A Sentence Off the Old Paragraph....or something like that

Once a quarter, I entered my elementary school with a little extra bounce in my step because I knew that day was the big day....the day I waited eagerly for all fall, winter, or spring. The day my teacher handed out the Scholastic Book order forms. The only other days that could fill my heart with such glee were Library Day and Book Fair Day. My small hands would eagerly grasp the newsprint flier, where I would hug it close to my chest before poring over each choice, each possibility. I would then carefully select two or three books, whatever my parents would allow, then I would hand my order into the teacher, counting the days until my new books arrived. No, I'm not kidding.

When my daughter brought home her first Scholastic order form just days ago, memories came pouring back, and I saw my younger self in her excited eyes. "Mommy, look."

"Oh, Pumpkin, we can order books."

"I want that one, Mommy," is her reply. Oh, look at that, she already has one picked out. She points to a book with a large bus on the cover. "And that one, Mommy, Clifford."

"Let's see," I say, wanting to see how much the books cost. "You can pick out three books, okay." I mean, it is the first time for her to experience the Scholastic Book form, the latest titles at reduced rates. I love you, Scholastic people.

A studies the order form intently, excitedly calling out all the possibilities. I explain that she'll get these forms several times a year, and each time we can maybe order at least one book. She finalizes her selection, and I fill out the form and write a check. I realize this is one of those exciting parenting moments I've looked forward to sharing with my daughter: her taking a real interest in something I remember doing as a child. And her love of reading, just like her mom, will be a bond we can always share. Just wait until I tell my little bookworm about library day and the book fair. Hmmm...is C at the age now where I started reading to A?

Comments from the Checkout Gallery

After spending much of the Labor Day holiday tackling the thrilling task of cleaning out closets, I realize I have nothing planned for dinner....and it is quickly nearing 7 p.m. Travis, my sweet husband, has been keeping the kids busy playing while mom completed her closet, so I figured he would not mind if I went to the store alone. "I'm going to the grocery store," I holler into the playroom, as I grab my purse. "Mommy, I want to go." I look down to see my eldest scrambling to find her flip-flops. "Okay, sweetie," then to my husband, "I'm taking A with me."

A and I arrive at the grocery, list safely at home on the counter. I grab A free cookie from the bakery, and off we go, perusing the aisles, trying to come up with something quick for dinner. We finish our shopping, and I begin the search for the shortest check-out line.

A who has been giggling at mom's goofy antics, is still in a silly mood. A normally says one of three things when we greet passersby: "Good morning, Merry Christmas, or ARRRGH. This time she chose the latter. A suddenly lets out a loud, "ARRRGH!" at the lady in front of us. "Oh, my," is the woman's initial shocked response, but it seems the lady is just warming up. Granted, the screaming is annoying, but unless you have a bad heart, it is probably not really going to hurt you. I turn A's chin to my face, and firmly say, "Pumpkin, we don't scream at people." To which the lady responds, "Yes, apparently she does." Surely, she jests. I just continue unloading my cart without saying anything. But she doesn't stop there, no, the woman continues, "Someone really wanted some attention." I feel color creeping into my cheeks, warming them from my embarrassment and growing irritation, but I've been trying to allow God to cultivate the fruit of the Spirit in my life, namely in this situation gentleness and self-control, so I just quietly unload my groceries without saying a word.

I mean, really, what would I say? My daughter is three, if she's still doing this at 7, we'll talk. She skipped her nap and is hungry. Please tell me your not being serious. Maam, if you knew what self-doubt fills so many young parents already, would you be making me feel like I have no control over my child. Or how about, what really did you accomplish or plan to accomplish with your commentary? I just protectively stroke A's hair and softly explain to my daughter that it really bothers people for someone to yell at them, and that she should say hello instead or even, Merry Christmas. The woman leaves without saying anything else, and I finish checking out. A and I hurry out to the car, and I drive home, where I immediately call my sister for some reassurance that my daughter isn't the only child in the world that is trying to find her voice and express it, sometimes a little too loudly.

Words of Wisdom

A has become quite the comedienne, so I thought I 'd share some of her words of wisdom.

While playing Hungry Hippos one day, A decided she would be the pink and orange hippos and mommy could play the green and yellow ones. About two minutes into the game, A puts her hand on the green hippo and says, "Mommy, the he's not hungry anymore."

A has been taking Spanish at her new pre-school. One day after school, I was asking A if she was learning any Spanish, yet. I said, "Have you learned hola, como esta, bien?" She interrupts me and says, "Mom, I'm not Dora."

We were watching a commercial for the SpinBrush, and A says, "Look at that, mom." "It's a toothbrush," is my response. Without missing a beat, A says, "That's not a toothbrush, it's a teethbrush." She's got me there; it does brush more than one tooth at a time.

After church, I was asking A what they talked about in her new Sunday school class. "Did you read about Isaac, Abraham, Moses?" I asked. "Moses," she replied. "From the liver Bible." "The liver Bible? You mean the Living Bible." "Yes, Mommy. The Livin' Bible."

After our morning run, A is sitting in her carseat singing Veggie Tales, when she stops, and says, "You're huge, mommy." "I'm huge?" Her response, "That's okay. I like my big mommy." Later that day, though, out of the blue, she says, "You're not huge anymore, mommy."

Later that day, she told a clerk at Wal-mart that she was a "hoot." I tried to exlpain that she meant she was funny but realized that probably wasn't much better, so I finally just assured her that it was not an insult but a compliment.

I can't wait to hear what she'll come up with next!

A Day in the Life of a Stay-at-home Mom

At 6:00 a.m. I hear C whimper. By 6:15 it is a full-fledged cry. I stumble into his room, pick him up, and carry him back to my bed, where I attempt nursing while sleeping. I drift off and worry about dropping him, so I give up on trying to get 10 more minutes of sleep. T gets up and turns off the alarm, why we actually set the alarm, I'm not quite sure. He trudges down the stairs and within minutes my sleepy little girl wanders into our room, her blonde hair ruffled from sleep and her hands full of books, blankets, and teddy bears. "I want pancakes, mommy, after I watch George."

"Okay, sweetie," is my reply. I grab a few of her books with one hand and walk downstairs holding C with the other. I turn on Curious George and put C in his exersaucer, so I can prepare breakfast. My son looks up at me like I have placed him in prison instead of a wonderland of toys. Dell, our retriever, looks longingly through the sliding glass door. Perhaps she and C can communicate somehow about how mean mommy is for trying to eat breakfast. T comes downstairs, says his good-byes, and leaves for work. After A eats, I sit down beside her as she watches Sid the Science Kid and eat my oatmeal. After breakfast, we get dressed, load the car with snacks, juice, books, and head off for our morning jog.

At least today, I will be jogging with a stroller that has both tires inflated. I discovered just how difficult it is to run with a flat tire last week, not one day, but two. A and C both try to out-whine each other for the first 2 1/2 miles and then both settle in for the second-half of our run with C even drifting off to sleep. I even get a few comments about how cute A looks reading her book.

After our run, it is back home to prepare lunch to take to T at work. We drive to the office, where I prepare lunch then sneak away for a few seconds to check my email at T's desk. T has to get some work done, so A, C, and I go home. I put C down for his nap and A and I play a game for about five minutes, when Connnor begins to cry. I attempt to get him back to sleep but to no avail, so I give up and A, C, and I read books in A's room until they begin to fight over the one must have book out of about five hundred. "Do you want to go to the park or the library?" I ask A. "Where is the park library?" she asks. Trying not to laugh, I explain that I meant we can either go to the park OR the library.

She chooses the park, so we go to the playground, then to the grocery store, where again, A and C enter into a whining contest. C wins, so I unbuckle him from the stroller and carry him. My cell phone rings as I am checking cartons for a dozen eggs that are all intact. My boss is calling to see if I can be on stand-by to tutor in two hours. I call T who still has to mow our lawn and the office lawn, but he says to tell my boss okay. I call him back and go home to unload groceries and prepare dinner. Fortunately, I don't have to tutor, so I feed C, give A and him baths, and start dinner. A plays happily with Thomas the Train, while C tries to scale the barstools or pull all of my cookbooks off the shelf. I distract him about 30 times when T finally comes in the door about 6. He tells me he needs to go to Lowe's after dinner to get something to fix a leaky toilet. I try not to scream. We eat, T leaves, and C finally falls asleep in my lap.

I put C in his crib, and A and I find the Country Music Festival on television. Sugarland is singing and A says, "Let's dance, mommy." I want to say, but I just sat down for the first time today. Instead, I get up and twirl and jump and dance with my little girl. Travis walks in the door and goes upstairs to fix the toilet. A and I continue to sing and dance until we realize we've waken up C. I rock him back to sleep, brush A' teeth, and let T take over the bedtime routine. It is after 8 p.m. I clean up the kitchen and try to catch five minutes of alone time before bed, where I will spend fifteen minutes studying the bible and fall asleep while saying my prayers.

Despite the chaos, the exhaustion, the feeling of never getting anything accomplished (things like basic hygiene), I have never regretted my decision to leave my teaching job to stay home with my children. Because I know that while my daughter's face lights up when we race at the park or play Chutes and Ladders for the 1,000 time today, that in about a week, she'll be too cool to hang out with mom. And while I grow weary from keeping C away from the stairs, from chewing on flip-flops, and from pulling his sister's hair, I know that my little crawler will soon walk, then run, then in a few months may possibly be suiting up for the Auburn Tigers.

Like what I think the Proverbs 31 woman shows us, life is a series of seasons, and right now, I am in the season of mommying two precious little babies, and too soon, I will be in a different season, the season of parenting school-age children, then middle schoolers, then high schoolers, and then I'll be letting go. Already, my infant boy is an eight-month-old crawler on a mission to explore every corner of his world. I love watching him examine an object, spot something else, crawl eagerly to that object, and before he even reaches it, he's already eyeing the next adventure. And A is learning so much, so quickly, I can barely follow her excited chatter as she talks about school, friends, and her new Sunday school class. I'm crying just thinking about how quickly the seasons pass, so with that perspective, I cherish the twirling, the building of pillow caves to be crashed in by little brother, the races at the park, and reading the same book one million times because so soon, they won't ask anymore. They'll be too big. So even though I sit here exhausted, I thank God for blessing me with this parenting season and look forward to each one and what joy it will bring.

A Little Encouragement

I love being a mom for millions upon millions of reasons. One of the many joys of parenthood are the sweet little voices of my children as they encourage and affirm. Like when A sees her daddy running and excitedly cheers, "Go, daddy," then turns to me and proudly says, "My daddy runs fast." Today she encouraged her mommy, who does not run fast.

The Hill looms before me like Everest. I have no idea how long this hill really is; I just know when you stand at the bottom with a desire to run and a double jogger filled with two children and books, it is quite intimidating. "I can run this," I tell myself. I haven't run a hill since having C, so this is my first time in over a year and a half to run up anything steeper than a speedbump or maybe the curb to TCBY. I begin to push and slowly trudge up the bottom quarter of the hill. Maybe I can't run this, yet. My legs are already aching from an attempt to do Tae Bo a few days earlier.

"All right, Pumpkin. Mommy's going to need your help getting up this hill." A understands Mommy needs encouragement and does not intend for her to get out and help push the stroller. "You can do it, Mommy," she says. I begin to run again all the way to the half-way point. I stop and look up. The hill is steep and I can feel my heart beginning to pound. "Keep running, Mommy. You can do it," my daughter cheers from the stroller. "You're right, sweetheart. Mommy can do this."

I take a deep breath and with determination try my best to sprint the last half. I can only imagine what I must look like. I can't seem to get my heels down and am running mostly on my tip-toes. A car passes by slowly and the driver rolls down the window and shouts what I think is, "What a feat!" That's what I hear at least. Of course, he could have been shouting, "Pick up your feet." But I am encouraged nonetheless. I finally crest the hill and hear A shout, "You did it, Mom." We both say, "Yea," then I add a, "thank you, God and thank you, A for encouraging mommy." We run back down to the bottom of the hill; C sleeping soundly through our entire run. I look back up and realize that the hill probably isn't more than a quarter of a mile but for A and me, today, we conquered Everest.

First Day of School

Stomp. Creak. Stomp. Creak. I hear A 's footsteps on the stairs. "Good morning, Pumpkin!" I exclaim. "It's the first day of school."

Thud; Something (I think her blue bear) hits the ground; Stomp; Stomp; Stomp; Door slams: This is her response. Uh-oh. Not the response I was anticipating. I walk upstairs with C on my hip and open her door. A is sitting on her knees with her head laying on the bed. "I not going to school."

"Why not, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to go to school." The tears begin to flood, and I watch a tantrum unfurl. I truly have no idea what to do.

"I'm not going to school. I not wanna go to school," she sobs, heavily. I walk over to her closet and pull out a few dresses.

"Hey, sweetie, why don't we pick out what you're going to wear today?" A opens the drawer and begins to throw all of her clothes out into the floor. I put C on the floor with a toy, sit down next to him, pull A to my lap, put my arms around her, and begin to rock her, while stroking her hair. "Calm down, deep breaths, big breath," I say. "Why don't you tell mommy why you don't want to go to school?"

"No," is my response. This isn't exactly how I pictured the first day of school, but things don't usually tend to go the way I picture them. I say a small prayer for wisdom and try to remember if I've read about how to dissolve back-to-school fears in a magazine article or book. Can't recall.
Ah-ha. A loves Chick-fil-A as much as mom. Sure it's not textbook, but hey, it might work.

"Pumpkin, do you want to go to Chick-fil-A for a special first day of school breakfast?" She turns to look up at me and stops crying.

"Chick-fil-A" she musters pitifully. "Umm-hmm," I say. "You know, A , it's okay to be nervous about school. That's how you feel, nervous. You aren't sure what to expect, are you? That's scary." How profound is mom?

"I want chicken rolls, mommy." So much for my profound wisdom. I help her get dressed, pick up C , and walk downstairs. A follows us, in a much better mood. She almost seems excited. She even lets mom take some first day of school pictures. Maybe she just needed to express some fear and frustration the only way she knew how. Of course, I would have preferred expressing frustration without completely emptying the drawers, but I try my best to empathize with my baby, I mean, big girl.

After a trip to Chick-fil-A, we head to carpool, where we eat breakfast while waiting in line. I point out the playground, some people we see that A knows, and talk school up in a big way. A is growing more excited, and I breathe a sigh of relief. And, yes, I'll admit it; I wouldn't have been devastated if she had just refused and we'd waited until next year. But as I watch her get out of the car and walk into the school, I know how much fun she has waiting for her in the classroom, and I am filled with an enormous amount of pride, proud that she expressed frustration, took a big breath, and went to school despite her apprehensions. That's my girl. I can't wait until I can tell her just how proud I am of her when I pick her up in four hours. I look back at my sleeping baby boy and know it won't be long until his first day of 3K. Sigh...

Back to School for the First Time

When they handed me my beautiful baby girl and I cradled her gently against my heart, I never imagined how quickly that sweet infant would be a sweet three-year-old. Well, here we are, and A is getting ready to start 3K. Mom has mixed feelings; A has one emotion: ready. I didn't plan on sending her to school until 4K, but when she heard all of her friends were attending school, she wouldn't hear of it. She must be in school, too, mommy. So, I caved and signed her up. Today, we met the teacher and needless to say, we were memorable.

I unload A and C from the car, and we walk up the stairs to the church that houses A 's school. We are met by the school's director, who is a friend and the director of our own church's nursery program. "What's wrong with C 's face?" she asks. Oh no, what is wrong with C 's face? I look down to see him rubbing his eyes, he removes his hands, and I see welps around his eyes and nose. Dell! "He touched a toy the family dog had been playing with then touched his face. Dell's dander makes him itchy." Not even in the classroom and I have one child who looks like he's broken out in hives. The other is hiding behind my leg.

We get to the door of her classroom, and A plants herself even more firmly behind my leg. "Come on sweetheart, let's meet your teacher." She doesn't say anything, but quietly walks over to the book case. Some other parents and children are already in the classroom playing. A 's teacher comes over to us and kindly introduces herself to A . Without saying a word, A makes her way over to some matchbox cars and begins playing quietly. I talk to a few parents and explain why my son's face is so red. I make my way over to the sink and rinse the Dell residue from C 's face and hands. The redness starts to diminish, so I try and find something for him to play with while A meets her new classmates.

"She took my green car!" A wails. I never really know quite how to handle this when it isn't a close friend or her brother, so I offer, "Why don't you let your new friend play with it for two minutes, then you play for two minutes. Let's take turns." Her "new friend" offers A a green truck, which quickly goes flying across the room. "A ! She was trying to be nice. Please pick up the truck and say thank you." A 's new friend and her mom get up and move to the table to speak with some other parents and their children. I will not be expecting a play date call immediately. I let A continue playing and grab a plastic hammer from a bin for C to play with. "I don't know how she keeps things clean." I overhear then notice some parents watching my son put the toy in his mouth. Seriously? I take the hammer from C , grab a wipe from my purse, sanitize the hammer, and put it back in the toy chest. I stand and walk around with C trying to make conversation with other parents. So A 's throwing cars, C r, whose face looks like he has a frightening disease is chewing on toys, and I want to ask, "Can we go out, come in, and start over?"

Many of the parents leave and I give A the "we leave in two mintues warning." Her teacher and I talk for a few minutes and she asks if the visit has alleviated any of my apprehensions. "It has for the most part. I just worry a bit about how A is going to interact with the other children at first. She can be so empathetic, but she doesn't love to share. Of course, she's three." I repeat "she's three" just to remind myself that her behavior is completely normal. Her teacher nods and agrees that A will do just fine. What mom doesn't worry about her child's first time in school?

C begins to grow impatient, so I take A by the hand, direct her to say good-bye and we head to the car. A doesn't even acknowledge her teacher, but once we walk out the door, she begins to talk excitedly about the mural on the hallway wall, and by now, C r's sweet eyes are almost back to normal. We get to the car, and she really opens up about her room and her teacher and when she gets to come back. And I know once A is comfortable and school begins, her teacher and classmates will begin to see her as I see her: sweet, kind, brilliant, funny, loving, thoughtful, assertive, and wonderful. I take a deep breath and realize that although, I'm not quite ready for her to begin school, she can't wait to start, so I brace myself for lesson 1 of one million in letting go.

Obstacle Course

Once you've run a marathon, it's hard to stop. (Running marathons in general, not that specific marathon.) Something about the thrill of training and pushing your body to its limits drives you to keep striving to complete more races, faster. After a 1 1/2 year training hiatus, I have decided to run a half-marathon in December in honor of C 's birthday and a half in February in honor of A 's birthday. Two halves make a whole, right? I realize this endeavor, though, will be met with challenges not faced in my last training regiment; challenges like training with two children and a double jogger.

Challenge # 1 Getting to the track
"All right, Pumpkin, let's go." I coax A out the door, while holding C on one arm and my purse on the other. I have just finished loading books, snacks, a sippy cup, my water bottle, and sunscreen into the car.

"It's too sunny."

"Then get your sunglasses." I walk out the door to put C into his car seat. A comes out onto the porch. "Come on, sweetie, let's go."

"It's too shiny," she musters in her most pitiful voice.

"How about you close your eyes, and I'll carry you to the car? That way you won't see the sun so much."

"Okay." I start the car and back out the driveway. One mile later, we arrive at the track. "No, don't turn off Veggie Tales." I refrain from rolling my eyes and whining myself and wait patiently for "Message from the Lord" to end. I unload the stroller then load it down with at least five books, snacks, my cell phone, Walkman, sippy cup, water bottle, and a toy for C . Then I buckle A and C into the stroller.

And....we're off......and make it at least three feet when I hear, "I want my snack." I hand A her snack and start to jog.....and make it three more feet when I hear, "I want my juice." I try to hand A her juice while running without falling and decide to play it safe. I stop the stroller, hand her the cup, wait for her to drink, put it back in the stroller and start my run. By the time we get to the half-mile marker, C is snoozing and A has settled into a book. I just hope reaching into the storage section of the stroller 50 times for books, water, and snacks counts as ab work.

Challenge # 2 Connor's nap
When I resumed running after giving birth to my sweet boy, he didn't immediately settle into a stroller nap. No, I was usually the woman sloooowwly pushing the double jogger with the howling baby. Once I made it to the half-mile marker, if C were still awake, I'd take him out of the stroller, place him in the front carrier until he fell asleep, then I'd ease him back into the stroller and finish my run, A waiting sweetly and patiently the entire time.

Now naps are routine, but there are no guarantees. Take, for instance, two days ago, when running down the trail, my little ones and I were greeted by the clink-clink-clink of a jackhammer. Of course, a jackhammer. Why wouldn't there be a man with a jackhammer in the middle of the Greenway? C , jolted awake, began to whine. Big sister, though, came to the rescue with entertainment (silly faces), and he was occupied until we got back to the car.

Challenge #3 Rainy Days and Detours
When it rains, the trail floods. When the flood recedes, there is mud, lots of mud. After a particularly rainy stretch, I give it a few days then decide to attempt running the trail, hoping to find ways to avoid the really muddy areas. We park in a new spot, which A noticies immediately, and enter the trail from a drier area. I jog down onto the path, where I am greeted by a woman walking. "The trail is under water up there." "Really?!" I exclaim, surprised. That particular area never floods. "Yes, but you can go see for yourself if you want to," is her curt reply. "Thanks," I respond. It's not that I didn't believe her. My "really" was more an interjection of surprise. We turn around and run through the parking lot of an office complex, which happens to be next to a fire station.

Now, we detour by the fire station whether it's muddy or not. Even when I try to keep on the trail, I am usually halted by a voice shouting, "Fire truck, mommy." What can you do? I just count it as extra training.

Challenge # 4 Heat
Really, what else can you say but, it's hot in August in the south. Real hot when your running. Fortunately, not so much when your lounging comfortably in the shade of the stroller.

Benefits
The benefits of hauling twenty pounds of books, snacks, sippy cups, and water bottles to the trail and hoping that my two sweethearts will sit or sleep patiently certainly outweigh the burdens of the challenges, though. While taking detours, I've shared with my daughter the amazement of seeing a flock of geese waddle around before taking off in beautiful flight. Her face shining with excitement as she exclaims, "Goose, mommy, lots of goose." We've seen the brook babble quietly on water stops. A , C , and I have watched firefighters wash the fire truck and new puppies test the limits of their leashes. While running, I've leaned over the stroller and read to A her favorite books, albeit a little winded. Me, not the books. I've overheard A and giggling as A 's silly antics entertain her brother, so her mommy can finish a 45 minute run. And, I continue to be amazed by how what I so often perceive as inconvenient stops are really opportunities for God to reveal small jewels of wonder.

And through this all, I am hopefully teaching my children small lessons about setting goals and accomplishing them and am teaching them a lot about discipline, faith, and perseverance. And they, too, are teaching mom; teaching me about patience and finding joy in the "little" things.

Humble Pie

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. C is sleeping and A 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 C . 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 A '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.

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 C , watching A and T 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: T asked A what the best part of the beach was today and she replied, "You." T asked, "Daddy was the best part of the beach?" A responded, "Yes, Daddy. You're the best." Melt my heart!

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 A 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!
C begins to cry. Loudly. I made it to the two mile marker running, unfortunately, it is two miles back to the car. C 's discontent is now leading to A 's. Soon both children are whining, crying, and yelling. So, I unstrap C from the stroller and into the front carrier and walk, quickly, stopping every few minutes to tell A to sit back before she falls out and to pick flowers to add to her stroller floral collection and to gently bounce C 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.

New Addition

Welcome my beautiful nephew, R! 6 lbs. 10 oz. Praise God for a beautiful baby boy. Children truly are a gift from the Lord and such an amazing joy!

High Expectations

I walk down the stairs to the gym nursery. A occupies one hip, while my elbow cradles C 's carrier, complete with his 20 lbs. I sign big sister and baby in, put A 's shoes in her bin, and place C 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 A . Could it be I didn't really leave the house until A 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 A '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.

A Walk in the Park

I am walking down the trail with a sense of urgency. A is in the double-jogger, whining, "I waaant a snack," after just having eaten her snack minutes earlier. C 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. A grabs her new book and C 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 T , 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 A leaning over her brother. "A , stop that, he's sleeping. Do not wake him up!" Or what, I think. It's too late, though. C 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 A stops whining and C 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." :)

Library Lunacy

I love the library, being surrounded by books, marvelous books. Yes, little brother, 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 C , but today, today was the one time I actually wanted to become a book and hop quietly on the shelf.

A walks in, proudly displaying her Wiggles big girl panties for anyone who wanted to see. I, carrying C in his 14 1/2 pound glory in his 15 lb. pumpkin seat, stumble in trying to pull A 's dress down, a complete nervous wreck, wondering if she is going to actually use the potty or her Wiggles undies. A 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 C happy and occupied in his carrier. In the midst of this chaos, I am also sporadically trying to maneuver A 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, C 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 A 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 A s diaper with one hand, while holding C with the other. A 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 A runs out the entry way to the children's library while I am collecting C 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 A 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.)

What I Need Today

C 's eye's light up as I lay him in his crib; his little sideways grin spreads across his face and his legs begin to kick in anticipation. "Okay, buddy, here they go. Mommy is going to make the Tigies dance." I crank the crib mobile and the tigers twirl to the Auburn fight song. His kicks grow even more excited, and I feel my eyes well with tears as I admire how sweet he is and think about how blessed I am.

"I love you very much, Mommy." A says sweetly.

"I love you very much, too, Sweetheart."

"You're the best!" A shouts as she races downstairs to play with Thomas. I continue folding laundry and think about how amazing she is.

I needed that this morning because in just a few hours my day seemed to quickly unravel. My goals for the day, simple, workout and bake a cheesecake for tonight's church dinner. Of course, they included playing with the kids and taking Toot to the library, but that's a given every day, at least the playing part.

Today, though, I haven't worked out, and it's almost five. I haven't even bathed. Children have refused to take naps and absolutely wouldn't hear of actually napping at the same time. My part-time employer called to say he wouldn't need me to tutor this weekend, after all, despite us needing the money. Meltdown after meltdown, tantrum after tantrum, frustration after frustration ensue until I am sitting in my car crying, after removing A from a spitting episode during storytime. She and C are both wailing in the backseat, and I wonder how I have failed so miserably at parenting. Surely unhappy children mean that I have somehow let them down.

A 's not even three and already I second-guess every parenting decision I make. It's like the future of her well-being hinges on every second's interaction. And, am I giving C enough time? I feel like that sweet little man gets put in a bouncer everytime his big sister so much as sneezes.

I love my children more than breath, but right now I need to know that it is okay to not love every minute of parenting. That there will be some days where it seems tiresome and mundane.....I feel like a wretch for even thinking it. I need to know it's okay to snap, "Just go to sleep already," and A 's self-esteem won't be damaged. I need to know it's okay to ignore her sometimes, and it's okay to want to just sit and hold C while she watches television. I need to know it's okay to want to scream and jump up and down like a two-year-old, not actually do it but just want to. I need to know that I am a good mother because I love my children more than life and am willing to sacrifice career, comfort, sometimes, sanity and so much more for them. I need to know that it's okay to not know what to do when your child spits at the librarian. I need to know that everyone else knows how wonderful, delightful, beautiful, amazing A and C are. I need God to reach down and wrap His arms around me, dry my eyes, and let me know that I'm on the right path, that I'm doing what I need to right now, that He is the only perfect parent.

A walks downstairs from her nap that she finally agreed to take, her hair askew, eyes still sleepy. "Hi Pumpkin."

"Hi, mommy," she mumbles. C is napping, too, finally. I pick A up and cuddle her close. "You want to snuggle bunny."

"Mmm-hmm, but me want a snack first, two M and M's and a piece of chocolate." She hugs tighter. I bet you do, I think. I smile. My affirmation. She loves me. C loves me. Despite millions of faults. They know, too, that they are loved no matter what. And I love that moment of parenting just like I love the frustrating moments for what they do to me, as a person and as a parent. Those are the moments that refine me, and the more I allow God to help me react the way He wants me to the more it helps me grow. He knows that's what I need more than anything.

The Look

"No! That's my princess Spaghetti-Os!" A wails, reaching dramatically for the cashier, as one might reach for a prized possession being ripped from grasp.

The cashier avoids eye contact and continues scanning groceries. Good move, considering that any engagment at this point might prove explosive. "Mine!" A 's cries escalate. C is nestled soundly in the front carrier. How he is sleeping throught this current spectacle, I have no idea.

"A , stop it." I search my mind desperately for some parental wisdom on grocery store meltdowns. Didn't I read what to do on a bumper sticker in traffic? Ahhh....bringing your undernapped, hungry toddler to the grocery store at five p.m. always results in the same outcome no matter how many times you try for a different result. Yup, that was it.

As I berate myself and try to talk A down, I see it. Slight at first, but growing in intensity at the same pace as A's escalating tantrum. THE LOOK. The disapproving, why can't you control your child, eyebrow raising, lips-pursing look, cast your way several times, so you get the message loud and clear that because your 2-year-old is screaming in the grocery store, that you have somehow failed as a parent. That look, cast authoritatively by a bystander who has all the parenting answers, apparently!

Red-faced, I turn away, apologize to the cashier, and start to hightail it to the car. The bagboy, God bless him, offers to help us to the car. I agree, and as he pushes the cart outside, A screams, "No, my mommy push. My mommy."

"He's helping, Pumpkin. Let's tell him thank you."

The brave, or perhaps crazy, young man unloads the cart and begins to leave when A reaches out, "No, green buggy, come back."

"That is not your green buggy. It belongs to the store. Let's go home and eat Princess noodles."

"Princess noodles?" She calms down. I wearily climb into the car, where A a's behavior has suddenly become as good as gold, which is the way it is 95% of the time. On the way home, I begin to contemplate the look. What good does it do? I wonder. If the purpose is to utterly humiliate and encourage me to feel like a parenting failure then mission accomplished. If it is designed to stop the tantrum, then it does not work, and don't you think I'd be doing that if I could. My goal is simply to purchase the items on my list and leave, not ruin anyone's shopping experience.

And why....why would you want to make someone feel that way? If you've had children, it's shameless. Are you so far removed from toddlerhood that you've forgotten how hungry, tired 2-year-olds behave? Dont' get me wrong? I'll quickly remove that file from my brain, as well, but never so far that I resort to humiliating frazzled moms with my glare of disapproval. If you have yet to have children, how about a little sympathy? Wouldn't an I've-been-there-look with a reassuring smile do so much more. For crying out loud, I have a 9-week-old strapped to my chest, a two-year-old screaming melodramatically in the cart, and did I also mention that I had not had a bath in 2 days? Seriously?!!! Not the time to judge my mommying.

I arrive home, unload children and groceries, and heat up princess O's for A . I recall my prayer earlier for a more humble heart. I guess few things teach humility like my grocery store drama, unless it is falling in Target. I smile, slowly feeling my sense of humor return and say a prayer for parental guidance. Why don't I ever think to pray in the heat of battle? It's always after and usually for forgiveness. How do I expect my kids to learn when God has to teach me the same lesson a thousand times?

Replaying the meltdown in my mind, I wonder how I should have reacted. I meekly scurried by, head down. What I really wanted to do was glare back and stick out my tongue, but I am almost certain that would have sent to wrong message to A and C. I think about how overwhelming it all is-discipline, parenting. The love part is easy! but the rest.....whoa. If I'm going to let a look get me down, perhaps I'm going to need a heavier dose of perspective. I realize it's not really even about the look; it's about my own fears and feelings of inadequacy, how I don't have all the answers or strategies, especially when it seems that everyone else does. Sometimes I wonder if I have any answers. I decide to forgive the look lady and move on....as evidenced by my blogging about it:) If anything, tanturms and the subsequent looks they provide usually drive me to my knees in prayer, and I figure that's a pretty good place for a parent to be anyway.

Off Target

How difficult could a quick trip to Target be? Right? They even have an automated door! With 2 little ones in tow, all I have to do to enter is push the cart right up to the doorway, and voila! the door does the rest. Of course, that is after I put A's shoes back on, place C in the front carrier, and lift A out of her car seat and into the cart without her kicking her brother. That has become easier with practice. The real challenge begins once we enter the store. Let's just say on this trip it brought me to my knees.

My mom, A, C, and I enter the store on a mission to find a birthday present for A 's friend. Nana takes C and heads for the shoe aisle, while A and I dash to the toddler clothing. It is half-past naptime, and C's tummy will be rumbly in less than 20 minutes (shout out to Pooh!).

"Which dress should we get, Lucy?" I ask A . I present her with a black and white dress or a pink dress. "This one or that one?" I playfully hold them up one at a time, over and over.

"That one," she says pointing to the black one. "And this one for A ." She grabs the pink dress and hangs it on the cart.

"Who said you were getting a dress?" I ask while laughing.

"Pink for A and black for Lucy."

"Okay," I agree. "Let's find something else to go with the dress. How about a bow?"

My mom wanders over to us with C sleeping, but I know any minute he'll be gnawing on his fists. "Let's go to toys."

I stop to look at outdoor toys when A starts to climb out of the cart. "Hold you," she says draping her arms around my neck so suddenly I lose my balance.

"Not now, Pumpkin. Stand right here beside Mommy." I place her on the floor, where she immediately darts down the aisle toward the main door. "A !" I shout. C is safe with Nana, so I sprint after her, my heart in my stomach. What if I don't find her, and she begins to wander on her own? Or worse, what if she gets out to the parking lot?

I see her, blond hair bouncing, giggling uncontrollably while she darts in and out of aisles. "A , get back here now."

I sprint faster, finally catching up to her. We're running side-by-side, when I reach to grab her. She shoots in front of me and we collide. Bodies fly through the air. A hits her bottom-nice padded diaper breaks her fall (maybe there are benefits to not being potty trained). My body, on the other hand, decides to land with all its postpartum weight on my knees. A bounces. Mom thuds. "Ow." I whisper through deeply inhaled breath. I look over to A who clearly doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. She searches my face intently looking for some clue on how to react. All she sees at this point are grimaces and gasps for air.

When the initial pain stops, I look to my daughter and simply motion her to me. At this point, I'm not even concerned that I, in all my grown-up glory, have just taken a dive in front of all Target's mid-day shoppers. No, my focus is on my little escape artist. A cautiously walks over to me. "Help mommy up," I whisper. She hesitates. Most likely because I'm six times her size and the logisitics are too much for her 3 year-old brain to calculate. I manage to sit up, compose myself, and pulling her closer, calmly say, "We don't run from mommy. EVER. You and mommy could get hurt (as evidenced by my inability to walk). You could get lost or hit by a car or taken from mommy, daddy, and C ." I search for another more dramatic, frightening, serious calamity, but none comes. Plus, at this point, I'm trying not to cry or laugh.

With throbbing knee, I finally stand, take A by the hand, and march her back to the cart. On the way, a clerk has the nerve to ask if we need help finding anything. Does he not see my expression? "No, thank you," I nod, while thinking I found her. I lift A and put her back into the seat of the cart and buckle her in. To which she has the nerve to protest, "No buckle mommy. No buckle in." Did she not just see her mommy fly through the air, hit the floor, and not even raise her voice? Don't push it missy. I remain silent, while reminding myself that I am the one who decided to bring my unnapped toddler shopping. I push A back to the toddler section, where I grab a cute t-shirt for the remainder of Lucy's gift and walk to the check-out. My mom and C follow. We pay, leave, and I put A into her seat, remind myself she is exhausted, and stroke her hair. We head for home, and before I get half-way there I hear my little sprinter snoring in the back. I just smile and rub my aching knee.

Double-Teamed

"A, C is not a doll."


"A, please stop trying to pick up your brother."


"Pumpkin, babies don't eat cookies."


"You can hold him when Mommy finishes feeding him. But we only hold C when Mommy is sitting beside you."


"A, please don't attack your Aunt C....Aunt A.....stranger who is admiring the baby."


A loves her new brother. Loves to smother him with kisses, cuddles, hugs, as much love as she can shower on him in one day. Just ask Aunt C who was literally sacked when A decided to run at her full force in perfect takcle formation shouting, "That's my baby brudder; put him down!" In fact, anyone who touches C besides Mom or Dad gets the same warning, "My brudder." I think she's afraid someone is going to take this little treasure away from my possessive darling. It's quite the opposite reaction from what I was expecting. I spent my entire pregnancy concerned, obsessed really, that A would feel left-out, overwhelmed, unhappy about having a new sibling. How would I ever help her adjust? She's adjusted just fine; it's mom who is having a hard time figuring out how to attend to the needs of two very different demanders, while meeting her own basic needs.


I've learned that I can never turn my back on my sweet daughter, literally, never. I tried once, just once so far, sprinted to the restroom for a quick 30 seconds, while C was down for a nap and A was in her room, absorbed in a book, at least I thought she was. With the door open and my ears tuned in to the slightest noise, I quickly washed my hands and dashed into C 's room to find that my almost-three-year-old daughter had scaled the outside of the crib and was in bed with her napping brother. I still can't figure out how she managed, first of all, to climb the crib, and second, how to do it that quickly. She was sitting there shouting, "Wake up, C. Wake up." Couldn't she do that from outside the crib?


"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!!!!" Yelling will wake up the baby I remind myself. "A!" I whispered as forcefully and loudly as you can whisper, while whisking her up out of the crib. "Do not ever do that again. You can break the crib; you can break your brother; you can break a leg." Flustered, I just continue to say, "no, no, no" over and over. I can't even dash to the restroom. Where I managed A with two hands, I now need at least 8. And an extra set of eyes wouldn't hurt either. People warned that one is so easy; two is so hard. Sure, I thought. How can it be that difficult? Mmmmm.....laugh it up, all you who warned me....I get it now. I'm thrilled that A loves her brother so much, but until my little man is able to at least sit up on his own or probably, more realistically, run, there will be no rest for the weary. Who needs to shower, go to the restroom, eat lunch...





While I may sound....overwhelmed....I'm loving it. Everyone also told me that you will think about how much you love your firstborn and wonder if there is ever a way you can open your heart to feel that much love for another child...and you do. I fell in love with C as instantly as I did A . God just gives parents an infinite capacity to love their children, and next to being married to my amazing husband....motherhood is the most wonderful earthly treasure I've ever experienced, and now it is just twice as wonderful!

Theory on SEC Basketball

The SEC looks like the bottom of the pack when it comes to college basketball, but I have an interesting theory that might make this season seem a little more promising. I propose that it's really not that bad.

Kentucky, my Wildcats, began the season playing like a team that had butter for fingers, considering their dismal turnover rate. What was it, like 30 turnovers in the North Carolina game? But, thanks to Meeks's amazing play, did you see the Tennessee perfomance, Gillispie's team is looking a bit like the Kentucky of yore. Ten 3-pointers in one game....over 50 points. Meeks gives this die-hard UK fan a glimmer of hope for the Cats.

Arkansas. I know they're 0-and whatever in SEC play, but they beat the highly ranked Oklahoma and Texas teams in the same week.... So maybe, just maybe, since Arkansas has dropped 5 straight, including being blownout by Auburn, the SEC is tougher than once thought. I mean this is the same team that beat some tough non-conference opponents and looked like they might be poised to make a tournament run.....

I'm just saying...While Florida is the only ranked SEC team currently, surely Kentucky can't be far behind, and if given a chance to play in the tournament, who says an SEC team couldn't make a run?

Thoughts on Miss America

I know, I know. I haven't blogged in weeks; I have a new baby and this is what I've chosen to write about. T is putting A to bed, and I am sitting watching the talent portion of Miss America with C sleeping and sighing on my lap. And I'm thinking I could have never been Miss America because of the talent portion. I know you might be thinking the talent, really, that's all that was stopping you.....yes, there are other reasons I could have never been Miss America, swimsuit namely, but what would my talent have been?

What about those of us who have no performance talent? Are we not capable of being Miss America? Does cooking five items on four eyes of the stove, while changing a diaper with one hand, reading a book, putting a Belle dress on with the other hand, and maintaining sanity count as a talent? I don't sing well enough to use it as my talent in the pageant. I can't dance, I don't play any instruments well, do they do anything else in the talent portion? I can run long distances and teach and write. Can I write an essay on stage while humming Veggie Tales?
I didn't think so.... Oh well, guess I'll neve be Miss America.