It's A Boy!!!!

Please join T, A and me in welcoming C to the family! He weighed 8 lbs. Thanks to all who have sent well-wishes and prayers. We just want to thank and praise God for this special miracle and addition to our family!

Potty Mouth

Potty Training. Who knew it would be more challenging than nursing, sleepless nights, whining.....I can go on. We were moving along just fine until my belly started to grow and now that the bump is larger than my firstborn, the no's have become even more adamant. My daughter is still in the refusal stage, but it seems we're moving to a new stage, the excuse stage. Perhaps she is trying to spare mom's feelings by stopping complete refusal and trying to reason with mommy as to why the potty just can't be used. Below are some of my favorite excuses:

1. When we're out and the only potty is a big potty, I hear, "It's just too big mommy."

2. Also with big potty, "I'm scared."

3. Yesterday she cleverly stated, "I can't mommy, I have gum in my mouth." Apparently, she can't chew gum and do other things at the same time. Guess she gets that from her clumsy mama.

4. "I'll do it after Veggie Tales, after bath, after I eat, after I read my book, after I'm finished with my college finals..... Okay, I made the last one up, but I don't doubt if she hears it, she'll use it.

5. "I too little, mommy."

6. "I a baby, not a big girl."

7. When peer pressure is in play, I hear, basically, "So." Not in words but in actions.

Is it wrong to find comfort in the fact that she is not yet 3? I think I'd have an easier time teaching her to read before her third birthday. Like all other things, I'm just going to have to leave this one at the throne of God and depend on Him to do the rest!

Counting Down

Six weeks and counting....I think.....my original due date was December 21st, moved back to December 12th, but according to my doctor's math at my last visit is back to somewhere around December 21st. So, I am expecting a baby's arrival sometime in December. Overjoyed, overwhelmed, overly-exhausted.......all of those. Right now, I am riding a sea of emotions, cresting waves of intense happiness followed by valleys of "what in the world am I doing?" and usually evening out with smooth glassy moments of complete calm. Repeat cycle as many times as the ocean in a day.

When I was pregnant with A , I remember coming home from work, waddling slowly up the stairs to the nursery, sitting in the new yellow glider my in-laws had given us and contently rocking back-and-forth, daydreaming about my impending arrival of joy. Truly, not a care in the world. I didn't worry about labor; I didn't worry about what kind of mother I'd be; I wasn't fretting over wether or not I'd master breastfeeding. I simply experienced blissful contentment, enjoying the prospect of possibilities that lie ahead. Not so much this time.

Now, I'm lucky if I can find a moment to waddle to the restroom alone. My beautiful, sweet present joy is a feisty, fiery, spunky, bundle of unstoppable energy who demands every ounce of her mommy. Blonde pigtails bobbing, she jumps from place to place and has absolutely no desire to discuss the bump in her mommy's middle, other than to point out how uncomfortable it is when she is trying to lean back on me for story time. I admit in embarrassment that I've not so much as even started thinking of names for our new arrival. I haven't had time to just sit and think about our new baby, and it pains me. Other than a few gentle pats on my tummy when the little one kicks; I 've barely even begun the bonding process. With A , bonding began with a positive pregnancy test.

Am I unhappy about this pregnancy? Absolutely not! I am overjoyed, but like all second-time moms, I'm sure, I'm more concerned with how my first baby is going to handle it than with how wonderful it is going to be to rock and hold an infant. I've not truly allowed myself to enjoy and bask in this pregnancy like I did my first because I don't want to take anything away from the baby who is already here. Will I always feel this way? Everytime I sit nursing my newborn, will I feel guilty because I'm not reading to A or playing with her or just enjoying her? I tell myself that I am one of billions of mothers who have had more than one child, and I know it will all be okay, but right now, I'm honestly having trouble looking past my pregnancy. Seriously, could I be more pathetic..... fretting over wether or not I can adequately parent two children. Don't Jon and Kate have 8 and that Arkansas family have 18?

So many of the blissful daydreams I had while waiting for A 's arrival have come to fruition. I am mother to a beautiful, lively, sweet toddler who has exceeded even my wildest expectations, a true blessing from God. And I know whatever the future holds, however hectic and erratic it might seem the first few months, His grace is enough to carry us through, sustain us, prepare us, and help us parent both of our joys with unending amounts of love. I just hope that I can be as much of a joy to them as A has been to me!

The Thrill of the Patch

Trees cast eery shadows across the field where disfigured pumpkins lie in wait. An old train howls hauntingly in the distance. Suddenly, a hollow wail pierces the air, "NOOOOO!" A blonde head bobs by, arms outstretched, knees crumpling to the ground as she yells, "Come back tractor!" Thus, the scene is set, complete with all the trappings of our yearly pumpkin patch drama.

Allow me to back up to the beginning. When afternoons become crisp and blue skies brilliant, I begin to bug my husband about taking A and me to the pumpkin patch. Since last year's outing was so full of drama, we decided to try a new, closer pumpkin patch. Change of scenery, plus a cool train ride. What two year old can resist trains?

The morning of our adventure, I'm awakened by A peering at me over my pillow. "Thomas, mommy. No, Percy. No, Gordon," she finally decides.

"Morning, pumpkin," I mumble. "We're riding Thomas today."

"No, Gordon."

"Is he the blue one or the green one?"

A doesn't answer because she has taken off downstairs eagerly anticipating our train trip to the pumpkin patch.

To save time, I have printed out our tickets, so when we arrive, an hour early (as requested by the museum) I expect that we will present our tickets to the man in the boarding uniform and pick our seats. No, no. T must stand in line and transfer my paper tickets into real tickets while I try to keep A from running up and down the tracks and into oncoming traffic. Forty-five minutes after our arrival, we board the train.

Any inconvenience is quickly forgotten when I see the huge grins on A and T's faces and hear the whistle wail, signaling, "All Aboard!" The train pulls out of the station, and we are on our way. An honest-to-goodness, real train. We have chosen the open-air car and except for a crispness in the morning air and a few sprinkles of condensation, the ride is beautiful.

Twenty minutes into the ride, we see a huge jack-o-lantern sitting in a shady field. The Great Pumpkin we later learn. A small vineyard borders the "pumpkin" patch and free-standing pumpkins, apparently purchased from a real patch are littered throughout the field. Travis, A , and I exit the train and decide to let A jump in the big, bouncy thing. Ah, how naive we are. Since the field is wet and rather muddy, kids are leaving their shoes on to jump. Not A . No, that is breaking the traditional rules of bouncy things, and she is not going to break the no-shoe rule, plus she is wearing, difficult-to-remove, difficult-to-put-back-on boots. T and I debate with her that it is truly all right to wear her shoes. Finally, T gives her bottom a small, encouraging nudge into the bouncy thing and A , still distraught about wearing her shoes, begins to wail. I am standing on the side, peering through the net, so I can keep an eye on her. A stumbles to where I am standing, trying to avoid being pummeled by jumping pre-schoolers, and wails, "MOOOOMMMMY!"

"Honey, please get her out of there." T extracts A from the tiny entrance, and we decide to head to the hayride. A , though, is still trying to remove her boots and won't hear of it. But, alas, the hayride is attached to a tractor, and well, I did grow up in the country, so my blood flows in her veins. Meaning, she loves tractors. We get in line for the hayride, and in a repeat of last year, we just miss getting on that particular ride. A bursts into tears. (Keep in mind, we did the 10 a.m. train ride to avoid I-need-a-nap drama.) Her father walks her over to the grapevines to see if they can see any grapes, while I wait in line. After five-minutes-that-seem-like-thirty, the tractor comes back and we take our turn on the hayride. We exit with a smiling daughter and decide to go pick out our pumpkin.

As T and I inspect pumpkins, we hear a shriek and see a small, blonde girl go running by with outstretched arms. A has apparently noticed the hayride is still going, and she isn't riding. She shouts "NO!" and falls to the ground in despair, screaming, "Come back, tractor!" Her face is pinched and red and tears are flowing freely. Other pumpkin patch patrons walk by her crumpled, despairing body, look down, and smile. T and I, not so much. We fight the urge to turn and walk in the other direction. "Whose child is that?!!!!" But, since we all came on the same train, everyone is aware that the adorable blonde mourner belongs to us. T picks up our future Academy Award winner and walks over to some picnic tables. I go purchase chochlate for A (I realize it is misspelled but if you don't say it the way she pronounces it, it loses something.) Finally, we hear the whistle to board the train and make our way back to our seats.

On the train ride back, A crawls into my lap and snuggles next to my chest. Granted, half of her body is hanging off because of my ever-expanding tummy. I put my nose to her hair and kiss her on top of the head. Suddenly, I am reminded of why we, every year, take on trips that makes us uncomfortable or vulnerable to drama or that are sometimes inconvenient. Because, God always provides that moment, that moment when you know exactly why there is no where else on earth you'd rather be than in that place with your daughter in your lap and your husband next to you holding your hand. That moment that you wish could last forever because, even though everyone witnessed three breakdowns in fifteen minutes, you are in that space feeling utter bliss.

All too quickly, we are back at the station and getting into the car ready to go carve our pumpkin. A decides it will need a happy face, and we head home, where we discover that golden retrievers love pumpkins, but we'll save that one for later....

The Potty Not Traveled

A walks into my room carrying a pair of Elmo underwear and holds them up proudly. "Elmo panties, Mommy."

"You can't wear your Elmo panties until you start using the big girl potty."

She turns, exits, and returns moments later carrying a pair of Dora panties. "Dora, Mommy?"

In my mind, I roll my eyes and laugh at her budding reasoning ability and intellect. "All right, smart girl," I say. "You can't wear ANY panties until you use the potty. Panties are for big girls who use the potty every time."

"I want to wear my Dora panties!" she screams, voice escalating with each word.

"Well, let's go potty," I say. I take her hand and walk her to the bathroom. She sits, fully clothed, on the toilet and looks up to make sure Mommy is watching. "We need to take off your diaper first."

"No! I don't want to potty."

"Okay, but you can't wear the panties." I walk downstairs and leave my two-and-one-half-year-old writhing and whining on the bathroom floor. Moments later she comes downstairs wearing her Dora panties over her diaper. I just shrug my shoulders in defeat and start to make dinner.

So goes potty training at our house. As a former teacher, I could bring thirty seventh graders to complete silence by just raising my eyebrow. Students who'd narry written their names without whining were creating essays full of plot twists and conversational nuances. Kids who'd complained about reading the homework assignment off the board suddenly begged to go to the library for one more book. Certainly, all the result of God's gift of teaching. Somehow, though, that ability has not yet translated home to a feisty toddler, a potty, and big girl pants.

Defeated and frustrated, I've almost abandoned the idea of potty training A completely. Okay, I don't want a kindergartner with diapers, so I'm sure I'll pick it up again sometime. With the baby coming, I'm now beginning to worry about potty regression if I ever do manage to encourage her to use the toilet again. Have I mentioned that she still uses her pacifer? Yup, we've not begun to scale that mountain.

Yet, A does know and recognize all her letters. She can count to twelve. Must be something about eggs and doughnuts. She is a voracious scanner of books, who simply loves to learn. And, after thinking about my teaching years, I've come to realize that those students didn't turn into readers and writers overnight. It took months, sometimes the entire year, of patience, prayer, and dedication on my part and dedication, motivation, and learning on their part. Perhaps, I'm trying too hard too fast with A.

She does understand that Mommy's belly does indeed contain some sort of weird, moving item that is already taking up some of HER space on mom's lap and will soon completely disrupt life as she knows it. Her safe, solo world will soon be shared with something unknown that cries and nurses and takes her mommy's attention away for several hours a day. Perhaps not using the potty is her last vestige of control in a world that suddenly seems much less certain. If I take the time to get behind her eyes, I suddenly see how frightening this big girl stuff can seem when it all happens so quickly. So, instead of immediately feeling like I have the word FAILURE tattooed on my face when someone asks if my child is potty trained, I think I'll remove the focus from my own feelings of inadequacy as a parent and instead shift my concentration to A's perspective. Maybe this potty training process will go much more smoothly once I do.

More of the Same for the Tigers

Let's hope Auburn's offensive line treated the defense to breakfast Sunday because they certainly owe them something. After self-destructing Saturday night against Mississippi State, it looks like Auburn could be facing some of the same offensive woes that plagued the team last season.

As I watched the game, I was struck by the mistakes, the looks of confusion, the complete lack of execution displayed by Auburn's offense. I'll be the first to admit that when it comes to x's and o's, I am not an expert. But I am enough of a fan to see that their interpretation of the spread offense looks more like a group of random guys who decided, "Hey, let's get together and play football tomorrow." And, if no-huddle is meant to make the game go faster, there were times during the game that I'd rather been watching paint dry or water boil. It really seemed like the longest game in NCAA history.

It seemed that whatever Tony Franklin was calling wasn't working. I kept waiting for Tuberville to take the reins. Seriously, if it didn't work the first time, it probably isn't going to work the 40th time. Fortunately Paul Rhoads's defense seems to be strong and able, but I have serious concerns that Auburn either currently doesn't have the personnel to run Franklin's offensive scheme or Franklin's offensive scheme isn't translating well at Auburn. Either way, there's a lot of work to do on the Plains.

Ohio State vs. USC

The match-up of the year is Saturday, if you believe the media-hype, only three weeks into the season when Ohio State travels to USC for the "collision in the Coliseum." Yes, like snowstorms and other weather disasters, this one even has a name. I know you'll be surprised to find out that I just don't get it.

I don't get the love affair with either school, especially the current one with Ohio State. You'd think that no other teams exist, or at least, no other teams could possibly be in contention for a national championship. Since Ohio State doesn't seem to have what it takes to show up for the big games, I'm going to personally give USC the edge in this one. Ohio State looks sluggish and with the recent injury to Beanie Wells, it looks like they'll be short one important player. If USC wins, they will certainly be presented with the National Championship Bowl Game rose, inviting them to compete for the title. Don't be surprised to see the "collision" in the Coliseum become a collapse in the Coliseum, a disappointing end to the over-hyped frenzy building up to the game.

NCAAF Week 2

If style matters in college football, and apparently it does, then Ohio State deserves a drop in the polls. I mean, come on, if Georgia can drop from its number one perch without a loss shouldn't Ohio State fall for allowing Ohio University 145 rushing yards against its defense? In this season long chase for a make-believe college football championship, a bad day should equal a drop in rankings.

Seriously, my frustration with the BCS has led me to develop a bizarre rooting system of my own. For instance, I always pull for the SEC because I was reared on the SEC, I'm a southern girl, born and bred, and I love it. That being said, because I long for the ineptness of the BCS to be revealed more and more each year, hoping in vain that someone will come to their senses and create a playoff system that matters, I usually pull against ranked teams. Why? Sheepishly, I say, I think the pollsters are a wee bit clueless in many of their rankings and rather enjoy, perhaps too much, watching that be revealed. Unless of course it is a well-deserving ranking for an SEC team. Hey, I never said it made any sense. But, let's take the example of BYU vs. Washington, I didn't really no who to root for. BYU was ranked 8th, but I like the little PAC-10/SEC rivalry that seems to have developed, so I wasn't exactly wanting Washington to win.

The point is, with the current system, it just really doesn't matter except for end-of-season bragging rights, because truth be told, fans are left feeling empty when the national champion is nothing more than a "favorite" who had a good-enough season. Without losing one game or playing a "real" opponent, Georgia lost its number one postion because it never really "had" it to begin with. Pollsters just couldn't justify placing Ohio State number one after 2 BCS Bowl defeats in a row, or a USC who lost to Stanford the previous season. Georgia had been on an end-of-season roll and had handily defeated a highly touted Hawaii team. USC pounded UVA in week one of this season, so finally, a reason to jump Georgia.

Yes, I realize that in the grand scheme of things college football matters....not at all. It is thousands of kids doing what they love for adults who, let's face it, should really get a more productive hobby. But wouldn't it be nice to give those kids, all those teams that really deserve it, a real shot at a real National Championship?

NCAAF Week 1- As I See It

It seems that after a summer-long love affair with the SEC, the thrill is already gone. After last night's Tennessee loss to a PAC-10 team for the second year in-a-row, I'm sure the thrill is now probably dead. The SEC enjoyed a brief stint as media darling with 4 teams in the top 10, including Georgia's ranking of number 1, and while the rankings haven't changed much, there seems to have been a shift in the national media's attitude.

While listening to FSN radio, ESPN radio, and watching most games on various national television stations, I could hear it in the voices of the announcers as they crowned, after just 1 week of play, USC and Ohio State the most talented teams in the nation. Georgia, it seems, is headed for a fall, and over and over I heard their number 1 ranking questioned. First of all, who ranked Georgia number 1? Hmmmm.... and second, the week prior, Florida, LSU, and Georgia had all been wearing the most-talented crown. What happened in one short week? When push came to shove, was it just too difficult to truly admit that the SEC could really be the best? Florida pummeled a Hawaii team, that just the year before was in a BCS bowl. Alabama scored 34 points on the ninth ranked Clemson Tigers. Was Ohio State's 43 points over Youngstown State (aren't they a junior college) that much more impressive?

Brent Musberger, on ABC's Saturday night telecast, was saying that until proven otherwise, yes the SEC is the best conference, but he seemed to like the Big 12 to rise to the top. As he was saying this, his co-worker for the evening, Kirk Herbstreit broke the news that Arkansas State had just defeated Texas A&M. Yes, I laughed.

Look, I clearly see that Ohio State and USC are talented, clearly. But, after one week of play, why are we already ready to crown them National Champions? Have you seen Ohio State's schedule, outside of a tough match-up against USC? USC is in a PAC-10 with some talented, dangerous teams, some. UCLA showed last night that they're a team to be reckoned with. Granted, Tennessee made a few hundred foolish mistakes, but a W is a W and UCLA looked good in the second-half. I just wish we could take a more patient wait-and-see attitude with declaring teams best in the nation. Who knows when injuries can decimate a team? We've already had some scares at both Georgia and Ohio State. And based on what I saw Saturday, just on what I saw Saturday, shouldn't Florida and Alabama be in the running? It seems "until proven otherwise" the media's crush on USC and Ohio State is back on.

By the way, Auburn has some serious work to do on its offense, Again!

Miss Independent

"Good morning, sweetheart. Let mommy take off your jammies and change your diaper."

"No mommy; A do it."

"Let me comb your hair."

"No mommy; A do it."

I stand back and watch A do it the exact opposite of how Mommy would do it. Her hair is now sticking straight up from being combed backwards, and she is still wearing her pajamas and wet diaper. We get to the stairs, and my daughter lifts her arms. "Hold you mommy." It seems the only things A doesn't want to do are walk and use the big girl potty. We've not even made it to the breakfast table, and I've heard her sweet voice say, "A do it" about ten times.

When my little girl was an infant, describing her with the word needy would be an understatment. I could barely leave her side for seconds without her exploding into a powerful cry. Any babysitting offers normally lasted about five minutes before I was called by a panicky voice telling me that A could not be consoled. I remember longing for the day that she would become just a little more independent.

That day came too fast. Just last week, our little girl joyously received her big girl bed, and I wistfully wondered where my baby had gone. Her daily chorus of "A do it" reminds me of just how quickly she is growing into the big girl she so longs to become. (Apparently in her mind, though, big girls wear diapers.) Her independent will and lack of mastery in many of those do-it-yourself skills lead to daily battles. She's demanding to do it on her terms, while I still want to do it on mine. And truth be told, maybe I'm not quite ready to let go of some of those tasks that I find so endearing, like picking out her outfit for the day, brushing her hair, and putting on her little socks. Plus, it goes much more smoothly and quickly when "Mommy do it." But just like it's A 's job to grow up; it is my job to allow her to do just that.

Dorothy Fisher wisely said, "A mother is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary." I'm not sure who Ms. Fisher is, but she beautifully summed up the purpose of parenting in one succinct sentence. How hard, though, is it not to encourage our children to lean, when we as mothers are born nurturers. I struggle to allow A to try things on her own and learn more about her world on her terms; it means that she needs me less and less. Yet, I understand the importance of my job as the one who makes leaning unnecessary, and just as hairbrushing and shoe tying are important roles, so is being the one who teaches A how to do it successfully on her own. That only comes by allowing her to no matter how inconvenient it may be at times.

T, A, and I are watching the Olympics and eating chocolate chip cookies, when A gets up from her spot and walks over to her daddy. She takes his empty plate, says "A do it," and walks into the kitchen. She then comes back and gets my plate to do the same.

"Thank you!" I exclaim proudly. I hope this part of the "A do it" phase lasts long into the teenage years.

"You welcome," she says triumphantly, obviously pleased with the results of her efforts.

I watch A return to her place in the floor, her eyes riveted on the competing athletes. Perhaps she is dreaming of her own Olympic debut, and like Michael Phelps, whose mother allowed to swim in the deep end on his own, and Shawn Johnson, whose mother allowed to swing unreserved from the uneven parallel bars, I realize that allowing A to cautiously do things on her own may not be such a bad thing, after all. Sure, it makes mommy sad to see her little girl growing so quickly, but at the same time it thrills me to know she is so eager to try and to learn. I love watching her eyes flash when she recognizes her letters, or watching her little chin lift with pride when she kicks the ball in a straight line. After all, isn't this what God has called us as parents to do?

Flawed Systems: The BCS vs. Women's Gymnastics

American television audiences sat stunned as they watched Chinese gymnast Cheng Fei take the bronze medal after crashing to her knees in the women's vault finals. A beautifully landed vault by Alicia Sacramone placed fourth. Mere hours later, we once again gasped in disbelief when Nastia Lukin lost the gold medal on uneven parallel bars to He Kexin after receiving the same score. Even if you overlook the fact that the gymnast might not even be old enough to compete in the Olympics, to the casual observer it is obvious that the scoring system contains glaring flaws. While watching the credibility of those Olympic judges tumble, I was reminded of another championship-deciding system that also carries some of the same frustrating flaws: the BCS. It seems that women's gymnastics actually does have a little something in common with college football.

In both college football and gymnastics, the past carries weight in the present. Before the first ball is snapped or the first somersault is spun, teams and athletes with past success are automatically given an advantage. USA Today's pre-season pollsters give Michigan entry into the top 25 despite the fact that they are breaking in a new coach and are recovering from some stumbles last season. Why? Because they're Michigan. Even though they've recently failed to come through when it counts, Ohio State is sitting pretty at number 2 or 3, depending on which poll you count. USC and Oklahoma are again near the top for the fifth or sixth year in a row. These rankings set up the race for the championship before nary a play is made. Those teams enter every season with a national championship advantage that is very difficult for lower teams to overcome simply because they've done well before, very often despite the previous season's performances. In women's gymnastics, judges, too, are aware of the "favorites" before the opening ceremonies are completed.

There are no tie breakers in either sport. There is no slugging it out on the field or in the gym to see who really is the team on top. For Nastia Lukin's uneven parallel bar tie, it went to the computer. Let's take away this score, throw this score in the mix, add a cup of sugar, a tablespoon of butter, and voila! looks like the Chinese gymnast comes out on top. Football is basically the same recipe. Let's take this poll, a little of that poll, a coach's vote here, a reporter's vote there, and boom! these two teams play for a National Championship. Sorry, Football U. you're schedule wasn't as "difficult" as Number One University.

Subjectivity. In sports where a championship is the goal, where one team or one person strives to prove their dominance in the sport, their unarguable, undeniable worth of being declared the best, subjectivity plays too large a role for the result to be taken seriously. There is no true number one. Pollsters decide, often disagreeing, throughout the season who should be first, second, etc. in college football. In gymnastics, judges often score the same routine with vastly differing scores, despite there being a set formula for difficulty and deductions. Human judgment decides in a big way who gets a chance to play for the prize. And as any of us who are human can tell you, it is very difficult to separate bias and emotion from our decisions no matter how hard we may try.

While I don't really care that much about women's gymnastics, other than pride in my country and a disdain for cheating in any sport regardless of who's playing, it is upsetting that there isn't a more objective scoring mechanism. How about gymnasts all do the same routine? Judges will have a consistent look at the same elements. Or perhaps judges could actually follow consistently the guidelines set for point deductions.

Now, I do care about college football and am growing weary of seeing worthy teams sitting on the sidelines watching a less worthy team play for a national championship simply because they're popular and happened to play in a conference that, let's face it, didn't prove too formidable. Popularity shouldn't decide national championships. This isn't homecoming; it's football. The BCS doesn't work. Is it going to take an undefeated USC left on the outside looking in, yet again? Or will it be Ohio State's undefeated season that leaves them playing for position number 3 in a Rose Bowl that causes those conferences who refuse to let go of the past to examine the realities of a playoff system? But hey, boys, it's the Rose Bowl....

Would the playoff solve all problems? No. But at least teams would be given an opportunity to decide it on the field and not let an objective computer filled with subjective information decide. The BCS is broken and only a real-live grind it out on the field playoff is going to fix it, IF our goal is to crown football champions and not homecoming teams.

Maybe Next Time

When I came down with pneumonia weeks prior to my first marathon, I was disappointed. When I broke my ankle just a few weeks before the third marathon I'd trained for, needless to say, I was disappointed. But to pretend to know the disappointment my husband feels at having to turn down an opportunity to travel across the Atlantic to compete in the World Championship Duathlon because of injury is absurd. I can't even begin to know the gravity of that kind of letdown.

T qualified for the run-bike-run back in April when he competed in the Powerman . Unfortunately, this past Tuesday, he made the difficult decision not to get on a plane to Belgium because a nagging pain in his hip, one that kept him from running, was not improving. A few weeks before our departure date, during a training ride on his bike, T had crashed trying to avoid a dog. Plus, my theory is that his body was also physically exhausted from a grueling months-long training program.

T trained all winter to compete in a half-Ironman. He raced that in May then jumped right into another tough training program for this race. As any long distance athlete can tell you, that sort of training quickly begins to take its toll on your body.

I would just like to say how proud I am of the way my husband has handled this. Those who know him best understand his disappointment at not being able to compete, but he has not worn that disappointment at all. He accepted his injury with grace and even commented to me how there are Olympic athletes who train their entire lives and are forced to pull out of the biggest sporting event of their lives right at the last moment. So he is truly keeping it all in perspective. A faith in God and a trust that He knows all and is in control of all also keeps T's disappointment short-lived and his focus on the next phase of his athletic endeavors. I love you sweetheart and am proud of the man, father, and athlete you are!

Nesting

Apparently, I have entered the phase of pregnancy known as nesting. Since I'm not quite a bird (as evidenced by my growing appetite), I have been referring to this portion as the "Everything Must Go" phase. And I mean everything, from tupperware to weeds to picture frames to clothing. It all seems to be getting on my nerves. If the only light of day an item has seen is when a tiny ray escapes into the open closet door then it must go. (My mother just gasped in horror.)

I'm actually enjoying the nesting part. It has really motivated me to clean, clean, clean and simplify, simplify, simplify, and apparently speak in threes. My poor unwitting husband, whose injury kept us homebound instead of Belgium-bound (more on that later) has become an innocent victim forced by his horomonal wife to wield a screwdriver and hammer on a weekend when he should be biking and running. My daughter, though, is delighted to see what treasures make their way into the floor. It seems that adding another member to the family forces you to actually make a little space for that person.

It is all a transition from cluttered to clutter-free, from baby A to big girl A, from mom of one to mom of two. I sigh as I prepare to move the crib to the new nursery and replace it with a "big-girl" bed. Before the new baby arrives, A's room will be transformed, hopefully "pappy" will be forgotten, and my toddler will be using the potty instead of diapers. Our lives changed so much when A came, in wonderful ways words can't express, and now that we've found our groove and things seem "normal", baby number 2 is coming to change our lives, once again in more wonderful ways. Nothing prepared us for the changes A would bring, and I'm sure we will never truly be prepared for this next phase. At least the house will be all cleaned out and ready.

Headed to Belgium

T and I are headed to Geel, Belgium for the World Duathlon Championships, where T plans to run 13 miles, bike 56 miles, and run about 6 more miles. Injury is leaving wether or not he'll actually compete up in the air, but we plan to make a fun pre-new baby get-away out of our trip. A will be spending time with both sets of grandparents.

While I am thrilled to be going away for a European vacation with my husband, I know I'll be a little homesick for my sweet girl. T and I will be returning from Belgium on our anniversary, so that makes the trip even cooler. Please pray for ours and A's safety and a safe return home. Also, please pray for our little one due in December that mom will take the necessary travel pregnancy precautions. And please pray that God will give T strength and health in competition, if T decides to participate. And of course, that T and I will be witnesses for Christ in all we do.

Thank you! and I'll be sure to post tons of blogs about T, A, and my adventures when we get back.

Random Thoughts

I love being a mother. Sometimes I need to remind myself, usually when I'm holding a kicking, screaming A upside down during a "meltdown" always in public, while someone is commenting, tongue in cheek I'm sure, about how when our kids get in trouble at school one day, they'll know it involved A saying, "Let's try this." Encouraging for a mother, huh:)

My pumpkin is feisty and a natural-born leader. If I can rein those great traits in for good and teach her to be a leader for Christ, not the other guy, I'm actually happy that she isn't overly shy or a wallflower. I know that given the right direction and tons of prayer, that she'll be a strong little girl who can influence others for good.

That being said, I wanted to share a few of those sweet, tender moments that her father and I capture at home, when she isn't out telling the world that I'm "mine mommy" or her best friend is "my Lucy." She's just proud of us!

Last night, when we were finishing up some chocolate chip cookies in our den, A came by, unprovoked, and took mine and her father's plates to the kitchen, where she placed them on the counter. She also had on a cute t-shirt with sparkly lettering. When you asked her what was on her shirt, she replied, "Sparcles." I couldn't get enough of her saying that word.

She also is taking very good care of her baby dolls and will speak so quietly and sweetly to them, always telling them, "I be right back" then blowing each a big kiss. My daughter is truly a sweet, adorable girl, and I love sharing those moments with her. So next time you see us at the grocery store and she is yelling to you, "Not yours, mine," remember that when she isn't learning the use of possessives, she is doing good deeds in her own sweet way.

Mercury Rising

I was sitting at the computer when I heard a hissing sound and loud pop outside on the porch. When I went outside to inspect the cause of the noise, I noticed broken glass from the thermometer. Apparently, the mercury had risen so high, so fast, that the thermometer just exploded.

Okay, I just completely made all that up; I don't even own a thermometer, but as hot as it has been the past few days, that could certainly happen. The termperature has climbed to the century mark and walking outside is truly like walking into a humid oven. Why your oven would be humid, I don't know, but if it could, it would feel like my front yard. I say all that to say that my running during pregnancy dream has become just that, a dream, nightmare really.

When I found out I was expecting, I experienced a sense of excitment. This time I had no broken ankle, no out-of-shape lungs. I was in the best shape of my life and ready to run during all nine months. I just forgot to factor in the extreme heat and humidity of southern summers. They're hard enough to bear when you aren't carrying around another person, while pushing in a stroller a thirty-pound toddler. I know, I know, women run during pregnancy all the time, but do they live in the south? No, I'm convinced these women, I only read about but never actually see, live in Minnesota or Seattle.

Truth is, I could run, but I just don't feel that it is safe for the baby. Maybe I'm being overly cautious, but when God places the care of a developing fetus into your hands, that is no small task. So, I've resigned myself to long walks, spin, pre-natal Yogalates......and lots of naps. Honestly, I'm rather enjoying the break from training and (get ready to laugh here) racing. I've forgotten how comfortable and enjoyable a stroll can be. It's nice to not feel the overly-driven, super-competitve urge to push myself. While I think stretching what I once thought were my limits is good for me, it probably isn't the best idea during pregnancy or heat waves. And I find that I'm now having dreams of my post-pregnancy comeback half-marathon and quite content waiting until after the baby is born to reach that goal.

Tour de France

For about three minutes, the Tour de France captured the interest of Americans, as they tuned in to see if Lance Armstrong would ride victoriously through the streets of Paris for the seventh time. That interest might have only been for about sixty seconds had Armstrong's story of triumph over cancer not been so amazing. Not that seven Tour victories isn't amazing in and of itself, but doing it after defeating cancer is that much more impressive. Let's face it though, cycling doesn't capture the hearts of Americans without a story like that and even then it's the athlete, not the sport.

In my household, thanks to my husband's love of cycling and the Versus channel on Charter 212, the Tour captures our attention four hours a night for the three week duration of the bike race through France. I'll admit I've been a hard sell, but after two years, I'm as captivated as my husband. The athletes are both fascinating and impressive, and yes, even the commentators are witty and entertaining. I say this with slight embarrassment....I even know them by name. I'm such a Tour geek!

In my favorite sport, baseball, a player stumps his toe or sleeps funny on an airplane and is immediately placed on the DL. In cycling, a rider breaks his wrist or slashes his leg and gets right back in the saddle, literally, and finishes climbing the peaks of the Pyrenees. Very often he will go on to win a stage the next day while nursing the soreness of his injury. Did I mention he will also usually finish the grueling three week race? Grueling might be too weak a word.

Watching these cyclists ride a hundred miles a day for twenty-one days, either up mountain peaks or in sprints, gives one a whole new respect for the term athlete. And while I realize the sport has been plagued with doping scandals, the desire to clean it up has given cycling a new life, especially in this year's tour. It has even led to the creation of teams dedicated to recruiting anti-doping advocates who are cyclists. (say that three times fast) I'm not trying to recruit you into becoming a fan of the sport, but there is something to be said for the intensity of the race coupled with the stunning European scenery. And one only has to drive through the streets of a large town on Saturday morning to see that interest in cycling is certainly rising.

With two new American teams, Garmin-Chipotle and Columbia, and an American contender for the title, this might be a good time to tune in again. American cyclists Christian Vandevelde currently rides in third position, much to the surprise of Tour experts. If another American rides victorious in Paris, could it possibly peak our interest for four minutes, this time? I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Birthday Girl

I sit surrounded by fifty singing toddlers. A sits in my lap, gripping my thumb tightly, her pacifier bobbing up and down with intensity. Classic signs of A -nervousness and who can blame her. Being led by an incredibly silly man with a guitar, the fifty-plus bounding bundles of engergy are attempting to place their thumbs on their head, while at the same time trying to place their elbow on one knee, while also attempting to place the other knee to their ear. The man with the guitar, doing the same, suddenly falls to the floor, and the over fifty toddlers I've mentioned once or twice all jump up while peals of laughter echo throughout the halls of the library.

It is the morning of my thirty-third birthday. If anyone had mentioned to me ten years ago that I would be sitting, pregnant, in the floor of the library with fifty children, their parents, and my adorable two-year-old watching a children's musician attempt to lead a mass game of Twister, I would have laughed hysterically. If anyone had said to me that I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would have rolled my eyes and kept on walking. No, I had other plans, like becoming a successful writer and perhaps assistant editor of a magazine, living in New York, of course. Yet, somehow, here I am celebrating my birthday with an army of strangers under the age of 5, and I seem to have acquired a vastly different definition of success, thankfully.

Despite the occasional struggle with loneliness and isolation, I love staying home with A and have no regrets. When people say, "Oh, I could never do it, I'd lose my mind," or, "I would be so bored; I need to feel like I'm contributing or accomplishing something," or "I need adult interaction," I just think, "it's not really about me right now." That's after I unruffle my offended feathers. Not contributing, huh, what exactly am I doing then? Anyway.....

Yet, today, on my birthday, I must admit, I'm feeling a bit loneseome. Despite my getting A and I all dolled up in dresses, bows-for A , makeup and nicely styled hair-for me, and necklaces-for both of us, (hey! it's my birthday) no one here seems to know its my birthday, nor do they seem to care. Of course, how could they? My siblings and parents are at the beach, my husband is working, and my daughter seems to think it is still the previous day and her father's birthday, "not yours, Mommy." None of my friends have called. And, perhaps I'm just feeling a little down from the cocktail of pregnancy horomones and summer heat, but I'm a wee bit glum on my birthday. How can that be? It's my birthday!

I've always loved birthdays. For me it's a magical day of endless possibility. A day of surprises, flowers, balloons, phone calls, well-wishes. Am I too old for skating rinks and birthday candles (I'm not a fire hazard, yet)? I refuse to believe it. For me birthdays will always bring a twinkle to my eye and spring to my step and the fact that anyone as blessed as I could be down is true nonsenese. The people who matter most have called, my parents, siblings, aunt, grandmother, mother-in-law, husband. T even took A and me out for a delightful lunch. I get to spend the day with the coolest toddler on the planet. And the one who matters the most did this:

For [God] created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,

Your works are wonderful,

I know that full well. Psalm 119:13-14.

With that being said, how could you feel anything but special and loved on your birthday?

A Little Disappointed

I am a bit disappointed. See, I've been trying to get my freelance writing career off and running, but it seems to be more just off, and perhaps standing. It's certainly not running.

I've always been told, you're a good writer; you should do this for a living. And, I've always wanted to, but lately, I'm wondering if that's the best thing to do. Have the compliments gone to my head, and I'm really not that good? Mom, have you been pulling my leg? Am I too prideful? Who knows?

I've submitted a few articles, that I thought were decent to a couple of magazines. One was a local magazine. They've all been rejected as not a right fit for our publication. I can handle rejection. I modeled some in college and I didn't date much in high school (actually I took best guy pals to all the dances, including prom), if you know what I mean. Rejection isn't new to me. But, if I can't even get published in a local magazine, sheesh.

Perhaps it's pregnancy hormones getting me down. My husband did point out that it was just a few rejections. I don't know. Instead of dwelling on it, I'll just keep submitting, pray for guidance, and see what happens. Maybe God is telling me to focus on different magazines or maybe He's saying this isn't the right time and I need to focus on my daughter and pregnancy and try writing later. Or maybe I just need to develop a little perseverance. I feel like God places passions in our hearts for a reason; I just need to figure out how to use that talent for His glory.

Instead of leaving on an icky note, I wanted to share some funny things A is saying, now that she's talking more and more clearly.

If you ask her what is in mommy's tummy or what mommy is having, she says a puppy. Sometimes she will say kitty-cat. Imagine her surprise come December? or Ours!!:)

Also, now when she leaves the room, she says, "Be right back, Mommy. You stay here." And she smacks her lips, like MMMnnnn, as though she's sending you a kiss.


Really, who needs a writing career, when I've got that blessed gift each day. She'll be off to kindergarten before I know it and I'll have plenty of time to write and submit...except that the little one will only be 3.......but I'll have twice the stories...

Homework Humor

I had just put A down for her nap and settled into my bible study homework. I am studying Kelly Minter's No Other Gods and was reading the following phrase from the Introduction! of chapter 2:

Even when you have grandiose plans, spiritual plans....things can unexpectedly turn....because there will always be a million nagging tugs on our time and attention, and somewhere in the middle of all the tugging it is essential we build a fortress wherein only God, His words, and our heart exist together for a time. It cannot happen accidentally. (34)

When I heard loudly from the next room, "Puppies! Puppies!" (my daughter's beloved stuffed bunny).

I ignored the whimpering and tried to focus on the words I was reading.

"Puppies! Juice, Mama, Juuuuiiiiccee...!"

Again, I ignored her. Eventually, she'll settle down and sleep.

"Mama? Mama? Juice! Juice!" The cries grew louder. Remembering we'd been out in 97 degree heat just minutes earlier, I dog-eared my page and ran downstairs to get her water. I walked in her room, retrieved Puppies from where she'd been tossed in the floor, and watched A guzzle a large amount of water.

"White pappy," she whined.

"You've already got blue pappy, now night-night."

"Whiiiiite pappy!"

I gave her the white pacifier and rocked her to sleep. After placing her in her crib, asleep, I returned to start chapter 2 of my study. Determined to at least get through the first page.

Articles for Second Time Moms

I am a voracious reader. Absolutely love to read. If there's nothing new to read, I will find myself reading the cereal box or even the back of an Elmo DVD. While I enjoy reading for leisure, most of my reading is to learn more about a topic of interest. Lately, that topic has been pregnancy.

With my first pregnancy, I read everything I could get my hands on, but since I've forgotten most of what I've learned, I find myself re-reading many of the books I bought during my first pregnancy, especially those on fitness. What I've discovered, though, is that most books and magazines target the first-time mom, leaving those of us on our second pregnancy with little new information. "What could possibly be different about the second pregnancy than the first?" you might be asking. Where do I start? For one, you are balancing the needs of pregnancy with caring for a feisty, curious, endlessly energetic toddler. Since authors of pregnancy information seem to be at a loss for what to write to second-time moms, I have a few suggestions for some possible articles.

1. How to chase your toddler up the down escalator without allowing your newly burgeoning "bump" to knock you off balance, catch your toddler with one hand, and gracefully exit the escalator without falling, toddler in tow.

2. How to keep your 2-year-old from riding her tricycle into oncoming traffic, running into oncoming traffic, jumping into the deep end of the pool, etc. without going into labor.

3. The best way to sneak your utterly exhausted pregnant body a nap while simultaneously exhibiting enthusiasm during the 400th viewing of "Sesame Street Sings Karaoke."

4. How to snuggle with your sweet toddler when she no longer fits onto your lap (and not because she's the one growing.)

5. How to explain to your two-year old that Mommy does not feel like nor can she physically manage to bend over and push you on your toddler car up and down the neighborhood street for hours.

6. Why calories eaten off your child's plate don't really count during pregnancy.

7. Why it's okay to feed your child chocolate and pizza for dinner three nights in-a-row because you no longer have the pre-pregnancy energy or brain power to construct an argument that makes everyone happy.

8. Bible-study for pregnant moms who want to spend their child's naptime sleeping, but know they desperately need to use it for prayer and devotion to maintain their own strength and sanity.

9. Yoga for two, make that three. Your toddler will always awaken from naptime about the time you get the yoga mat down.

10. Advice for Dads. How to make your pregnant toddler mommy's job a little easier. Suggestions include treating her to a day at the spa.

I'm sure there are more topics that need to be covered, but this would be a good start!

If I Could be Like Dad

Ahh....isn't it sweet when little girls long to be just like their daddy. Especially when dad decides to mow the lawn shirtless. Need I say more?

Real Sports Hero

When I was home from college for summer break, I remember clearly looking forward to curling up each evening on the couch in my parents' den and watching the Braves game, uninterrupted for hours. No classes, no tests, no deadlines. Just the pure thrill of summer baseball. Sometimes my siblings would join me, unless they had dates. (Fortunately, for me, my husband saw through the supergeek exterior.) But normally, I watched alone. For me, no matter what was going on in my life, I knew that almost every evening on TBS, the Braves would be there. Skip, Pete, Don, and Joe became like family friends. "That ball is hit hard. It's going, going.....and caught by the second baseman." It was like comfort food during a time in my life when things never seemed certain.

Much has changed over the past year for the Braves. No longer are they on TBS. The network has now opted to show reruns of Family Guy and Everybody Loves Raymond. (I hope that's working out for them.) When I turn the channel to Fox Sports South, or whatever it is, I now only see Joe and some red-headed guy. Mark Lemke has moved from second base to the radio booth, and Ron Gant is now host of the pre/post-game shows. What has remained constant, though, are two players who have earned my respect more as each year passes, Chipper Jones and John Smoltz. And we learned yesterday, that Smoltz could possibly be hanging up his uniform for good. Season and possibly career-ending surgery looms heavy on the horizon.

As someone who resists change, I've weathered the recent changes to the team rather well, but my heart was heavy yesterday upon hearing the news. John Smoltz is more than a pitcher; he's a phenomenal pitcher, but he is also a class-act, who quietly breaks records then eases gracefully from the spotlight to focus on family and charity. While I'd cringe watching Greg Maddux drop the f-bomb when a pitch didn't go the way he'd intended, I'd admire Smoltz's poise and character. A Christian, who doesn't just "talk the talk," he truly lives his faith and has earned the respect of players and coaches everywhere. In his own words, "I’m still going to go out and give it all I’ve got. I just don’t play for the records or the popularity anymore. I play for no one other than the Lord now and when you play only for Him it really removes the pressure you once had and you can go out and have fun and work hard"(Serving Christ Through Baseball,Cash, 1999).

In an era where performance enhancing drugs have become more common than sunflower seeds in the dugout, Smoltz has always played by the rules. His faith in God and in the purity of the game have earned him quite a career, not only as a starter but also as a closer. He is the real deal, a true American sports hero. And while I realize he might be back next year as a lefty, I just wanted to say kudos to John. It has been a real pleasure to grow up watching you pitch with such grace, elegance, and character.

My Sweet Girl

After attending a Memorial Day swim party, where T and I spent much of the day telling A, "no," "stop," "We don't hit, A," and putting her in timeout twice, I arrived home feeling guilty that maybe we are too hard on her. After all, she is only two. And, at home, much of what she was doing, I wouldn't have considered true misbehavior, but for some reason when there are other children and parents involved, you feel like if you don't do something, you aren't "parenting" appropriately. Of course, I couldn't let A clock her friend in the head and not do anything, or hit adult guests, eat off a chip and put it back in the bowl, but seriously, did I mention she's only two. For some reason, I think our expectations as adults of children often exceed reality.

Anyway, I just felt like I sometimes write a good deal about the challenges of parenting a toddler, and today, I wanted to write about how truly wonderful it is to be the mommy of a fantastic two-year-old. Every morning, I look forward to A's little feet running to the bedroom door (after her dad gets her out of the crib), opening it wide, and climbing into bed with Mommy for "snuggle bunny" time. She crawls in next to me, looks over and says, "Morning, mommy" and grabs my hand.

I love how when I am sitting in the floor with A putting together puzzles, reading, or coloring, she'll get up and walk around behind you, throw her arms around your neck, and then pat you on the back and say, "Hi, mommy." Sometimes she'll hug extra hard and say, "sqeeze," which means squeeze. When T and I are working in the yard, she always has to have sunglasses and gloves, just like mom and dad, and she always pushes her bubble mower right behind her daddy when he mows.

She also says the sweetest and funniest things. When I put on my bathing suit for the beach or the pool, after hearing her father one day call me "hot mama," she always looks at me and says "hot mommy." Hilarious and her attempt to both be like her daddy and be super sweet. She's also really into trying to share. She gives bites of her food away, always makes sure an unattended sippy cup immediately makes it back to its owner, and gives you the crayon that is the same color as the one she is using, so you both have blue, red, or the color of the day.

When I think about how wonderfully blessed I am that God allows me to be the mother of this little girl, I am simply overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. Sure there are spills, marks on things that aren't paper, like the walls for instance, and whiny, grumpy moments, and while I write about these too often and fail to reflect on the wonders of parenting, I can't express strongly enough how much I love being A's mother. And I know I'll feel the same way about our new baby. Parenting is tough, really tough, and you want so much to do it right, whatever right is. All I can do is trust God to guide T and me and spend more time enjoying and thinking about all the rewards that come along with giving it your true all.

On the Run, Okay Jog

I am not Paula Radcliffe.

Many of you are probably saying, "duh?!", while others are asking, "Who?" Ms. Radcliffe is the British marathon extraordinaire, who managed to run 7 to 8 minute miles while 7 months pregnant. I like to refer to her as superwoman! I planned to run throughout my second pregnancy, but when I concocted this brilliant plan, I was not yet pregnant. As with all great ideas, I'm sure it sounded brilliant at the time. After burning up the track today with 12 minute miles, a heart rate of 155, and incredible nasuea, it doesn't sound like as much fun anymore.

Seriously, I do plan to try and continue running with this pregnancy. I like a challenge, and since my doctor has given his okay, and I know it is safe, I think it will be fun to push my changing body, ever sluggish as it may be. But, it is so much harder now that I am expecting. My heart is racing before I even begin, and I feel like I am literally trudging my growing body through sludge with every step. Add to that the stroller, and I really just feel like whining. "It's toooo haaarrd!!!" Since we're trying to break our sweet girl's habit of whining, I try to keep my own to a minimum, but the frustration of having to back off so much to keep my heart rate in the safe range and the added difficulty of just being pregnant is bringing out the whiner in me.

What is wrong with me? I see pregnant women running all the time with a spring in their steps and a smile on their faces. I almost passed out when upon finishing a 10-K with a decent time, a woman at least six months along finished not too far behind me. And I wasn't expecting at the time! I've read stories written by women who raved about their ability to run right up until delivery with no trouble. Are they serious? Was their run really a fast walk with a bit of a kick? Who knows?

I think I've just decided that attempting to work out during pregnancy, much less run, is of great benefit to the baby and me regardless of the intensity. I pledge during this pregnancy not to be so hard on myself, to quit comparing my current fitness level to my pre-pregnancy fitness level, to stop comparing my pregnant running self to the expectant sprinting of professional atheletes, and to just enjoy the fact that pregnancy allows me to take it a little easier. Before I know it, A and her new brother or sister will be begging for mom to make the stroller go faster, and I'll be back to my sprinting shape in no time.

Iron Man

1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike ride, 13.1 mile run. I stare at the numbers in awe, mouth gaping. A runner only, and having completed one 26.2 mile race myself, I still look on at the athletes surrounding my daughter and me and feel incredibly intimidated. I couldn't imagine running 1.1 miles after spinning for 60 minutes, much less biking 56 miles and then running a HALF MARATHON! In a few short hours, my husband would be testing the limits of his physical endurance by pushing his body 70.3 miles along with 1,300 other incredible athletes.

It is an incredibly warm day, and after three hours riding in a car, A and I, who have both apparently had a run-in with melted chocolate, decide to walk around the expo instead of waiting in line with T. A is running and screaming, shouting no to anyone who stops to comment on her cuteness. I'm beginning to think with A 's antics plus the fact that we have chocolate all over the back of our shorts and A's shirt, that keeping us from embarrassing T, might actually be a more difficult feat than the half-Iron. So, I take A to the lobby to wait for her daddy. The sweltering weather does not look like a good indication for the next day's race.

A and I sleep through the early morning wake-up call and miss seeing T off for the big day. Fortunately, his dad accompanies him to the start of the swim. T's mom, A, and I hurriedly get ready, though, and wait for the phone call to let us know that T is out of the water and on his bike. The heat and humidity are already high at 7 a.m., but the clouds block the sweltering rays of the sun. I say a small prayer and hope that T can get through the run before the sun breaks through the overcast sky. Papa calls to let us know that T is finished with the swim and should be passing us shortly on the bike. I breathe a huge sigh of relief (sharks, hundreds of people swimming in the rough surf at once), and A, Gigi, and I run outside to cheer for T. He zooms by on his bike looking strong and content.

Just a few hours later, we are able to watch him pass back by on the bike, and we rush toward the transition to see him start the run. By now, the sun is breaking through the clouds. The temperature is easily 85 degrees. My husband smiles and waves, as he passes, though, so I push the worries to the back of my mind, for now. After a 1 hr. 30 min. finish in the Mercedes, I plan on trying to make it back to the transition in about 1 hr. and 45 min. The time passes quickly, at least for A and mom. I coat us in sunscreen, and T 's parents, A , and I head back out to the finish line to watch for T . We have a lime green sign with sentiments of our support ready to wave when he passes by.

The heat is oppressive and the worry begins to creep back into my mind. The first aid golf cart has made several trips to the course, and it has been more than two hours since T started the run. We each take turns leaving our shady spot to go watch for him. Finally, I see his bright yellow shirt. "Here he comes!" I scream to the others, and we all crowd the street waiting to watch him cross the finish line. As I see him, I am suddenly overcome with emotion and pride and begin to cry. I squeeze A 's hand, lean over, and whisper, "That's your daddy little girl. That's your daddy."

T looks exhausted, and I know it has been tougher than any of us could have imagined. I am so overcome with pride knowing what he has just accomplished that I just embrace him. He's done it, a half-Ironman, and he finished in the top 1/3 of the competitors. After a shower and lunch, he tells us about how tough the bike ride was with the wind and how miserable the run was with the sun and heat, but I know he, too, is proud of his accomplishment. Just a few hours removed from that race, though, he is already talking about what he could do differently next time and starting to plan for a full-Iron. Like a true athlete! I just smile and think of how I can support him even more this time. I just ask that he waits until after our new little one arrives, so we'll have an even bigger cheering section.

Raving Cravings

Pregnancy cravings. ARRRGH! Pregnancy cravings. How could someone who just wants to sleep all day be so hungry?! And not just hungry, no, it is a fixation on a certain food that borders obsession. Saturday it was Panera bread's Smokehouse Turkey. Sunday night, taco salad. My husband wanted to grill out for me on Saturday, and I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from making sure his meal plan fit my craving of the day. We had grilled chicken and it was wonderful.

I have actually convinced myself that peanut M & Ms are good for me. Seriously. And I assure you that will not be the only junk food that rises in nutritional merit during this pregnancy. No, there will be others, like cherry-chocolate ice cream. It has the antioxidants of chocolate plus the fruity benefit of cherries! Did I mention that ice cream has calcium?? I'm still working on how I can up the nutritional value of barbecue and hamburgers. Isn't pork the new chicken?

Just shy of ten weeks, and I've already gained five pounds, despite running, spinning, and chasing A . Oh well, as long as oatmeal raisin cookies qualify as health food, it looks like I'll be in for quite a weight loss plan once the baby gets here. I think training for a marathon did wonders last time, and just imagine how many calories I'll burn running with two babies!

Memory Lapse

I was in labor for 13 hours with A , so I know that I've been pregnant before. Yet, for some reason, I seemed to have blocked all memories of pregnancy from my mind. I'm beginning to see why.

I had forgotten how the scents of coffee, ice cream (yes, ice cream has a scent), and cut grass made my stomach churn. Although cloudy, I do vaguely recall being too exhausted to cook, clean, workout, or even get out of bed. And did I mention the 24 hour a day nausea. I apparently blocked that memory, as well. Add to the mix an energetic toddler, and I am literally walking around in a foggy haze. I have to write down when I take my vitamin, so I don't take it twice. How sad is that!

It appears that all I do have the energy to do is eat. Was I this ravenous with A ? My fifty pound first pregnancy weight gain should answer that question. I am trying to be good and pry myself off the couch for runs and spin, but wow, it is hard to ignore the hunger pangs. And while I'm sure an apple or grapes would suffice, for some reason it must be barbecue or hamburgers. My body will accept nothing less. Sorry, Dr. , it looks like you might be getting on to me again this time about the weight gain. I did lose it last time, though.

Right now, my clothes are becoming snug, but I'm still not showing. The casual observer might assume that I'm just adding a few pounds, most of which have gone to my belly. I really want to pull out stretchy waistbands, but I don't think it is time, just yet. Ahh, the first trimester.

And while I have blocked much of the first pregnancy discomforts from my mind, I do remember why it is the most wonderful experience. The second trimester does get better, less nausea, more energy. How often does your body get to experience a true miracle? And, at the end of that nine month body-altering adventure, God blesses you with the most wonderul little person you ever imagined, and that makes every pound, every minute of nausea, every second of exhaustion worth it!

Christmas Surprise

"A !" I scream running down the stairs, my legs rubbery and unsteady. "Come on, we've got to run a quick errand."

I load A into the car, jump in the driver's seat, and sit there, a bit shaky. "Is it really possible? And so quickly?" I put the car in reverse and head to Rite-Aid.

Allow me to back up for a moment.

My fingers have been numb and tingly, feet, too, so I schedule an appointment with my neurologist, who wanted to do an MRI. He assures me that he isn't concerned and this is just a precaution. A few days later I call the nurse to ask if you could have an MRI while expecting.
"I don't think it's likely, but possible, barely possible." I tell her.
"I'll just need you to take a pregnancy test the Friday before the MRI to make sure," she says.

So, the Friday before, the scheduled-MRI I grab a test left from back when we were trying for A. The instructions say plus-pregnant, minus-not. Simple enough. Once the time is up, I check the test. A faint, pink line is crossing a bold fuschia line. Faint, that's how I am feeling right now. Is that a plus, or not? Maybe it's a mark on the test because it is so old. I use another test. The same faint pink line appears. That is when I grab A and head for the drug store. I need to be 100% certain, which for me apparently means it needs to actually show the word pregnant on the test stick.

A and I rush into Rite-Aid like a whirlwind. I run to the test, grab the one that is the most idiot-proof, and race home, okay, more like drive the speed limit home while my stomach churns uncontrollaby. Is it nerves or do I suddenly have morning sickness?

Once home, I bound upstairs, slipping a few times, take the test and nervously wait the three hours, really, minutes, it takes to show up. And there it is, the word PREGNANT, just like that in all caps. I'm pregnant. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, so I do both. A walks into the bathroom, bewildered at her hysterical laughing, crying mommy. I pick her up, carry her to the bedroom, and just sit there kissing her head and rocking her, not sure how to feel, yet. Two years and two months of just A and Mom all day, two peas in a pod, and for some reason, I feel like to be elated would be cheating on her.

Of course, I am thrilled to be expecting. Travis and I talked about it and both agree A needs a sister or brother, but wow, it all seems to be happening so fast. I didn't expect to be taking positive pregnancy tests until July or August, but here it is, a blessing beyond measure, and I sit crying, tears gently rolling down my cheeks onto my confused daughter's golden hair. "Mommy's okay, baby, just emotional."

I dry my eyes and call T. "Hey, I have news." I can't tell him over the phone.
"What?" he asks.
"You'll find out soon enough."

I look at A. "How can we tell Daddy creatively?" I feel myself getting excited. I jump on the computer and try to find out how to calculate the due date. December 21st. "We need a Christmas theme." I decide to wrap the news in Christmas paper and wait for Travis's confused look. He finally gets home from work and opens his gift. "What's this?" he asks. "Merry Christmas!" I shout. "We're getting a December visit from the stork." I embrace my husband and find myself feeling a twinge of excitement. I am going to have another baby and this time A gets to come along for the ride. I'll continue to let you know how that goes.

Traffic Violations

I got my first ticket. At 32, I received my first traffic ticket. For speeding, no. For allowing A to jump in the front seat unrestrained, no. For "running" a stop sign, yes.

My local police, out cleaning up crime, was hiding at the bottom of a hill with a birdseye view of a three-way stop, where he could catch us S.U.V. suburban stay-at-home moms trying to get home quickly, but safely with our napping toddlers before we missed that critical window of opportunity that allows us to get them into the crib without waking them up, thus giving us the valuable free-time required for cleaning, laundry, and sanity. When I think hardened law-breaking criminals, I think stay-at-home mommy.

Apparently, when I came to the stop sign with absolutely no traffic on the road, I made a snap-decision to turn instead of go straight. I really thought I had come to a complete stop before turning. I drove right by the motorcycle cop without thinking that I had done anything wrong. Did I stop and count to, I don't know, ten. No, but I did stop the vehicle from moving for a brief moment. So, imagine my surprise when he turns around to pull me over. Napping A , loud, very scary, sarcastic, kind of mean, tattooed policeman, flustered mom. I tried to keep my voice down so A wouldn't hear her mommy and wake up, so I didn't say much to the officer, and no I didn't cry or try to get out of it. But, really, how about a warning?! A, "be more careful maam, and let's come to a complete stop for a few seconds next time." No, I got a "you ran a stop sign didn't you?" Despite my desire to say, "no, I didn't, and do you have to be so mean," I instead politely hand him my license and insurance and sit quietly while he "writes me up." $133. Do you know how many Elmo DVD's or diapers that would buy!!!!??

Am I mad because the officer was doing his job? Despite the HEAVY sarcasm above, no. I'm mad at myself for "breaking" the traffic laws. I really try to abide by all laws, even traffic laws. I usually drive the speed limit or just a few miles above. But, I guess I'm not trying hard enough, so if you're behind me at a stop sign, just be prepared for a truly exaggerated stop! And yes, I'll be the "granny" driver in the silver SUV.

Step to It

It is a dark, stormy afternoon, wind howling, rain driving, you know the rest. A is refusing to nap. Okay, maybe she can't sleep for the tremendous thunderclaps shaking the house. Whatever the case, mom needs a break, so I cover A with a raincoat and run to the car, where we brave the howling wind, driving rain, and tornado warnings and drive the quarter-mile to the gym. I drop A off in the nursery, which is snuggled safely in the basement of the gym and go to check the schedule for group exercise. Step Circuit. Mmmm, it might as well say advanced hip-hop for all my coordination and skill. Well, I'm here now, so since I've braved the weather, surely I can brave a little humiliation and damaged pride and give step a try.

Immediately, I realize I am in over my head. Within seconds of my warm-up, Katie, our instructor, shouts, "Around the world." Around the who? I wonder, while everyone else in the class steps and lifts their knees in perfect rhythm. I just jump around in circles trying to figure out how around-the-world should actually be performed. Step is a lot like dance, and love dancing I might, that doesn't mean I can do it.

Apparently, we are going on a trip because the next move is a "carry-on" (I think) with lunges. Ooh! Lunge, I know that one. Carry-on, no clue. Again, I jump around, looking more like a baboon than an athlete and finish with a few lunges in the opposite direction of everyone else. All these steps....arrrgh....I can't keep up. My favorite workout dance is running and it only has two steps.

As soon as I feel like I'm learning the routine, Katie adds about ten new steps. I spend half the class facing everyone else and trying not to laugh. Who does she think I am Janet Jackson? I assure you I dance more like Tom Jones, but when I look at the clock, I am amazed to find that the class is almost over. Trying desperately to keep up with step circuit sure makes the time fly. Finally class is over, and I manage to scrape my pride off the floor and head down to the nursery, where I'm told A has been slapping and shoving other children. Pride back on floor. This time I cover my head with the raincoat and run with A to the car. Maybe we'll try the gym again on Monday?!

Diaper Dandy

I must admit that I dread nap time more than A. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't look forward to two hours of mommy-alone-time, which normally includes cleaning, straightening, meal-planning, and o.k., sometimes the occasional nap or mindless magazine. No, I dread the daunting task of getting A to actually fall asleep in her crib and stay there. Yes, I have a confession to make.... after two years, I still need help getting A down for her nap. Either the rocker, if we're home or the car, if we're on the way home from T's office. What I don't undertand is why dad can lay her down in the crib with nary a peep. My mother-in-law and mother can also do it. But me, nope, not a chance. When I try, A is transformed into a shrieking, thrashing toddler-beast unwilling to be calmed.

But today is going to be different. Today is the day Mom is going to stand strong and not run back into the room to comfort, rock, or hold crying A. Yes, today, today will be the day that I place A gently in the crib, softly say, "night, night" and never look back. (Can you hear the dramatic super-hero music, too?) A's cries will no longer be my kryptonite.

And that is just what I do. After lunch, A and I walk up the stairs hand-in-hand to her darkened room. I strain through the dim light and manage to read one pre-nap book, while gently rocking my girl. I then lay A in her crib with Cookie and Puppies and walk out of the nursery. A immediately stands up and begins to cry. "Night, night," I say from beyond the crack in the door. "Mommy is going downstairs."

"Downstairs?" she asks in a small, whiny voice.

"Night, night."

"No night, night," she counters.

I close the door, tip-toe downstairs and begin to mop the kitchen floor. A's cries soon fade to silence. A few minutes pass and no sound. I've done it. She's napping; I'm cleaning, and it only took five minutes. I walk to the office and decide to take a peep on the monitor. My shoulders slump as I watch my short-lived moment of victory turn quickly to defeat. A isn't sleeping. No, she's standing and dancing in her crib. Is that her victory dance? "Mommy can't make me sleep," I imagine her saying while chuckling that dastardly cackle from the cartoons. I'm certain she's rubbing her hands together, concocting some plot to destroy nap time forever.

"What should I do?" I think to myself. What would super-mommy do? I'm sure I do the exact opposite because I walk back upstairs to her room. She smiles and points, "Mommy." I must admit; it is nice to always be treated like a celebrity.

"You're supposed to be napping." I notice a diaper in the floor. How in the world did she reach the diapers? I wonder. Defeated, I pick A up and get ready to either rock her or drive her around the neighborhood. Then I notice her hiney is as bare as the day she was born. "A!" I half-whisper, half-shout, "Where is your diaper?"

She giggles and points to the, thankfully, clean diaper in the floor. "Diaper," she says proudly.

"A, that is not funny."

A giggles louder and lifts her dress to show off her bare bottom. She's so proud to have stripped her way out of nap time. (I really hope this is no indication of aptitude for a certain career.) For fear that I am about to be victim to a quick sprinkle, I lay her in the floor and grab the diaper. She looks up and smiles. "Mommy, no diaper."

"I know, baby, no diaper." Suddenly, I do what no parent should ever do in the face of defiance. I erupt uncontrollaby into giggles. I mean, come on, you must admit this is pretty funny stuff and rather clever. Of course, this means, that A will now attempt to foil all nap times by removing her own diaper, but I'll figure that out later. Right now, I have to go warm up the car....

Faith Matters

Easter evening, after putting A to bed, T and I were flipping through the channels on television trying to find something to watch. Baseball had not started and there was no basketball being played, so we were at a loss to find anything for our viewing pleasure. T landed on Fox news, where Sean Hannity was hosting a special on Mysteries of Faith, so we watched for a little while. One of the segments was "first-hand" accounts of heaven and hell, both quite compelling, but the hell was especially horrifying and disturbing, and as we watched I got the sinking feeling that people I love could possibly be on the path to hell. I know, wow, heavy, but it's true, and I have not been able to really shake that feeling, since.

I guess that's why I felt compelled to blog about it, to get it off my mind and onto paper. Since Anna has hit the terrific, yet sometimes overwhelming, and I'll admit, every now and again, terrible twos, I've been doing a lot of self-examination as a parent, and I've been thinking about what my most important responsibility is as a parent, and that's easy. My number one desire for my daughter is eternal salvation, and T and I are doing all that we can to lead her on the path to Christ. I think examining yourself as a parent also causes you to examine your own self and your own faith and beliefs and then to say, "Am I living my faith in a way that proves to my daughter that I believe it?" In a world where truth seems relative and spiritual gurus and Oprah try to tell us that there are many paths to God and eternity, the truth is there is one, and it is my job to be sure that A knows that. John 14:6 states that "I (Jesus) am the way and the truth and the light. No one comes to the Father except through me." It is pretty clear-cut, and it is an easy truth to teach A, as her parents.

But what about the other people I love, who I fear are lost. Why is it so difficult to share a faith that is so wonderful, a truth that is so abounding in love and eternal bliss? I don't have the answer except to say that, shamefully, I guess I'm afraid of what other people will think. My husband and I serve our church and share our faith with youth and young adults, but witnessing to the willing isn't difficult. It's those who don't know or refuse to hear that I worry about. So that is why I am sharing it now in the medium that I know best. There is a wonderful gift that God has given us and that is salvation through his son Jesus Christ. Just attending church and acknowledging God's existence won't secure it. Being baptized as a baby, yet never confirming that act isn't enough. You must understand that you are a sinner. Romans tell us that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. You must then believe that Jesus is the son of God. Salvation is an act of faith. You must then confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and through prayer invite Him to forgive your sins and into your heart. Then live your life for Him. Simple, but powerful, and I believe the best decision you'll ever make.

Resources for questions:

http://www.family.org/
http://www.lproof.org/