrors. Why anyone would do that I have no idea. I recall catching glimpses of my bikini-clad-self in the endless array of mirrors and immediately stopping to do squats or lunges. Vain and a bit pathetic, I know.
Now, I hit the track for a much different motivation. And, I thank God that he gave someone at Land's End the wisdom and ability to create the Miracle Suit. Available in one piece styles and black! I also thank God that He has brought me to the other side on a battle with body image and self-esteem. My beach preparations and perspective are much different and much happier these days. Instead of worrying about my thighs, I drive my husband and children crazy applying sunscreen to every spot that might even possibly see sun. I worry about undertows and rainy days and rarely give my abs, a little strectched from two pregnancies, a second thought. After all, they are tucked in safe and sound underneath the strategic folds of my miracle swimsuit.
I sit on the beach holding Connor, watching Anna and Travis jump in the surf. Grabbing my camera, I run down to the water's edge to shoot some action photos of my adorable swimmers. A young girl in a black bikini catches my eye. She has the "beach walk" down perfectly, and I notice her cast a quick "do they notice" glance at some young men sitting on the sand. Then she suddenly seems self-conscious, and I notice she isn't smiling nor does she appear carefree. I turn my attention to the hundreds of other women on the beach who are like me. Not quite our ideal weight, wearing one pieces in all the possible shades of black, madly snapping photos of the thousands of cute things our children are doing at that moment. Jumping, splashing, toes in the sand for the first time. And we are all wearing the beach's most imporant accessory: huge, silly, happy grins. And while it's been a long journey for me personally, words cannot describe the elation I feel in that moment of complete freedom from self-consumption and worry about me, my body and how it looks in a swimsuit.
Note: Travis asked Anna what the best part of the beach was today and she replied, "You." Travis asked, "Daddy was the best part of the beach?" Anna responded, "Yes, Daddy. You're the best." Melt my heart!
Now, I hit the track for a much different motivation. And, I thank God that he gave someone at Land's End the wisdom and ability to create the Miracle Suit. Available in one piece styles and black! I also thank God that He has brought me to the other side on a battle with body image and self-esteem. My beach preparations and perspective are much different and much happier these days. Instead of worrying about my thighs, I drive my husband and children crazy applying sunscreen to every spot that might even possibly see sun. I worry about undertows and rainy days and rarely give my abs, a little strectched from two pregnancies, a second thought. After all, they are tucked in safe and sound underneath the strategic folds of my miracle swimsuit.
I sit on the beach holding Connor, watching Anna and Travis jump in the surf. Grabbing my camera, I run down to the water's edge to shoot some action photos of my adorable swimmers. A young girl in a black bikini catches my eye. She has the "beach walk" down perfectly, and I notice her cast a quick "do they notice" glance at some young men sitting on the sand. Then she suddenly seems self-conscious, and I notice she isn't smiling nor does she appear carefree. I turn my attention to the hundreds of other women on the beach who are like me. Not quite our ideal weight, wearing one pieces in all the possible shades of black, madly snapping photos of the thousands of cute things our children are doing at that moment. Jumping, splashing, toes in the sand for the first time. And we are all wearing the beach's most imporant accessory: huge, silly, happy grins. And while it's been a long journey for me personally, words cannot describe the elation I feel in that moment of complete freedom from self-consumption and worry about me, my body and how it looks in a swimsuit.
Note: Travis asked Anna what the best part of the beach was today and she replied, "You." Travis asked, "Daddy was the best part of the beach?" Anna responded, "Yes, Daddy. You're the best." Melt my heart!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Things You Don't Want to Hear While Running
Running. My favorite hobby. Really, it is. I love the feel of the pavement under my feet, the labored breathing, the rush of endorphins after a long run that make you feel like anything is possible. The reality is lately running has become more of a chore than a joy. With the rainy, rainy, rainy weather (did I mention the rain?), working around nap schedules, and just trying to get motivated through a haze of sleep deprivation, running has become something else to check off the list of daily duties. But I'm ready to move beyond that. After stepping on the scale, I am reenergized with a new level of motivation....a high level of motivation. So today, I loaded up the stroller and my two angels and hit the trail, where I discovered that there are several things you'd rather not hear while running, especially when you are trying to find running encouragement, not running discouragement!
1. There is a snake up ahead.
Determined and as I mentioned earlier, motivated, I reach the start of the trail with happy children. I notice an older lady sitting on a park bench, dabbing sweat onto a towel. She makes eye contact, nods, and says, "There's a snake up there. I tried to scare it away, but I don't know." "Okay, thanks." I slowly proceed while thinking, "A snake. A snake?! Is it coming back? How big was the snake? Where was the snake EXACTLY?" I decide to go ahead and run since there are lots of other people, who warned, continue to run and will hear me scream and come to my rescue. My eyes frantically comb the sides of the trail most of the entire run until I hear one disgruntled stroller passenger begin to express his frustration and grow distracted. Fortunately, no snake ever appears.
2. Run, mommy.
"Run, mommy." I hear Anna call as I trudge along. "I am running, sweetheart. Been running for several minutes."
"Then run faster!" she calls. I'm running as fast as I can behind a double jogger holding over 50 lbs. of children, two pounds of snacks, and ten pounds of books. If I were running any faster, passersby would be phoning the paramedics. I shrug and keep my "blistering" pace up for at least two miles, when I hear it. Faint at first, but growing stronger.
3. WAAAAA!
Connor begins to cry. Loudly. I made it to the two mile marker running, unfortunately, it is two miles back to the car. Connor's discontent is now leading to Anna's. Soon both children are whining, crying, and yelling. So, I unstrap Connor from the stroller and into the front carrier and walk, quickly, stopping every few minutes to tell Anna to sit back before she falls out and to pick flowers to add to her stroller floral collection and to gently bounce Connor in an attempt to calm him down. Forty-five minutes later we arrive back at the car. Yea! Four miles- ninety minutes. Must be a new record for my running speed.
Despite the challenges, though, I did it. One more workout. Another challenge. I thank God for giving me the ability to run, the opportunity to run, and tell myself something I do need to hear. "Good effort." I look at my children, who are now content, and smile, hoping they are learning a little something about perseverance from their mommy and her effort to continue a hobby she enjoys so much.
1. There is a snake up ahead.
Determined and as I mentioned earlier, motivated, I reach the start of the trail with happy children. I notice an older lady sitting on a park bench, dabbing sweat onto a towel. She makes eye contact, nods, and says, "There's a snake up there. I tried to scare it away, but I don't know." "Okay, thanks." I slowly proceed while thinking, "A snake. A snake?! Is it coming back? How big was the snake? Where was the snake EXACTLY?" I decide to go ahead and run since there are lots of other people, who warned, continue to run and will hear me scream and come to my rescue. My eyes frantically comb the sides of the trail most of the entire run until I hear one disgruntled stroller passenger begin to express his frustration and grow distracted. Fortunately, no snake ever appears.
2. Run, mommy.
"Run, mommy." I hear Anna call as I trudge along. "I am running, sweetheart. Been running for several minutes."
"Then run faster!" she calls. I'm running as fast as I can behind a double jogger holding over 50 lbs. of children, two pounds of snacks, and ten pounds of books. If I were running any faster, passersby would be phoning the paramedics. I shrug and keep my "blistering" pace up for at least two miles, when I hear it. Faint at first, but growing stronger.
3. WAAAAA!
Connor begins to cry. Loudly. I made it to the two mile marker running, unfortunately, it is two miles back to the car. Connor's discontent is now leading to Anna's. Soon both children are whining, crying, and yelling. So, I unstrap Connor from the stroller and into the front carrier and walk, quickly, stopping every few minutes to tell Anna to sit back before she falls out and to pick flowers to add to her stroller floral collection and to gently bounce Connor in an attempt to calm him down. Forty-five minutes later we arrive back at the car. Yea! Four miles- ninety minutes. Must be a new record for my running speed.
Despite the challenges, though, I did it. One more workout. Another challenge. I thank God for giving me the ability to run, the opportunity to run, and tell myself something I do need to hear. "Good effort." I look at my children, who are now content, and smile, hoping they are learning a little something about perseverance from their mommy and her effort to continue a hobby she enjoys so much.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Ridge Thomas Smith
Welcome my beautiful nephew, Ridge Thomas Smith! 6 lbs. 10 oz. Praise God for a beautiful baby boy. Children truly are a gift from the Lord and such an amazing joy!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
High Expectations
I walk down the stairs to the gym nursery. Anna occupies one hip, while my elbow cradles Connor's carrier, complete with his 20 lbs. I sign big sister and baby in, put Anna's shoes in her bin, and place Connor's carrier on the floor next to another baby, whose mom is chatting with the nursery worker about bottles. The mom and I smile and nod and comment on how cute our little boys look chatting with each other. Our children appear to be about the same age and the same size; the mom and I do not....appear to be the same size.
She looks like she just stopped by the gym for a workout after a quick warm-up of running the New York City marathon. I am wearing, not one, but two bras to hold up the extra nursing weight I am still carrying up top. You can see the faint outline of my soft tummy from beneath the two t-shirts I've chosen to wear to cover up the two bras. I am back in my old running shorts, but the spin shorts I wear underneath will never be seen alone in public. No, running shorts over bike shorts for at least another six months. Wow! is all I can think. How does anyone lose their baby weight that fast?
As a runner, I know I'll eventually be back to pre-baby figure. I did it last time, and quite frankly, I was in no hurry, but since I've joined the gym, I've noticed a disturbing trend. At least it's disturbing to my "holding on to those last ten pounds for dear life" frame. So many moms are strutting back into the gym six weeks after giving birth looking like they never even had a contraction. I see and hear moms talking about how quickly they are getting back into their pre-baby jeans. I can't even find my old jeans. Am I supposed to be back to my old size 6/8 four months into my baby's life? Is this the expectation? Let's see. I'm not a pro athlete, not a supermodel, not a.....what other profession requires women who've just given birth to look like they did the day they found out they were expecting.
I didn't really notice or think about it with Anna. Could it be I didn't really leave the house until Anna was six months old? And even then it was for walks around the park until she turned one year, and I started training for a half-marathon. Now that I've joined the gym, I was feeling pretty good about.....showing up. I didn't realize that women actually manage to show up like they never missed a day. I even worked out during pregnancy, but I've still got ten pounds left. I like to blame them on the fat my body REQUIRES to make breast milk.
The truth is, although I am blogging about it, I'm really not unhappy with my ten pounds. I'm actually quite excited about the progress I've made. This far into Anna's first four months of life I was still in maternity pants some days. I think I'm more sad for the women who feel the pressure to look like Heidi Klum two weeks after birthing a miracle and blessing. I've got the rest of my life to worry about losing ten pounds, if I even want to. I will just find another marathon to train for and watch the weight melt away as I manuever two children (fifty pounds) in a stroller up and down the track. Right now, I'm going to jog around and see if I need to add another bra.
She looks like she just stopped by the gym for a workout after a quick warm-up of running the New York City marathon. I am wearing, not one, but two bras to hold up the extra nursing weight I am still carrying up top. You can see the faint outline of my soft tummy from beneath the two t-shirts I've chosen to wear to cover up the two bras. I am back in my old running shorts, but the spin shorts I wear underneath will never be seen alone in public. No, running shorts over bike shorts for at least another six months. Wow! is all I can think. How does anyone lose their baby weight that fast?
As a runner, I know I'll eventually be back to pre-baby figure. I did it last time, and quite frankly, I was in no hurry, but since I've joined the gym, I've noticed a disturbing trend. At least it's disturbing to my "holding on to those last ten pounds for dear life" frame. So many moms are strutting back into the gym six weeks after giving birth looking like they never even had a contraction. I see and hear moms talking about how quickly they are getting back into their pre-baby jeans. I can't even find my old jeans. Am I supposed to be back to my old size 6/8 four months into my baby's life? Is this the expectation? Let's see. I'm not a pro athlete, not a supermodel, not a.....what other profession requires women who've just given birth to look like they did the day they found out they were expecting.
I didn't really notice or think about it with Anna. Could it be I didn't really leave the house until Anna was six months old? And even then it was for walks around the park until she turned one year, and I started training for a half-marathon. Now that I've joined the gym, I was feeling pretty good about.....showing up. I didn't realize that women actually manage to show up like they never missed a day. I even worked out during pregnancy, but I've still got ten pounds left. I like to blame them on the fat my body REQUIRES to make breast milk.
The truth is, although I am blogging about it, I'm really not unhappy with my ten pounds. I'm actually quite excited about the progress I've made. This far into Anna's first four months of life I was still in maternity pants some days. I think I'm more sad for the women who feel the pressure to look like Heidi Klum two weeks after birthing a miracle and blessing. I've got the rest of my life to worry about losing ten pounds, if I even want to. I will just find another marathon to train for and watch the weight melt away as I manuever two children (fifty pounds) in a stroller up and down the track. Right now, I'm going to jog around and see if I need to add another bra.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
A Walk in the Park
I am walking down the Greenway with a sense of urgency. Anna is in the double-jogger, whining, "I waaant a snack," after just having eaten her snack minutes earlier. Connor is strapped to my chest in his front carrier wailing loud screams of agony. He's just gotten his tears, so his sweet, little face looks even more pitiful than usual with all the tears streaming. Despite the loud yells that not even top walkman volume can drown out, I am calm, smiling at passersby, who I notice are all looking down as if to avoid eye contact. I can't imagine why. Oh, and did I mention that the stroller has a flat tire?
Let's go back to the beginning of the jog that started with such promise.... I arrive at the track with happy children. Anna grabs her new book and Connor snoozes quietly in the stroller. My run seems easy, and I quickly fall into a nice stride, when I notice the jogger seems awfully difficult too push, more difficult than usual. (Understand my three month old son weighs 15 lbs. 6 oz.) I look down to see the right-side tire is almost flat. "Awww man," I moan. I call Travis, who assures me that it will not damage the tire to keep on running, so I continue. Then I hear, "Mommy, I need juice."
"Mommy forgot your juice, and you just had something to drink."
"I need to potty."
Not now, not now. "You just pottied two minutes ago, sweetheart." I really think it is her attempt to go back home, so I keep running. If she asks again, we'll turn around. She doesn't mention it again.
Three miles, I make it three miles, non-stop. Truly a milestone, considering the horrible shape I'm in. Getting back into marathon shape with two is much more difficult than it was with one. But, what a fun challenge it presents. My celebration is cut short, though, when I see Anna leaning over her brother. "Anna, stop that, he's sleeping. Do not wake him up!" Or what, I think. It's too late, though. Connor opens his eyes and in minutes is crying. The crying escalates until we get to the half-mile marker where I unfasten his seatbelt and fasten him into the front carrier that I actually remembered to put into the stroller. I think this is might be a small example of what Paul meant when he wrote about perseverance producing character, etc.
And here is where you found us at the beginning. My desire to get back in my old clothing vs. my sanity. I pick up the pace even more (at least my angels motivate me to push harder at the track), and we finally make it back to the car. I unload cranky kids into the car, where Anna stops whining and Connor stops crying. I wrestle with the stroller and finally bodyslam it into its folding position and hoist it into the car. I can only laugh and remind myself that parenting isn't for the faint of heart.
Side note: My little pumpkin cracks me up. She is learning to sing along with the radio, and it is the cutest thing ever. She's memorized most of the Veggie Tales songs, and when her daddy is listening to the hair band channel on XM. She'll say, "I like this song; turn it up." :)
Let's go back to the beginning of the jog that started with such promise.... I arrive at the track with happy children. Anna grabs her new book and Connor snoozes quietly in the stroller. My run seems easy, and I quickly fall into a nice stride, when I notice the jogger seems awfully difficult too push, more difficult than usual. (Understand my three month old son weighs 15 lbs. 6 oz.) I look down to see the right-side tire is almost flat. "Awww man," I moan. I call Travis, who assures me that it will not damage the tire to keep on running, so I continue. Then I hear, "Mommy, I need juice."
"Mommy forgot your juice, and you just had something to drink."
"I need to potty."
Not now, not now. "You just pottied two minutes ago, sweetheart." I really think it is her attempt to go back home, so I keep running. If she asks again, we'll turn around. She doesn't mention it again.
Three miles, I make it three miles, non-stop. Truly a milestone, considering the horrible shape I'm in. Getting back into marathon shape with two is much more difficult than it was with one. But, what a fun challenge it presents. My celebration is cut short, though, when I see Anna leaning over her brother. "Anna, stop that, he's sleeping. Do not wake him up!" Or what, I think. It's too late, though. Connor opens his eyes and in minutes is crying. The crying escalates until we get to the half-mile marker where I unfasten his seatbelt and fasten him into the front carrier that I actually remembered to put into the stroller. I think this is might be a small example of what Paul meant when he wrote about perseverance producing character, etc.
And here is where you found us at the beginning. My desire to get back in my old clothing vs. my sanity. I pick up the pace even more (at least my angels motivate me to push harder at the track), and we finally make it back to the car. I unload cranky kids into the car, where Anna stops whining and Connor stops crying. I wrestle with the stroller and finally bodyslam it into its folding position and hoist it into the car. I can only laugh and remind myself that parenting isn't for the faint of heart.
Side note: My little pumpkin cracks me up. She is learning to sing along with the radio, and it is the cutest thing ever. She's memorized most of the Veggie Tales songs, and when her daddy is listening to the hair band channel on XM. She'll say, "I like this song; turn it up." :)
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Library Lunacy
I love the library, being surrounded by books, marvelous books. Yes, Bo, your sister is a nerd to the core. I love the feel, the smell, the look of books, opening one for the first time, wondering what story is waiting to be told. My dream is to one day own a quiet little store that sells rare books, located, of course, in a lovely, southern coastal resort town. My husband, I'm sure, would love this retirement plan.
So imagine my surprise when everytime I take my daughter to the library, she absolutely falls apart. What is it about books and story time that causes my angel to suddenly morph into an uncontrollable, oh I don't know....toddler?! Last week, it was spitting at the librarian. The week before she yelled at children who weren't dancing the "bean bag dance" appropriately. We've pushed, shoved, run down the stairs then back up them with mom trying not to drop baby Connor, but today, today was the one time I actually wanted to become a book and hop quietly on the shelf.
Anna walks in, proudly displaying her Wiggles big girl panties for anyone who wanted to see. I, carrying Connor in his 14 1/2 pound glory in his 15 lb. pumpkin seat, stumble in trying to pull Anna's dress down, a complete nervous wreck, wondering if she is going to actually use the potty or her Wiggles undies. Toot jumps in and starts singing, then spots the big yellow bus taped carefully to a table, obviously a prop for story time. While all of the other children sit quietly, my little force runs to the bus, hits it and runs back to me, repeat 100 times. I jump up and down trying to catch her while also trying to keep Connor happy and occupied in his carrier. In the midst of this chaos, I am also sporadically trying to maneuver Anna to the restroom so she doesn't wet in her big girl pants.
First trip to the potty, she freaks out over the tubing from the self-cleaning apparatus.
Second trip: "Let's go to the other bathroom," I suggest. So, Connor and I escort her to the other, smaller, lower potty in the next room. "I not like big potties."
"It's the only one sweetheart. We have to use it."
"NO!" she yells.
"Please," I plead. "Don't use your pants." I am already trying to figure out how to discreetly clean the carpet.
"No big potty!" I take her by the arm and lead her back to story time. She looks up and says, "Mommy, I wet my pants." ARRRRRGH! (in my head, of course).
We walk over to my purse, where I have trusted no one will bother it while I run in circles through the library trying to tame my eldest or take her back and forth to the potty. I grab new underwear and am ready to take Anna back to the potty. I look up to discover that my sweetie has taken off her underwear, lifted her dress, grabbed a diaper, laid down in the floor, and is saying, "Put on a diaper mommy." I am looking for a hole that fits three and wondering why they still allow us into the library.
I quickly put on Anna's diaper with one hand, while holding Connor with the other. Anna calms down. I think a lot of her angst and rowdy behavior was due to nervousness over the whole potty thing, so I give her a big hug and kiss and tell her that I love her so much and am so proud of her for trying to wear big girl pants out and about and tell her to go play with the other kids. The rest of the time runs smoothly until we are on our way to the car, where Anna runs out the entry way to the children's library while I am collecting Connor and books. She manages to get on the elevator, and I manage to stick my foot up to keep the door from closing and hop on with her. That elevator normally takes five minutes to travel from the first to second floors, but not today, no, not today. We leave the library, where I breathe a great sigh of relief and wonder if I should take Anna out for paintball or rock climbing instead. Maybe one day, she'll feel the quiet thrill of a day at the library. And if she doesn't, that's okay, too. I love my girl for her unique, adorable, energetic personality even if it does leave me with wrinkles and gray hair way before my time:) (She is a ton of fun, if you can just keep up with her.)
So imagine my surprise when everytime I take my daughter to the library, she absolutely falls apart. What is it about books and story time that causes my angel to suddenly morph into an uncontrollable, oh I don't know....toddler?! Last week, it was spitting at the librarian. The week before she yelled at children who weren't dancing the "bean bag dance" appropriately. We've pushed, shoved, run down the stairs then back up them with mom trying not to drop baby Connor, but today, today was the one time I actually wanted to become a book and hop quietly on the shelf.
Anna walks in, proudly displaying her Wiggles big girl panties for anyone who wanted to see. I, carrying Connor in his 14 1/2 pound glory in his 15 lb. pumpkin seat, stumble in trying to pull Anna's dress down, a complete nervous wreck, wondering if she is going to actually use the potty or her Wiggles undies. Toot jumps in and starts singing, then spots the big yellow bus taped carefully to a table, obviously a prop for story time. While all of the other children sit quietly, my little force runs to the bus, hits it and runs back to me, repeat 100 times. I jump up and down trying to catch her while also trying to keep Connor happy and occupied in his carrier. In the midst of this chaos, I am also sporadically trying to maneuver Anna to the restroom so she doesn't wet in her big girl pants.
First trip to the potty, she freaks out over the tubing from the self-cleaning apparatus.
Second trip: "Let's go to the other bathroom," I suggest. So, Connor and I escort her to the other, smaller, lower potty in the next room. "I not like big potties."
"It's the only one sweetheart. We have to use it."
"NO!" she yells.
"Please," I plead. "Don't use your pants." I am already trying to figure out how to discreetly clean the carpet.
"No big potty!" I take her by the arm and lead her back to story time. She looks up and says, "Mommy, I wet my pants." ARRRRRGH! (in my head, of course).
We walk over to my purse, where I have trusted no one will bother it while I run in circles through the library trying to tame my eldest or take her back and forth to the potty. I grab new underwear and am ready to take Anna back to the potty. I look up to discover that my sweetie has taken off her underwear, lifted her dress, grabbed a diaper, laid down in the floor, and is saying, "Put on a diaper mommy." I am looking for a hole that fits three and wondering why they still allow us into the library.
I quickly put on Anna's diaper with one hand, while holding Connor with the other. Anna calms down. I think a lot of her angst and rowdy behavior was due to nervousness over the whole potty thing, so I give her a big hug and kiss and tell her that I love her so much and am so proud of her for trying to wear big girl pants out and about and tell her to go play with the other kids. The rest of the time runs smoothly until we are on our way to the car, where Anna runs out the entry way to the children's library while I am collecting Connor and books. She manages to get on the elevator, and I manage to stick my foot up to keep the door from closing and hop on with her. That elevator normally takes five minutes to travel from the first to second floors, but not today, no, not today. We leave the library, where I breathe a great sigh of relief and wonder if I should take Anna out for paintball or rock climbing instead. Maybe one day, she'll feel the quiet thrill of a day at the library. And if she doesn't, that's okay, too. I love my girl for her unique, adorable, energetic personality even if it does leave me with wrinkles and gray hair way before my time:) (She is a ton of fun, if you can just keep up with her.)
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