All Boy

Dear L,

Today you turn ten. Double digits! It's a pretty big deal, even though your dad and I have experienced it once before with your sister. But it's just as important an event in your life as it was in hers. We don't know much about parenting, but we know that parenting you is completely different from parenting her. You are your own person, Mr. Man, and we are so happy about that. We wouldn't want it any other way.

You've always been more happy-go-lucky and chill than C, even as a baby--in true second-born style. However, back then I didn't know that my chubby, laid back baby boy would turn into the kind of boy that people describe as all boy: in motion any time you're not staring at a screen, vibrating with energy and enthusiasm, most of the time at home dribbling or catching or passing some kind of sports ball (that term was a joke; I know the difference between all the different types of sports balls, because you've played most of them.)

Apparently you are quite the athlete, and nobody is more surprised about that than I am. I'm most definitely not a good athlete, but it turns out I'm excellent at cheering for one, even when I don't totally understand the more obscure rules. Also surprisingly, I have come to see all the good a kid can learn from team sports and how it really can translate into real life applications if the adults involved keep their priorities straight and don't act like their entire existence is validated by whether a group of little kids dominates another group of little kids. Your dad and I have tried to do that: to keep sports in its proper place. We don't love the idea of participation trophies, but it turns out that trophies weren't necessary for your enjoyment of the game. You've instinctively played your hardest, supported your teammates, never threw fits when you lost, listened to your volunteer coaches, and just generally been a great kid whether you won or lost.

I want you to know I am really proud of you for that.

You have a quality that will carry you beyond the playing field or court: you are what they call coachable. You have the skills to be a star, but not the temperament. You are a team player. This year, when you played for the first time in the "select" basketball league, in which the coaches can recruit players and teams can stay together for years, your team lost. A lot. (I'm sure I don't have to remind you.) The driven, type A, first-born part of me cringed as it became clear each time a loss was imminent. I hated that you had to lose, when in the church-based, low-key league you used to play for, you were one of the best.

But you surprised me. Sure, you don't like losing; you have plenty of competitive fire. But apparently when we told you that as long as you try your best, that's all that matters, you believed us. Week after week, I watched you lay it all on the line, whether the free-throw line, baseline, or now even occasionally the three-point line. I saw you carry your team on your back when nobody but you could get a shot to drop, and I saw you pass the ball when a teammate was open. Even though everyone in the stands knew that the kid you passed to was going to take a shot that he couldn't hit. You didn't stop trusting your teammates. You had the right attitude, the one most of us adults who value winning too much needed to learn from.

I'm so, so proud of you for that.

It's no shock, then, that you have plenty of friends. Kids say hi to you everywhere we go. You respond--not with the lordly condescension of a jock, a "popular" kid--but a little shyly, dipping your head, while a small smile plays across your lips. Your school matches up older kids with younger ones, creating a "buddy" system. You were assigned two buddies because the younger class is larger. Did you get two for alphabetical reasons, or because your teacher knew you're a good guy to be friends with and a good example for younger boys?

I think I know the answer to that.

When I taught high school, I encountered some excellent teenagers--enough to give me hope that the next generation isn't completely worthless. Certain young men inspired me to say, "I hope my son grows up to be like him." Fortunately, I'd chosen to marry your dad--the best decision I ever made, after my salvation. Son, if you ever wonder what to do in a given situation, ask yourself, "WWJD?" Yes, "What Would Jesus Do?" but also "What Would Justin Do?" Take your dad's advice and follow his example as much as you possibly can. I love to see the two of you together doing Guy Stuff. I've read that men tend to interact by doing things together, with a few words thrown in here and there when absolutely necessary. (Whereas, as you should know from living with me and your sister, women tend to interact by talking. A lot. About everything.) I love that when you ask your dad to throw the football, shoot hoops, or practice chipping, he is glad to do it. Y'all are building a strong relationship that will last for years to come. I hope you grow up to be like him. I see that you are...in your own way.

People say you look like me. Right now you don't seem to mind hearing that, although if you someday say, "Ugh, I don't look like a girl!" I'll understand. You don't look like a girl. I'm amazed at how genetics interacts with culture. You resemble my childhood photos, yet your features are more boyish than delicate, to my mind. Is it just cultural conditioning that makes me see you as all boy? I don't know. You are, according to everyone, handsome, gorgeous, good-looking, beautiful and altogether too pretty to be a boy. I worry about this. The girls haven't starting chasing you (or else they are chasing you and you're oblivious to it, which is also possible) but they will. Oh, they will. I have visions of picking up your phone and texting back, "This is L's mother. Do not ever send him a picture like that again. I am raising him to be a gentleman who respects women."

That exact thing may not happen. However, I know you are going to face temptations that didn't present the same way in my generation. I can't shelter you from them, so your dad and I are trying to teach you how to handle them. Son, I pray that you will respect women, even if they aren't behaving in a respectable way. I hope that when an opportunity presents itself to take advantage of a girl, even if she is seemingly willing, that you choose to be the guy who takes her home safely and leaves shortly thereafter. I don't ever want you to cause someone to wonder, "What happened last night?" unless you were a protector and a friend. You would do that for your sister, and I believe you can and will treat all women the same way. Men do not have to be monsters--your father and both grandfathers prove that--so choose to rise above your animal instincts and be a real man, who values and respects women.

L, you are all the good things about a mama's boy; for example, you love to hug me and let me kiss your cheek. In fact, in fourth grade, you still aren't afraid to hug me in public (I know better than to try the kissing, though.) You still need your mama when you're sick. You don't enjoy reading much, but you are happier to do it when the two of us are ensconced in the king-sized bed with our books. I read out loud to you sometimes just so we can snuggle. (No, I won't do that with all the books just to make it easier for you.) When I walk by the couch where you are watching your my iPad, you stretch your arms out from under the blanket and say, "Hug?" I am always, always happy to comply. I will never be too busy to hug you.

When I started feeling the pangs of realization that someday my children will have lives of their own and I may not see them or even hear from them every day, I sneakily started adding to your bedtime routine, after the prayer. "And you'll always love your mama, right?" I'd ask. "You'll at least text me every day?"

"Yes!" You'd laugh, incredulous at the ideas that you would even need to text me (since you don't have a phone yet), that you would ever leave me, that you would ever grow up. But you will. You are all boy now, but you are on the inevitable path toward becoming a man.

I'm just thankful that I get to watch and cheer you on. I'll always be your biggest fan.

Love,
Mom

P.S. I got to the end of this post without even mentioning how funny you are, how much you make us laugh on a daily basis. But this post is long enough already; I'll save those stories for another day.

American Girl Giveaway

EDITED: I found a little girl who will be so excited (according to her mom) to receive this gift card! She is the little sister of one of C's school friends, and they lost their dad a few years ago. They are such a sweet family; I'm thrilled that I thought of them. 

I told the mom that she could give it from Santa, but she wanted her daughter to know it came from us so she could be thankful and "pay it forward." I told her we were definitely paying it forward since people have blessed us so much in the past. So this morning C and I wrote her a note in a card with a cute glittery polar bear on it and are sending it home with big sister. Love wins!

On Friday I wrote about my first baby turning thirteen. I teared up as I wrote the post off and on throughout the day, again when I was looking at baby pictures, and finally (of course) when I read the post to her. I was rewarded by her giggles at all the right parts, a few "awwwws" and at the end she hurtled into my arms. 

A win indeed! 

But this post isn't about my newly minted teenager--it's about what I would like to do for another little girl who needs something to make her Christmas special. 

A few years ago, C was in Girl Scouts. What is the main thing Girl Scouts are known for? That's right, the cookies. Our troop sold approximately a metric ton of cookies, not only to family and friends but also by sitting outside stores and once even a car wash, in the chilly air. A troop receives a (very small--much less than you probably think) amount for every box sold, and this funds their activities for the year, including Girl Scout camp. Our troop leader helped the girls set a goal every year for the dollar amount they'd need to reach to do this, the average number of boxes each girl needed to sell, AND then they'd vote on an awesome trip with the extra money. It was a great motivator. One year we went to Great Wolf Lodge--it was the cheapest trip possible there, what with four to a room and whatnot--and now I never have to darken the door of that godawful place again, thankyouJesus.

Anyway, a few years ago C could not attend the extravagaza, due to a scheduling conflict I can't remember. Oh, that's right, it was a special party for my dad's 65th birthday.The girls had voted to go to the American Girl Doll store and buy everyone a doll and then eat in the cafe. There were at least 25 girls in the troop.

I TOLD you we sold a ton of cookies. 

C wasn't too bothered to miss this because just on the cusp of being too old for dolls. (The average age of the group skewed younger.) I would've loved to go to the boutique (but Samantha was my favorite, and they stopped making her. I SO should have bought her even though I was an adult with no kids when American Girl dolls came out.)

C's lovely troop leader didn't just absorb the money C would have spent into the general fund; she bought a gift card and brought it back to her. However, as I said, C didn't care to buy any accessories, let alone another doll, even online. I'm glad, because now I can use the card to do a RAK!

Yes, it's been several years and the gift card has languished in our kitchen junk drawer. 

Until now.

Here is a photo of the real, actual card that can be used online or in an American Girl doll store. It is loaded with $74.00 American dollars. (I know that is an oddly specific amount, but the rules state that the exact same amount must be spent on each girl.) I've verified that the card is still completely valid and that the money is still available. That should be enough to ALMOST buy a ridiculously overpriced but still very cute doll, or some clothes, or whatever the doll owner wants. My mom once got my daughter and her doll matching PJs and they were very, very cute.

Here's what C and I want to do.

We would like y'all to nominate someone who could REALLY use this gift card to make their child's Christmas special. Not just, "Oh, I could use that because my kids are only getting eleven presents." Or even three, because that's always been my rule (until this year when I went a little nuts on smaller stuff, but that's another post.) 

No, I want this to go to someone who is truly in need. I want this to go to a mama* who is wondering how she is even going to be able to give her kiddo a nice gift. Whether it's a hardworking single parent or someone who has been hit hard by tough economic times or health problems, I'd like to take away one worry for another parent. It will be worth it to me for them to see their child's excited face when they open a great present. (I'd love to have a picture if possible. Not to put on my blog to congratulate myself, just to show my daughter that Love Wins.)

Please comment, send me a private message on Facebook, or email me at hairlinefracture at gmail dot com to nominate someone. In the event that I have more than one nominee, I will enter their names in a random drawing for the card. Be sure to leave me a way to contact you if your person wins so that I can mail them the gift card in time to use it for Christmas.

This drawing is open until 9 p.m. Wednesday, December 16 because that's right before C's bedtime and I want her to do the drawing. Why only till Wednesday? Because Christmas is right around the corner!

I'm sooooo excited now!

*Or dad. Dads totally count!

Thirteen

Dear Girl Child,

First of all, I feel compelled to emphasize that I am not normally sentimental. You know this, because you inherited this trait from me, along with an aversion to being touched strong boundaries about your personal space. I am the person who threw away 90% of the crap precious treasures you brought home from school/church/summer camp. I have ONE BOX of baby clothes for each child, and it's not a big box. One scrapbook album for each of your first years--and I worked HARD on those, dang it, because you did NOT inherit your artistic talent from me--and about 5 more for the whole family, and no more although I keep promising myself I'll use that app that makes it so easy. Like everyone else, Facebook is now our family album. It usually takes moms getting to the third child before reaching this level of unsentimentality. (Yes, that's a word. Because I say so, and you still take my word as law when it comes to the English language.)

I am also bad about taking pictures and videos. Now, though, I wish I had more (just LOOK at that greatness above this paragraph. But I have always been better with capturing memories with words than images, so this will have to do.

First, you should know that you were not only planned, you were AGONIZED over. By me, not your dad. He said we could have a baby whenever I wanted. (Smart man.) He was 27 and I was barely 22 when we got married. I could not imagine being allowed to care for a baby by ourselves. I felt I was still looking around for the grownup in charge and panicking when I realized it was supposed to be me. (Spoiler alert: sometimes I still feel this way.)

It took me five years to be ready.

Five years of being broke while your dad worked his tail off in various forms of physical labor and I went to college and became a middle school teacher (which let's be honest, probably definitely extended my timeline of wanting a baby). Five years of wondering if we would ever be able to own a house (I had this fixed idea of needing a YARD before we could procreate, and now I hardly ever venture out into it. Weird.) I started having baby fever but also fretting about being financially responsible. A good friend once said, "If you wait till you can afford a baby, you'll never have one." So true, but I didn't get it. Because I am an external processor, I had to talk this all out. Many times. Usually in bed around midnight.

Finally one night while I sat up in bed dithering out loud, the lump of blankets next to me your dad said, "I think you're being selfish."

What??? I thought I was being wise and thoughtful of the future because of course I had to be the PERFECT MOM bringing a PERFECT BABY into a PERFECT WORLD we had created.

AHAHAHAHAA! Excuse me while I gather myself after laughing that hard. I knew NOTHING.

I made him explain. He said, "I am not getting any younger and I don't want to be too old to play with a kid when we have one."

Now, you and I both know this would never be the case. He would've wrestled y'all on the floor if he'd been Abraham and I were Sarah; he's just a huge kid at heart. But he totally called me on my selfishness and made me realize that I was waiting for ME, not for him--and certainly not for our baby. Because I wanted to see myself as a perfect mom. He made me see that the perfect time to have a perfect baby was never going to happen.

Except...it totally did.

I can't explain how except...God, but once I meekly said, "Okay, I'll make an appointment with my doctor to see what I need to do to start trying," everything fell into place. A house we could afford magically fell into our lap. We stopped thinking about getting pregnant and...boom. Six weeks later, we were frantically remodeling our new/old house so we could move into it by the time our lease was up and I realized I miiiiight be pregnant.

There have never been a longer three minutes than the time we spent waiting to look at that pregnancy test. And there has never been a shorter amount of time between that discovering one is pregnant and quitting all remodeling duties. (Hey, that 1970s paint we were sanding off the walls had LEAD in it! I was probably saving you from having three arms or something! Your dad disagrees, but whatever, he didn't have to be pregnant for the next nine months.)

You made pregnancy so easy. I was only sick one time (On The Border, you are still dead to me). We decided not to find out your gender, much to Mawmaw Sher's dismay, since she was champing at the bit to buy adorable baby clothes. (As her post today admits, she secretly prayed for a baby girl with red hair. God apparently listens to grandmothers who have waited mostly patiently for five years for a grandbaby.) The doctor didn't have your sex written in the chart so she wouldn't accidentally say "he" or "she." She was so excited because almost no one chooses to be surprised in the delivery room these days. I still can't believe we waited. (To be honest, on my part it was mostly because I knew I didn't want to decorate a nursery twice and Classic Pooh would be gender-neutral. Gah, I was so sick of Pooh by the time your brother left babyhood.)

Anyway, you also made it easy on me by making it very clear when it was time to go to the hospital. I had been hoping my water would break because the otherwise basically useless childbirth class taught me that if your water breaks, you go to the hospital, do not stop, do not pass Go and most certainly do not collect $200. There was a couple in that class who were there preparing for the birth of their SECOND baby. I know, whaaaaatttt? They were so young and ignorant for the first child's impending arrival that she DIDN'T KNOW SHE WAS IN LABOR and had the baby at home by accident.

I cannot emphasize enough how much I DID NOT WANT that outcome. I had known since the age of about ten, when your Mawmaw told me I was born painlessly after a magical thing called an epidural that I wanted one when the time came.

Me + pain = NOPENOPENOPE.

But I had a certain amount of it after my water broke. I am sorry, I know this will gross you out when you hear it, but I didn't know exactly HOW MUCH water we were talking about. Not the modest cup or so I imagined. I sent your dad back into the house for a towel to protect the car seat "just in case" and he brought back a hand towel. Not sufficient, it turned out. I walked into the hospital with my dress dripping and the nurse joked about me messing up the floor.

It was all very funny but at least there was no question they would admit me because my water had broken. Well, it was funny from 2 a.m., when I arrived, until about 6 a.m., when I tired of walking the halls in a hospital gown, pushing an IV pole, to get my labor going. After that I lay in a bed and stared at a "focal point" the labor class had taught me to choose and thought, "This crap is getting REAL. I don't think I can DO this much longer."

Luckily, without me even asking, the doctor said I could get an epidural so they could speed my labor up, and I swear, I would've kissed the anesthesiologist if he'd still been in the room when the epidural kicked in. Things got much better after that. The next thing I remember, the doctor and nurse were so excited about seeing whether you were a boy or a girl. You were born, I listened for your healthy cry, they put you in my arms.

And there you were: 7 pounds 11 ounces, 19 1/2 inches long, blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair fuzz.

You were my perfect baby. And I had nothing to do with making anything perfect about you or for you. You were just perfect.

I don't mean you were not hard work (I'm still traumatized by the sleep deprivation you put me through.) I hope I have communicated over the past thirteen years that you are perfect just the way you are--that is, I mean that you are LOVED just the way you are, and that you will never have to earn my love in any way whatsoever. You guaranteed that the moment I surrendered to the idea of having a baby. That's why I was so scared, by the way. I was afraid of not having control. Well, motherhood is one long roller coaster ride of realizing over and over again that you have no control over all the things you fear the most. Actually, the one thing you fear the most is losing your child: to illness, accidents, death, or even estrangement. The thought of not seeing your face every day or at least hearing your voice scrunches my heart up until I think I might not be able to breathe. That started the day you lay in my arms, a baby burrito, and I realized, as the saying goes, that my heart would now forever walk around outside my body.

Out of all the girls in all the world, how did we get the very best one?

You have brought nothing but joy into our lives. (At least, that we remember. Your brother can thank his existence for our short-term memory loss.) You were bright-eyed and curious from Day One. I had never seen a week-old baby hold her head up so long; I swear it was so you could look around at people. You wanted to be held constantly but hated the front-facing carrier...and the baby swing...so I held you most of the time. Thank God you deigned to be placed in your bouncy seat for up to 15 minutes at a time--or 25 if I put on a Baby Einstein DVD--so I could gulp down lunch. Showering? Not possible till your dad got home. Some days he asked what I'd done that day and I had to think before answering, "I brushed my teeth." Oh yeah, and kept a human infant alive. Did I mention I'd never even BABYSAT a child under the age of 5 before you came into my world? I'm pretty freaking proud of myself for not accidentally sitting on you. We'd go to bed at night and I'd say, "Well, we kept her alive another day."

Until you woke up two hours later having the audacity to want to EAT, which, well, I am not proud of my attitude after about two weeks. Let's just say there's a reason God doesn't let children remember anything about their first year.

Sweet girl, your mama wants you to know I'd fight a lion or a bear or any man on God's green earth to protect you. I have tried my very hardest to nurture you but not allow my anxieties to limit you. When you fearlessly wanted to do something that scared me--like jump off the couch, climb the backyard fence, or attend kindergarten without me sitting beside you holding your hand all day--I closed my mouth that had been open to scream, "Nooooooo" in slow motion like on TV. I swallowed, put a big smile on my face, and said, "Sure you can!"

(There was this picture book called Little Quack that really helped. I channeled Mama Duck: "Come on, little duck," said Mama, "I know you can do it!" Good Lord, did I really just pull that dialogue out of my ancient withered brain?)

And the thing is, you have done it all. Everything I doubted turned out to be a lie. You proved every fear wrong. You fulfilled dreams I didn't know how to dream. You taught me how to parent you. I am only grateful that I had the sense to get out of your way when necessary.

I believe in you. As our favorite Doctor (Ten forever!) said about Rose Tyler:

"But if I believe in one thing... just one thing... I believe in her!"

And I believe in your dad, who convinced me to risk becoming an imperfect parent, which meant that I became fully human. I believe in the God who was merely waiting for me to take a leap of faith. Finally, I believe in the love that was born in me the moment I heard your speedy little heartbeat on that first doctor visit. My precious girl, I wouldn't trade anything on this planet for the last thirteen years I have been privileged to be your mother.

Now, in one week school will be out and I demand some mother-daughter time in which we will read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and talk about it, catch up with the Twelfth Doctor, practice with your newly-allowed makeup (I predict you are already better with it than I am, so please teach me your ways), agree about all the ways that seventh-grade boys are idiots, and just generally have a lazy old fun time in our pajamas together. I think you'll agree you owe me that much just from the story above.

With all my love,
Mom

Tournament

Yesterday was my girl's very first tournament as a middle school basketball player. They had three games, two of them back-to-back.

And she and her friends on "B" team rocked it! Tournament champs.

They all played very hard and were a real team. I look forward to seeing them learn more basketball skills as the year goes on, but they already have things that can't be taught: heart and hustle.

D-O-N-E

Last night my son informed me, "We're not doing schoolwork anymore, Mom." His backpack was full of all the folders and notebooks that have been in his desk all year, lending credence to his statement. (Of course he was happy about that.)

Now, you might think that as a former schoolteacher, I would disagree with the elementary teachers' decision to give up. You would be wrong.

I completely understand why the last week (really, more like two weeks) are designated for field days, play days, movie days and the like. The teachers are every bit as done as the kids. Why fight it? 

Last Friday was field day (which had to be held in the gym due to mud from the continuous rain we've uncharacteristically had), and yesterday was Vertical Team party day (each team of multiple grades had 2 hours to do carnival-type activities including bounce houses and dunking booths). Thursday is the class party for everyone who read 20 books outside of class (and we barely made it as of Monday night--yay!) Friday is the last day of school, so with an awards assembly in the morning, they will just be cleaning up for early dismissal at 11:45. 

Today, however, was the day for the last project of third grade: to learn about and dress as a historic character for a Living Museum. I have to say, when I got the email, I heaved a sigh. I have to help my child create a decent costume in MAY? Even though my schedule is more flexible and I'm not bombarded by stress the way I was a few months ago, May is no time to ask parents for creativity. This post by Jen Hatmaker is hilarious and explains exactly how I feel in May.

However, this not being my first rodeo, I Googled Living Museum and looked at pictures. At least the teacher had them do all their research and write-up at school. All I had to do was assemble a costume requiring as little effort and expense as possible. Anything involving sewing was obviously out since I can only sew on buttons, and even simple things that involved clothes not currently in his closet (like, say, a black suit) were out.

Luckily my son is very easy-going about these things. "Hey, how would you like to dress up as Vincent Van Gogh?" I asked him. "Sure," he said.  

I fully intended to be the one to help him splatter paint all over one of his dad's shirts to make a smock. But his sister was right there, with no homework since finals don't start till Thursday...and she's more artistic than I am any day...

So without further ado, here is my little artiste:

Van Gogh probably didn't wear a beret, but that says "artist," and other people (online) did that. He didn't want to tuck the shirt in--fine. It's got plenty of dried paint on it and on the palette and brush, which we already owned. Note the bandage around his ear. C wanted to have visible blood so I allowed her to use a red Sharpie this morning underneath the top layer of gauze so it wouldn't look too gory. 

I feel pretty good that I didn't just write a character's name on a piece of paper and tape it on his shirt. And best of all... it's the last assignment until September. 

A Very Merry Christmas

Here I am again! We were out of town for the holidays, and I was so busy I didn't have time to even get online, let alone post. But it was a GOOD kind of busy. Here's a brief recap:

1. We celebrated with my family--my parents, and my brother and new SIL--on Tuesday night. Miss Pink received an American Girl doll from my parents (among other things) and now refuses to be parted from her new friend. She's never played with dolls much, but I think the difference is that this one isn't a baby doll and it looks like her. We even ordered glasses for the doll to wear which don't match Miss P's (they didn't have pink ones) but still, with the matching hair color and style, they make the doll really look like her new owner. I'll see if I have some pictures but right now I'm trying to finish this post quickly.

Mr. Blue's big present was a race track. In fact, he got a lot of race tracks and vehicles, and he loves them all.

My husband got a Keurig one-cup coffee maker because he always uses the one at my parents'. I got gift cards and can hardly wait to go shopping--I already ordered 4 books with my Barnes & Noble card.

2. On Wednesday we went to Lousiana. I had had all the gifts shipped there via Amazon.com, which worked out perfectly since our car is small. I was worried we wouldn't have room to fit everything in coming back, but Justin is a packing genius. Anyway, LOVE Amazon.

3. Justin and I had been given orders to make (and teach his sister to make) the family's favorite pastries for Christmas. My MIL hasn't been able to make them for several years, and we learned to make them here, last year, so the rest of the family was anticipating eating them. One of the recipes, Cherry Bonbons, is made with crescent roll dough (the importance of this will become clear soon). They take a fairly long time to make because you wrap the dough around each cherry and then you ice each small bonbon after they're baked. So on Christmas Eve we finished both recipes--it took about four hours--and decided to taste the cherry bonbons. Justin and I exchanged a puzzled look. Why did they taste odd? I picked up the can of crescent roll dough and there it was: Garlic Butter Crescent Rolls. Our aunt had bought the rolls and gotten the wrong ones! When we'd smelled garlic while they were baking, we attributed it to the pot roast cooking next to the oven. What could we do but laugh? We made another batch the next day. I bet we never forget the year that we made Garlic Cherry Bonbons.

4. On Christmas morning, we actually woke up before the kids. We didn't wake them up, though. Before long they came in our room and we told them to see if Santa came. Mr. Blue went then came back quickly saying sadly, "I don't think he came." We went and pointed out the pile of presents. "He DID come!" he exclaimed, eyes shining. "Santa Cwaus did come! And he brought pwesents!"

Miss Pink's big gift was a 1/2 size guitar. She's very excited about learning to play it. And Mr. Blue received an electronic drum set. Headphones can be plugged into it. I don't mind hearing a little noise, though, as long as they're playing with things and not screaming at each other.

4. My husband's brother had a friend who owns a restaurant deep-fry a turkey for us. And...oh. There are no words for how moist and delicious that bird was. We literally picked the bones clean. All night I kept going back for "just one more slice." I've never before passed on extra carbs to eat more turkey, but I did this time.

5. We got to see all of my nieces and nephews when they came over that night. My MIL loved having all of her grandchildren there, and there was a lot of laughter. Especially when my 20 year old nephew fell asleep and Miss Pink put lip gloss on him.

It was a wonderful Christmas for us. I hope you all had a magical holiday as well.
 

Thankful

I hope you have all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, if you celebrate it. If not, I hope you had a great weekend just because you deserve one!

The kids and I were out of school for a week. The first two days we devoted to sleeping in a little, having fun, going to the library and meeting friends for lunch since we don't get to do that much anymore. We packed up and left on Wednesday right after lunch to go to Arkansas, where my dad's brother and his wife have a house big enough to accommodate all of us. We go there every other year, and my cousins have arranged their holiday schedules so we can all be together every two years. This year, my brother and his new wife couldn't come because she works in retail and had to work on Black Friday, and my youngest cousin had to stay in San Diego because he just got a job and couldn't take off. They were missed, but we enjoyed seeing everyone else and eating turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, corn, green beans, candied yams, cranberry salad, rolls, deviled eggs and other relishes, cherry pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, coconut cake, and chocolate-chip cookies that I made for the kids since my kids don't like any of those other desserts, which was fine because that was more for the grown-ups.

It was a little different because the last time we were together, my grandmother was still alive. She had just suffered a stroke and was unable to talk much, but she said, "Yum, yum" and had a big appetite. A few months later, she was gone. My grandfather and my aunt's mother, both regulars at the Thanksgiving feasts of the past, are also gone. We reminisced a little but none of us would choose to call them back to the pain and paralysis and dementia they were facing. We are grateful for the memories, though--and we'll never forget them, since the recipes we use are from their kitchens and are still made with just as much love.


It was hard to be sad with the children around, too. The cousins had seen each other this summer, and they picked up right where they left off, with few squabbles. The two oldest girls get along as well as my oldest cousin and I always did, while the boys rode a tricycle through the house and the youngest girl inserted herself confidently into whichever group she chose. The second-oldest of my cousins is pregnant with her second child, due in January, and they are choosing to be surprised about the gender, just like we did with Miss Pink. Life goes on. And for that, we are thankful.

After the Wedding

It was a busy and happy weekend. My brother got married. The bride was radiant, the ceremony was moving, my children walked down the "aisle" in my parents' side yard exactly like they were supposed to, no one died of heat stroke, and a good time was had by all.

Of course if I were a good blogger I would have pictures of this. Sadly, I forgot my own camera (nothing new there) but if I get some pics from my mom or the groom himself, I will share them with you. I wish I could figure out the scanner so I could show you the pics from the photo booth of me and Justin, and Miss Pink and her uncle. They really hammed it up. Mr. Blue didn't know how to pose for the photo booth, so his show just a blank stare.

The kids were so exhausted from dancing around the reception that they slept later than they have all summer, which meant we did too. We also played hooky from church. It's been a relaxing day.

I have some posts I want to write but they have not ripened enough yet. Talk to you soon.

Week in Review, 12/21--12/27

Hi, everybody! I hope your Christmas (or weekend, if you don't celebrate Christmas) was lovely. Ours was. I continued to be stressed about the state of the house--if you have lived in a house you are remodeling, you know what I mean--but I managed to keep it to myself because Justin WAS working as hard as he could, plus he had his workers come (paid for out of the company) and I really couldn't imagine how things would look if they DIDN'T push on through and get things done.

Things are shaping up nicely and although we're not done, Phase One is VERY close to being finished. (In case you're wondering, Phase One was the playroom itself which included the built-in cabinets and desk, the kitchen tile was removed, the wood floor in the playroom and kitchen which had to be installed, sanded, distressed, stained, and coated in polyurethane which meant we couldn't walk on it for hours, and the walls of the playroom, living room, kitchen, and hall were retextured with sheetrock mud and then primed and painted. Phase Two will be replacing the (even more horrible after all the remodeling) living room and hall carpet with the same kind of wood as the other rooms, and faux-finishing the walls.

I would just like to say that every bit of this was my husband's idea. Apparently I am one of those people like my late paternal grandmother who could leave a house exactly the same for thirty years, down to a decorative cake of soap in a bathroom. Why change? I like the decor just as much as when I got it. If not for Justin, I'd probably be living in late-90s decor for the rest of my life.

And it wouldn't be that bad, would it?

Apparently I am still traumatized over the chaos I've experienced in the last week. When I was GOING to tell you that despite my apprehension, we had a lovely Christmas.

Here's a tip: small children do not care when the tree goes up, because time doesn't mean anything to them. We could have waited until Christmas Eve for all my kids cared. They loved decorating the tree, and only took ornaments off it a few dozen times.

Miss Pink left a sweet letter to Santa. (I SO wish I had a scanner.) "Dear Santa, I like you. I have bin good. I want a little horse set." She left him some pastries called butterhorns which he ate with a glass of milk while watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship. (That Santa--you thought you knew him!) We did forget the reindeer, though. I hope they didn't get mad!

My kids are allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve. Usually, it's pajamas but my mom had already given them PJ's that say, "What Santa Doesn't Bring, My Grandma Will" (totally true, by the way). So they opened their gifts from their cousins and I honestly think Mr. Blue would have been happy if we'd stopped there. Justin and I wrapped until around 11:30. Okay--Justin wrapped and I put the rest in gift bags. But I shopped for it all, so I don't feel guilty for giving him more work. We did watch It's a Wonderful Life while we worked--I love that movie.

The next morning, we woke up around 7:20 when Miss Pink woke up. We had to wake Mr. Blue up, and he was a little cranky until he saw the presents. We had a nice time and by the time we'd eaten breakfast, it was time to get ready to go to my parents' house for opening with them and my brother and his girlfriend. And a FABULOUS Christmas dinner.

Every year I think Christmas could not be better, and every year it seems even better than the year before. For one thing, the kids are a year older. This was the first year Mr. Blue could look forward to Christmas, and Miss Pink was all about decorating cookies, making ornaments, and reading a different Christmas story every night of December (that was new this year). I had such wonderful Christmases as a child, and it makes me so happy that my children are having the same kind of childhood. They didn't receive any really expensive gifts, but what they got was well thought out and tailored to their interests and age, so they think they are the luckiest kids in the world. And why wouldn't they? They have so many people around them who love them. I'm glad I am able to give them that gift.

Miss Pink told me before the day, "Mom, Christmas isn't just about getting. It's about giving too. That's my favorite part."

Christmas Meme

I've seen this on several blogs, but finally got it from MaryP.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Gift bags whenever possible. If I wrap a present, it looks like an armless person did it with her mouth. (No offense to armless people, who might even do a better job than I do.)

2. Real tree or Artificial?
Artificial. We always had real trees growing up and I do miss the smell, but I don't want to clean up all the needles. Plus Miss Pink would want to save them and Mr. Blue would hide them.

3. When do you put up the tree?
It varies. If Miss Pink has her party at home I wait until after her birthday to make room and make the house more "birthday-ish." The past two years we've put it up the first week of December. This year it's STILL not up due to the remodel. It WILL be up by Thursday if it kills me--or I kill Justin! ;-)

4. When do you take the tree down?
January 1 or 2.

5. Do you like eggnog?
No. Although I haven't tasted it in a long time--maybe I would change my mind if I tried it. But I doubt it.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
The year that Cabbage Patch dolls were sold out everywhere, my mom found some for us. I was totally shocked.

7. Hardest person to buy for?
My dad. He has everything he wants, and doesn't want gadgets, books, or DVDs. At least he's stopped buying things for himself right before Christmas--that used to drive us all crazy.

8. Easiest person to buy for?
Miss Pink and Mr. Blue. They love every present they get (at least I hope this is still true.)

9. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes. It's china, in one piece, and sits on my mantel away from little hands. Someday I'd like to have a larger one.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Mail. That's this week's task, or one of them, anyway.

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?

You know, I've been very lucky. I can't remember anything bad. I WAS a little disappointed the year I was thirteen, when I asked for clothes and a purse and my brother still got things to play with. But that was just growing pains.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?

It's a Wonderful Life. I plan to watch it on Christmas Eve after wrapping the presents, in front of a fire, with a cup of hot cocoa in my hand. Aaaahhhh...bliss.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
This year I started in October, with some brand-new books and Beanie babies I found at a garage sale. My goal is to start earlier every year.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
No, although I don't see anything wrong with it as long as the recipient and the original giver won't ever know.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Dressing. My evening meal is pretty much just dressing and gravy. :-)

16. Lights on the tree?
Yes. White.

17. Favorite Christmas song?
“O Holy Night.”

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
Home, definitely.

19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?
Oh, yes.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Neither--a gigantic bow that my mom makes for me, which changes according to that year's color theme. Someday I will get an angel, but I keep forgetting.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
Morning. If you do it on Christmas Eve, there's nothing to look forward to the next morning!

22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year?
Crowded malls and traffic. Which is why I do almost all of my shopping on Amazon.

23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I don't have a theme. I love all the ornaments my mom gave me every year since I was little. I can still tell you what they all represent. Now, of course, we carry on that tradition with my kids.

24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
The traditional one: turkey with dressing and gravy; three or four vegetables; cranberry jello salad; rolls; various desserts.

25. What is your favorite thing about the holidays?
Time with family and remembering what Christ's birth means to us.

Let me know if you use this so I can come read it!

Week in Review, 12/7--12/13

Yay

1. On Wednesday, I went on a field trip with Miss Pink's class and another kindergarten class to the Dollar Tree. Earlier that morning, three classes had had their turn. Every child had brought $1.10 to buy an item someone would need (as opposed to ones they would only want) so it could be donated to the local charity. The kids behaved well in general, although I did feel a little sorry for the cashiers and the other shoppers (one lady observed while she was paying, "This wasn't really the best time to come in, was it?") And based on what I saw being purchased, the less fortunate will now be well supplied with toothbrushes, soap, shampoo, socks, scarves, and High School Musical pencils.

2. I was moved to give thanks for the praline pecans my husband brought home from a store called Austinuts. It was started, obviously, in Austin, but they recently opened in the Dallas area, and Justin's company made the special cabinets for the nuts and candies. He brought home a gift basket that we're giving away, and the sample I shared with him and the kids made my mouth sing for joy. The gift baskets make great presents. Especially if you're buying for me, but other people would probably enjoy them too. (Sadly, they are not giving me free stuff to promote their store.)


3. Miss Pink's birthday party was this Saturday. I can hardly believe she is six years old! Everything went well: the room looked decent (we borrowed a neighborhood cluhouse), the cake was pretty and delicious, and the kids seemed to enjoy the games. It was a Blue's Clues party, so we played "Pin the Picture in Blue's Frame" (don't ask me why the manufacturers couldn't do an ear or a tail) and a game of "Blue's Clues" itself. Miss Pink wore her Halloween costume as Blue and Justin was Steve's cousin. Everyone was impressed with his mad acting skillz and singing. We told him that if the cabinet shop doesn't work out, he can always go into children's television. ;-)
Putting together a birthday party is not my best talent, but it was worth all the planning and shopping and getting 17 balloons with Blue and paw prints on them filled with helium this morning (for $9.20! Yikes!) because my daughter had so much fun. She has told me over and over again how much she likes her presents, and she thanked and hugged all her friends who came. It's not hard to give when you get a reaction like that.

Happy birthday to my sweet six-year-old girl.

Halloween Fun

I think this may be the quickest I've ever put photos up after a holiday! I am becoming a real blogger, slowly but surely. I've heard that to make your blog appeal to more people, you need a lot of pictures. I guess I need to work on that. I'm not a gifted photographer like the Pioneer Woman or Dooce.

We had a fun time. On Thursday we (and by "we" I mean "Justin") carved a pumpkin. It was the first time we've done this as a family. How lazy AM I? I mean, Miss Pink is almost six! But they really enjoyed it more now that they're old enough to participate. Well, actually Mr. Blue didn't want to touch the pumpkin goop. But he liked looking at the pumpkin. And Miss Pink got in there and scraped all the gunk out.

Miss Pink chose the design, opting for a classic jack'o'lantern face, which I'm sure her father was grateful for. The candle inside was vanilla scented, so when I went out last night to blow it out after two hours of being lit, the pumpkin kind of smelled like pumpkin pie.


As I predicted, Mr. Blue refused to wear his puppy costume. Fortunately, I had bought the suit for $6 at the thrift store, so I wasn't too upset that he didn't wear it. Being a mean mom, I did wrangle him into it for some pictures. He didn't scream, but since he wasn't happy, this picture is as good as it got.


He ended up wearing a football jersey and some camo pants. Justin said he was going as a redneck. If I'd had something to black his tooth out, I would have. But we don't own a John Deere hat or a miniature can of Skoal, so it wouldn't have been authentic.

After the kids and Justin came home with their haul (I stayed home to hand out candy and watch What Not to Wear, in order to look at pretty clothes I won't be able to squeeze into if I keep eating the candy) I let them eat their fill--or at least I was going to. Miss Pink wisely stopped when her stomach started feeling a little weird. It turns out two year olds won't stop on their own, so because I didn't want to clean up vomit at 2 a.m., I took his candy away and then they actually went to sleep in spite of all the sugar in their systems.

It was a happy Halloween for all!


*Also, thanks to Blog Antagonist for setting me straight about the Pixie stick poisonings that I mentioned in yesterday's post. Here's a link to the sad but true story of the man who poisoned his son. I really shouldn't just spout off the top of my head like that without checking my facts--although as the article said, there have been cases of foreign objects in Halloween treats, the incidents are few and far between in comparison with the fear of them. Still, I can see why only a few years later my mom wanted to err on the side of caution. However, Miss Pink loves Pixie sticks and I let her eat some last night. The only ill effects were the expected hyperactivity from downing pure sugar!

A Biblical Halloween

I was all set to post pictures of our jack o' lantern but it turns out Justin took the camera with him today. I'll wait and post the pictures when I have some costumed kiddos to show off as well. That is, if Mr. Blue consents to wear his costume. Even the promise of candy has not dispelled his misgivings about it. I'm disappointed because I thought he'd love being a puppy dog. No matter what, Miss Pink (who, confusingly, will be dressed as Blue the dog from Blue's Clues) will let me take pictures of her--she's a ham when the camera comes out.

I'll write about Halloween instead. It was never a big deal in our household when I was a kid. We dressed up and trick or treated, and I know we carved a pumpkin (at least some years), but beyond that, my mom didn't decorate the house or anything like that. Back then, it seemed that holidays were a lot more low-key, you know? My parents thought that buying us a costume and taking us around the neighborhood was plenty of effort on their part, and to tell the truth, I feel the same way. I admire the cute decor, but no way am I going to the effort to decorate the house. I barely get the house decorated for Christmas, so don't expect me to go all out for the lesser holidays. Martha Stewart I am NOT.

At least my kids will have normal costumes, though. As you might remember, my dad is a pastor. My parents weren't against the idea of Halloween, but some churches are. When churches started having Fall Festivals to substitute for the "evils" of asking for candy while dressed up, our church got on the bandwagon and had a festival with all the little games for the kids, a cakewalk for the elderly people, and so on. (It was before bounce houses, though; man, that makes me feel old.) I guess the church leaders were in a dilemma about costumes, lest someone's kid come dressed as Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street. But instead of saying "No gory costumes, please," their solution was to ask us to come dressed as Bible characters.

Yes. Bible characters. Way to limit the participation to church members only. Plus, there's not a lot of variety in the way those people dressed. Bathrobe, towel tied around your head: how was anyone supposed to know if you were Moses or Elijah?

But my mom threw herself into those years like never before. I cannot remember one single costume during the years when we trick-or-treated, but I remember the Bible costumes. One year I was Queen Esther, with an embroidered robe that really came from Israel (gasp) and a scepter made from a foam ball glued onto a dowel and spray-painted gold. Trust me when I tell you that this was major for my non-crafty mom to accomplish. She even had me practice walking regally and curtsying. I won the costume contest that year.

The next year, perhaps inspired by the win the year before, Mom decided my brother and I should be Joshua and Caleb. I don't even remember minding that I went from being a queen to dressing up as a dreaded BOY. We wore the bathrobe-looking outfits but the real glory was the grapes we carried. The scepter was spray-painted brown and each of us carried an end, and in between hung a bunch of grapes. Each grape was a balloon wrapped in purple crepe paper, and all together they made an impressive bunch of grapes. (I don't know why she couldn't have just gotten purple balloons. Perhaps, like the bounce houses, they didn't exist.) We won that year too.

After that, I don't think they required Bible character costumes any more*, perhaps realizing that when a pastor's wife sets herself to out-Bible everyone else, she's going to win at all costs, even the cost of her children's Halloween memories. Because seriously, I don't remember having a really cool costume any other year. But the important thing is, I remember getting a lot of candy, even if I'm still bitter about my mom taking away any Pixie sticks I got in case they turned out to contain LSD, which I have since learned is a total urban legend.

But my mom's paranoia is another story for another time.

Happy Halloween, everyone!


*this might not be accurate; my brother or my friend Leann may be able to correct me here.

My Perfect Day

What would my perfect day be like? Well, first of all the kids would have spent the night with someone (don't you love how nonspecific I am with where my beloved babies would be?) so Mr. Blue wouldn't wake me up asking for a waffle. Therefore, I'd sleep in and wake up when I was darn good and ready. I'd eat a toasted bagel and drink some orange juice while reading. Then I'd pick out a great outfit (one that might even be dry clean only!) and head out for the day.

My first stop would be to a nail salon to get the pedicure I've been promising myself but haven't had time to get. Then I'd visit my hair salon for a shampoo and blowout because nothing makes me feel better about myself than great hair. Next I'd hit the stores for some shopping! Nordstrom would have a mix-up in their inventory so that their prices would be lower than they ever have been before, AND I'd mysteriously have extra money in my account. Amazingly, the same thing would happen at Ann Taylor Loft and Sephora.

By that time, I'd be ready for lunch. I'd meet a friend at a nice place. I'm not picky which restaurant we visited, as long as chicken nuggets are not on the menu.

Finally, I'd grab a frappucino and sit down with a pile of books and magazines at a bookstore. Before long, it would be time to go home and take a nap. When I woke up, refreshed, I'd get ready for a romantic dinner with my husband. We might spend some time at home first. ;-)

When we got back, my kiddos would meet us, already bathed and ready for bed. (I don't know who the angel was who volunteered to keep them this long, but hey, this is my fantasy--it doesn't need to be realistic!) We'd get in some quality family cuddle time before lullabies and prayers. As I closed my eyes, I'd thank God for a wonderful day.

As far as I can see, the only problem with this scenario is that my perfect day would take more than 24 hours. If only because I need a LOT of time to shop. And sleep.

Yesterday was my birthday, and although I didn't get to do all of the things on this list, I did get my hair cut and styled (a coincidence; I didn't plan to go on my birthday), and my mom kept the kids so I could spend some of my birthday money without saying, "Come over here right now or I'm going to strap you in this cart!" And I got some really cute stuff I needed. We ate lunch at Sonic, not a bistro, and I didn't go to a bookstore or out for dinner. But I did get a nap and spent a relaxing evening with my family, and that's close enough to perfect for me.

Suffering From a Food Hangover But Otherwise Fine

We had a wonderful Fourth of July. Miss Pink had been waiting for it for months, literally; she calls it "America Day" or just "July" when she can't remember the Fourth part. She had her red-white-and-blue outfit laid out since Sunday, when my mom had given it to her. (And then spent most of the day back in her pink pajamas, which just goes to show you can't predict your children's whims.)

We started the day by getting up at the normal time and driving over to my parents' house, where my mom had breakfast for us, consisting of sausage balls (ground sausage, cheese, and Bisquick mixed together and baked) and cream gravy, monkey bread (bread dough soaked in butter, cinnamon, and sugar before baking), and as the lone concession to our arteries, fresh fruit. I drank a Diet Dr. Pepper. I'm sure that helped. *rolling eyes at self*

After we hauled ourselves up from the table, we got ready for the neighborhood parade. Anyone can be in it, so there were a lot of kids on bikes, decorated strollers, dogs, and a few vehicles flying flags. Our kids rode bikes. I was surprised that Mr. Blue rode his bike the whole way--about five or six long blocks--without making my dad carry his bike or him. I shouldn't have been surprised, since Mr. Blue can ride his bike in circles for a long time--he'd probably do it for hours, if we'd let him. Both kids loved being in the parade. It will definitely continue to be our tradition.



Justin and I rode in our 1930 Model A Ford, which used to belong to his late uncle. You get so much attention when you're in an antique car. I was starting to feel like a movie star, with all the comments, waves, and cameras directed our way. Then I got over it, but it was still fun.


Then about four we had the BEST meal ever. I am sorry that you missed it. I'm sure your meal was very nice, but really, it COULD NOT have been as good as this was. (I'm kidding, but...it really was exceptional.) Baby back ribs, cooked by my brother until they were so tender they FELL into your mouth as soon as your lips touched them, grilled chicken (very good but the ribs were the star), fresh corn on the cob, perfect baked beans topped by bacon because we needed more pork fat (ha), a just-tangy-enough marinated bean salad, and rolls. Then later in case we were not in a coma already, we had decadent chocolate brownies with ice cream and hot fudge sauce. We eschewed the whipped cream, feeling it would be "too much." Then we sat on the couch like knots on a log, except the kids, who had of course eaten much less than us gluttonous adults.

Finally, after my dad, the best grandpa ever, played with the kids in the heat for a LONG time, we came back to our house in time for the fireworks show our town does. We can see it from our front yard, so it's perfect to escape the crowd and preventing kids from getting lost and all that. Mr. Blue didn't know what fireworks are, so he was a little worried about the "fire" part, but once he saw that they weren't going to hurt him, he thought they were great. And I think they were just as wonderful to Miss P as she'd hoped they'd be.

Happy (belated) birthday, America. Thank you for giving us the freedom to enjoy the day the way we did.

Happy Anniversary to Us

Tomorrow, June 7, will be our eleventh wedding anniversary.

Put like that, it seems impossible that so much time has passed since we said, “I do.” On the other hand, I feel like I hardly know that girl, who was so happy to have found the love of her life after she’d thought she might have to give up on love—at the ripe old age of twenty-one. (Snort.)

Specifically, I wonder, What was I thinking?

The plain facts, without the gloss of romance to soften them, make me shudder a little, imagining how I’d feel if my daughter got married ten months after meeting a guy. In fact, we didn’t tell our parents, but we talked about marriage after only a month of dating. After we got engaged, I asked Justin when he wanted to get married, and he said, “As soon as possible.” Since he’s seven years older than I am, he’d been dating long enough to know what he wanted: “And I want you,” he said.

He could have been a murderer, an abuser, or a garden-variety jerk who ignores his wife’s needs. So much could have gone wrong. And yet it didn’t.

Because, despite my naïveté and impulsiveness, I chose well. There was an inexplicable feeling of rightness that everyone who knew us sensed, and I think that’s because my husband is a man of great integrity. He is who he is. Like the Bible says, there is no guile in him.

Here’s the kind of guy he is.

He doesn’t begrudge me anything. If I say I need it, it’s mine. (Luckily for our finances, I don’t take advantage of his generosity.)

The night I met him, I thought, “This guy couldn’t tell a lie to save his life.” And I was right; he’s a man of his word. I can always count on him.

Every evening when he walks in the door, no matter how hard his day was, he gives me a hug and scoops the kids up and plays with them. He supplies all the physical fun and games that I’m no good at. He’s such a good father.

Before Mother’s Day, he got some extra money and instead of following my instructions to get me something under $20, he remembered that months ago I had mentioned in passing that someday I’d like a strand of pearls. More than the pearls themselves, the fact that he remembered was the sweetest thing.

He is an optimist and a dreamer—which balances out my Chicken Little tendency to think the sky is falling at any given moment. Amazingly, thanks to his hard work, the dreams are starting to come true.

He is not a pushover. Although he listens to my opinion, he doesn’t let me--or anyone else—steamroll over him. In fact, I appreciate his decisiveness because I am capable of waffling over any issue, including where we should go out to eat, which drives him crazy.

I could go on and on, but I think it’s clear that I married the right guy. As my own mother has said, no one else could have put up with my emotional roller coaster for this long. Justin has stuck by me for better or for worse, in (mental) sickness and in health, for richer (which hasn’t happened yet, but he says it will and I’m starting to believe him) and for poorer. I wouldn’t trade anything for the past eleven years, because even the hard times have brought us closer together. The girl standing at that altar wouldn’t have believed she could love her groom more than she did at that moment.

But I do. Happy anniversary, honey.

What's Going On

Last night was Miss Pink's preschool "graduation." It was cute and she was so proud of herself. But I didn't cry--I'm just not sentimental about things like that, and besides, I'm just happy she's going to kindergarten next year. When she was a newborn, my husband and I would lie in bed after we'd gotten her to sleep, knowing she was going to wake us up again in a few hours, and say, "Well, we kept her alive another day." Back then, it seemed an impossibly long time until she'd be a kindergartener. I count it as an accomplishment that we are all still alive and happy to be here.

Anyway, it was a little sad that Miss Pink's beloved teacher couldn't be there because she had gotten really sick. We all knew that for this teacher to miss the program, she had to be REALLY sick. Seriously, she is one of the best teachers I have ever met--and I was a teacher, so I've known quite a few good ones. She has a real gift with young children. So we were sorry not to say a last goodbye and to give her our gift in person. But she is coming to a classmate's pool party in a couple of weeks, so we will get to see her then.

I had a feeling the excitement of the last day of school was going to wear off for Miss P, since she loves school so much. And sure enough, that night there were real tears: "I miss Ms. Teacher! I am so sad that I don't get to see her anymore." I held her and empathized. "I know you miss her. I'll miss her too. I'm just glad you had such a good teacher that you feel this way about her."

By bedtime she was okay and finding out about the party today made her happy. I hope she loves school for a few more years at least.

Speaking of school, the preschool where Miss P has been going for three years decided to have a 2-year-old class this year! Last year they did two 3-year-old classes instead and the 3-day one never filled up, so now they will have a 2-day for both 2 and 3 year olds. (Was that confusing enough, with all the 2s and 3s?) Anyway, I had Mr. Blue on a waiting list at another school, but I wasn't pursuing any other schools. But when the school we already know and love told me they could take him next year, I jumped at the chance. Two mornings a week, four hours at a time... where do I sign up? Plus he is familiar with the school and always wants to play on the playground or with the toys in the classes when we go in. I asked him if he wants to go to school and he said, "Yis," without any hesitation at all.

One last thing--I met with my new psychiatrist today. (I've never had a psychiatrist before, so any psychiatrist would've been my first.) I feel really good about working with her. She was very helpful and understanding. We decided to up the dosage of my antidepressant one notch and see how that goes. Basically she thinks it was just a little slip back into the anxiety part of my depression and we are not going to let it go back any farther. Good to know.

I'm glad I have had support (both from y'all in the computer and in real life) to get this kind of help. Some people are not so lucky. A friend of a friend is really suffering from panic attacks right now, and our mutual friend (who has also been through the same thing) was encouraging her to see a psychiatrist and possibly go to counseling, but she is not ready to take that step. They don't have insurance and her husband didn't want to go that route for financial reasons. At first her doctor didn't want to prescribe anything but finally she got the courage to insist, so at least she is on an antidepressant. I am praying for her because I know how it feels to be in that kind of pain, and to wonder if you are ever going to get better. If you can remember her in your thoughts and prayers, I would really appreciate it.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Mr. Blue!

My baby boy turned two years old on Saturday. We had a small party since I believe in keeping parties low-key (and inexpensive) as long as I can. My parents and brother came, and a couple of other toddlers and their parents (and one older sibling who is my daughter's best friend, so that was great for her). We have a small house, so it ended up being perfect for the amount of people who came. (Still, the insecure part of me wished the other two invitees, both boys, could have come. Oh well, all the kids had a great time.)

The kids ran around and played, mostly with ordinary balloons, until it was time for cake and presents. I made these cupcakes, and they were amazing. While I clearly do not have an alternative career as a cake decorator, I learned that I CAN bake from scratch, and butter and sugar and cocoa are much more tasty than chemicals in a mix. (Duh, right?)

Mr. Blue loved his party and was very sweet to his friends and family, because that's just the kind of guy he is. I keep waiting for the sentimentality of "OMG I'm losing mah baby" to hit me, as it has one of my friends, who is tortured by the idea of moving her nearly three-year-old youngest child out of his crib into a big-boy bed. ("But you know he's not going to be able to fit into it when he leaves for college," I told her in a mock-reasonable tone. Such a supportive friend I am, with the mocking.)

So far, I am okay with Mr. Blue reaching the ripe old age of two. I love that he talks all the time, even as much as his sister, and it even makes me laugh that if you do not respond to him, he will repeat his statement over and over, in a louder tone each time, until you do. I love that he says "Tank oo Mommy" almost every time now, but when you remind him to say please, he says, "Say pease" like a little parrot. I love when he says, "I go get it," and "I be wight back." I love the way he plays with his toys and the way he wants to "look at aminals" on cuteoverload.com. Most of all, I love the way he turns back into a baby when he's sleepy and wants "Mommy rock" (NOT Daddy) and I can hold him and sing to him for a few precious minutes, which feels like the ever-shortening amount of time left for him to be small enough to hold like this.

No, I'm not sentimental at all. (sniff)

I'll let you know if it hits when he starts school.