The Story of Y

My Lunch Time

2011-11-17T08:00:00.002-06:00

This is the month of Thanksgiving here in the states, so I feel it's only appropriate to state at least one thing I'm grateful for this month, so....

One of the things about my job for which I am so grateful is my lunch time.

Hmmmm....that doesn't sound too good, does it?

But, seriously, I can have some really great lunches because I'm close to some great places....

like home is just 10 or 15 minutes away, so Pat and the kids can come meet me whenever I (or they) want.

I'm also close to a park my kids play at sometimes. Although this creepy woman started hanging out there during lunch, too, so I've stopped going.

There's also some great eating places in the neighborhood, like one of the best burger joints, and a fantastic Thai restaurant, and a really good salad place when I'm feeling healthy.

But there's another place that I absolutely love, and it hit me a few days ago how lucky I am to work so close to this. I go there and sit on a park bench or a picnic table and read or try to do some writing,

and I have this to look at...

and this...

and this is one of the places I used to go to write when I was a teen and an early twenty-something and I wrote that sordid soap opera for years....

and now I work just 5 minutes from there.

That's just one of the things I'm grateful for -

a beautiful respite in my day.

NaNoWriMo - It's a No Go!

2011-11-16T09:30:00.001-06:00

This year I decided to join Nanowrimo

a.k.a. National Novel Writing Month: "Thirty days and nights of literary abandon!"

Since it started on November 1st I have...

Cleaned the house

Baked a cake

Baked muffins

Organized my files

Written so many blogs I actually have a backlog

Offered to work as much overtime as needed

Walked the dog so much she now refuses to go out

Redecorated the house

Knitted a scarf

Started exercising again

Joined Procrastinator's Anonymous

And I've written exactly 2248 words out of the 25,005 words I'm supposed to have written on my novel.

I don't feel like I'm getting anything done.

Tribute

2011-11-14T09:24:00.000-06:00

Yesterday my husband was hit with some sad news.

One of his music heroes - who had turned into a friend - passed away yesterday.

This is my own little tribute to that friend.

My husband Pat moved from his home state of Utah to Texas in 1991 to pursue his dream of playing guitar. Once he arrived in Texas he discovered the blues: Muddy Waters, Freddie King, Howling Wolf...and then there was Stevie Ray Vaughan. A guitarist who kicked the blues up to a whole new level.

Not long after arriving, Pat formed a band and began touring, which eventually led to a high profile gig (in the blues world anyway). He played in several countries and all across the states, meeting many people he admired, even B.B. King. I think that's the only man who's ever brought Pat to tears - until yesterday, that is.

Another musician Pat met was Doyle Bramhall, the songwriter and inspiration for many of Stevie Ray Vaughan's hits. Pat met Doyle through Chris Hunter, Doyle's step-son, who played drums in the same band with Pat. Pat and Doyle talked, hung out, and played together. Pat gained great respect for Doyle pretty quickly. He was mega talented, and unlike so many successful entertainers, carried himself with no conceit. Pat always prided himself that Doyle (the man who partnered with Stevie Ray Vaughan) loved his guitar playing. Pat played on one of Doyle's cd's not long after they met.

I wasn't able to spend much time with Doyle, I only had a handful of times with him, but there is one memory that immediately came to mind when Pat told me the news yesterday. About seven years ago, Doyle and his wife Barbara were visiting in town. With a 5-year-old Savannah in tow, we met up with them at a local Starbucks to give them some baby clothes to take back to Chris for his little girl. After a brief conversation they invited us to lunch. They were hungry for Tex-Mex (and who isn't in Texas??), so we took them to our favorite haunt. Doyle was so friendly, and spoke easily with our little Savannah, and had me crying with laughter as he told past stories from the road. That lunch led to a full day together: all five of us driving around the city, talking, laughing, and sharing stories and food. Both Doyle and Barbara left a lasting impression on me and I was always happy to see them when they came to town.

I'll forever be grateful to Doyle for the compliments and confidence he gave my husband,

for the way he welcomed me,

for the way he talked with Savannah,

and for the music he gave us.

RIP, Doyle.

Sound the Alarm!

2011-11-09T11:41:00.000-06:00

Like many moms, I constantly compare my parenting skills to others.

I try to emulate their patience, and then I snap at Sarah when she won't quit pulling on my shirt over...and over....and over.

I work so hard to be more attentive to my kids, and then I shush them when I'm watching Modern Family.

I try to be more health conscious to keep their bodies growing strong instead of wide, and then I stop at the nearest drive-thru and order burgers and fries.

One thing all moms do, though, is have days when you think you're going to absolutely lose it!

The other day while I was cooking dinner and getting tomato sauce all over my favorite white shirt, Savannah kept coming in asking for various snacks, Sarah was hanging on to the back of my shirt like she loves to do, Pace was crying at my feet wanting to be held, and telemarketers wouldn't stop ringing my phone.

I had a sudden urge for a glass of wine...a piece of chocolate...something that would give me a quick respite.

Then I remembered an article I read in a parenting magazine about the rise in the number of women who have become addicted to prescription pills.

Is it bad that I wanted to search for that article so I could get some tips on which pills work best???

The Pros and Cons of My Career Change

2011-11-07T15:22:00.000-06:00

In March of this year, after much deliberation, I left my full-time job at an organization where I had grown, gained more and more responsibility, and actually surprised myself numerous times with my ability over the past ten years. You can read about my pain-staking decision here.

A couple months ago I took a part-time position as the Office Administrator for a local church. Yes, that means I’m the church secretary, but my official title is “Office Administrator,” and I’m sticking with it.

Over the last few days I've been thinking about the good, the bad, and damned-near ugly that has come from my career change. I guess you could say I've been trying to verify that I made a good decision. Here's what I've come up with so far:

Pros
1) No more traveling! I felt so guilty leaving Pat home with three kids each time I traveled and my trips were getting ready to increase. It also didn't help my guilty conscience to have a three-year-old screaming, "Don't go, Mommy!" when I walked out the door.

2) Less stress. I’m no longer receiving threatening e-mails from my Senior Vice President, which means I no longer grind my teeth (or plot someone's demise) in my sleep.

3) Less time at work and more time at home. I work four days a week, I'm able to sleep in a little later, I must close up the office for an hour lunch each day, and I get out of work before rush hour hits. These are my dream hours!

4) No make-or-break decisions. I don't sweat over the big, suffocating, eye-twitching, budget-making or breaking decisions anymore. That is someone else's job now.

Cons
1) No more full-time pay or benefits. Bye-bye, new boots and low co-pay! "Honey, I know you like to climb on the table, dive on to the couch, and then roll off on to the floor all while sucking on a lollipop and holding scissors, but Mommy really needs you to stay healthy right now. She needs a new pair of shoes."

2) No more traveling, which means no more free five-star meals or facials, or massages. If there's going to be any spoiling, I'll have to do it myself. However, see Con #1.

3) Being called a “Church Secretary.” Yes, I know that’s what I am, but for some reason it drives me up the wall when someone calls me the church secretary. See image above.

4) I have to watch my language. I’m the church secretary, you know. And, man, is that hard! Especially when I want to cuss someone out or throw this dinosaur of a computer out the window.

Overall, though, I have to say that I'm really glad I made the decision to leave and I stuck with it. My bank balance may be smaller, and I may not have all the little perks that I did before, but at least I sleep well at night, don't dread the mornings, and have more time to hang out with my kiddos....which is the best PRO of all!

Extra Credit

2011-11-03T11:06:00.000-05:00

Today's post is once again for Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Writing Workshop.

Today I decided to combine two of the writing prompts into one blog: (1) elaborate on one of the 22 things I've done (#11), and (2) write a blog with eight lines. I get extra credit for this, right?

And now...

The Story of the Deaf Guy in Eight Lines

I worked in a hot tourist attraction selling t-shirts in the West End

A magician's shop that employed some cute guys who possessed the sleight of hand was right next door.

One day one of those cute guys brought over a new, even cuter guy who could not hear or speak.

This new, cuter guy kept looking and smiling in my direction and I thought, I need to learn sign language and fast!

So I bought a book and studied day and night

One of the magician’s who noticed me flirting with the new guy pulled me aside and whispered, “You can’t go out with him – he’s been charged with sexually assaulting a minor!”

Unfortunately, it turned out to be true and my fascination with him vanished like Copperfield’s assistant.

A good thing came out of all this, though, when a deaf couple came in to my store a few months later and I was able to communicate with them!

The Last Trick-or-Treat

2011-11-01T17:14:00.005-05:00

Last night was a fairly traditional Halloween for us: a dinner of mummy dogs and chips followed by trick-or-treating and lots of candy eating. Although we opted to skip the scary movie and watched "Castle" instead. Savannah & I have grown to love that show!

For the last couple of years, my sweet, soft-spoken Savannah has taken to scary costumes. This year she was a blood-sucking zombie basketball player.

Sarah wanted to be Rapunzel, but, alas, we were unable to find the long, flowing hair for our fair maiden. She finally agreed to be a fairy princess.

Pace, still not quite able to communicate, had absolutely NO say in his costume.

Yeah!

Oops! I mean, maybe next year, little guy.

He went as the head coach of the Dallas Cowboys.

His costume turned out to be the hit of the evening, and all I did was add a headset to a Cowboys outfit already hanging in his closet. Touchdown!

But the event of the evening that really woke me up was at one of the last houses we visited. Pace and I were slowly making our way up the path when Savannah and Sarah raced by us.

“Trick or treat!” they both proclaimed.

Pace and I waddled up (I swear, Pace walks like an old penguin.) as Sarah received her candy. The lady looked up at me and said, “Where did your older one go?” I looked around to find Savannah standing on the sidewalk with her dad.

“Anyone who says trick-or-treat gets a piece of candy. Would you give her this?” the neighbor said placing a candy bar in my hand. I took it to Savannah and asked why she left.

“I’m just too old for this, Mom.”

And that was that.

I now have a kid that’s too old to trick-or-treat. Wait…I need to stretch out my creaky knees and put on my reading glasses. The words have suddenly grown blurry.

So the plan for next year is Savannah will stay home and pass out candy while the “kids” go trick-or-treating.

She’s growing up, folks, and I can’t stop it.

A Few Things I've Done

2011-10-27T18:46:00.001-05:00

I’ve taken the leap!

I’ve decided to try my first writing prompt for Mama Kat’s Almost World Famous Writing Workshop.

Luckily, this prompt doesn’t get me shaking as much as others, so it may be the perfect start.

One side note before I start: this list will be edited since both my mother and my daughter read my blog.

Without further ado….

22 Things I’ve Done in My Life

1. Hid in the bushes of my school in Kindergarten when my mom was late picking me up. I was afraid I would be kidnapped.

2. Almost kidnapped in third grade walking home from school. (I guess I had given up on Mom in my mature years). A van pulled up beside me and a man got out and started walking toward me. I took off running down our alley and a bamboo shoot went up my thumb nail while I frantically tried to open our gate. I heard the van door shut and speed off.

3. Learned to drive on the back roads in the Piney Woods of East Texas at the tender age of 11. And, yes, I drove my aunt around town for many years before I received my license at 18…but you didn’t hear that from me!

4. Wrote a secret, on-going soap opera throughout middle school and high school. I even had set and costume design planned out the entire time.

5. Went to a fantastic high school. I attended the Arts Magnet high school in downtown Dallas. We didn’t dance on the tables like they did in “Fame,” but I did walk the halls with Erica Badu, get stoned with jazz-great Roy Hargrove, and acted in a play with Elizabeth Mitchell from “Lost” and “V.” I loved high school!

6. Had a mad man at my front door. He was trying to get in the house with a knife. I was 15 and terrified. Thank God for neighbors and the cops!

7. Belly laughed many times with my best friend through high school and my twenties. We actually recorded ourselves one night and then played it back. We ended up on the floor laughing at ourselves laughing. Does that even make sense? At one point it became completely silent; we were laughing so hard we couldn't get any sound out, only gasps for breath - both on the tape and while we were listening. I love it when you can laugh yourself into silence!

8. Fell into the fountain still wearing my maid of honor dress after my sister’s wedding. Yes, alcohol was involved.

9. “Acted” in the Video of the Year for 1989. I was in Don Henley’s “The End of the Innocence” video, which was filmed in the Dallas area. My one, solitary scene was filmed at Union Station downtown. In case you’re dying of curiosity, here’s a link to the video on Yahoo! Music. You know you wanna see it! That’s me as The Bride at 3:47. I was 19, skinny, and had high aspirations of making it big. *sigh*

10. Had my hair butchered onstage by an “internationally known hairstylist.” Yeah-right. Internationally known for crap! I will say that my own hair stylist managed to turn it into something really cute, but it was the shortest I had ever been.

11. Learned sign language so I could date a cute deaf guy. Turned out he was a pedophile. That pretty much sums up my pre-Pat dating life.

12. Started my period on my wedding day. *sigh*

13. Been on David Letterman. Not as a guest, though Pat and I scored free tickets to be in the audience. When we watched the show that night, there we were when the camera scanned the audience: I was laughing and Pat shot his arms up in the air to be seen. It worked!

14. Watched my husband play for thousands at Jazz Fest in New Orleans several times. I got that old-time, pre-marriage butterfly feeling watching the crowd go nuts after his guitar solos.

15. Met Clint Eastwood at the Monterey Jazz Festival. He was there to interview a woman Pat played in a band with. Mr. Eastwood was so gracious and made sure I was included in the conversation.

16. Performed with my husband twice a week for the last three years.

17. Stayed at two “haunted” hotels and managed to scare the crap out of myself both times. (A story may be coming on Halloween. Mwah!)

18. Took a leap of faith and left a torturous work environment without knowing I had a net to catch me. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.

19. Lost a baby in utero.

20. Gave birth to three extraordinary people who have changed my life for the better.

21. Gave birth to one of those three extraordinary people without drugs. Believe me, I wanted the drugs! She just came too fast.

22. Married a man that actually gets me (most of the time), allows me to be really immature and goofy (and frankly dives right on in there with me), and has learned to work around my many moods (and there are a lot). Oh yes! And we make beautiful music together. *blush*

Savannah's First Concert

2011-10-26T10:00:00.003-05:00

Two tickets to see Taylor Swift in concert...

$225

Cost to park at Cowboys Stadium....

$35

Cost to see Savannah's face when Taylor Swift steps onstage....

Priceless!

It was a very good girl's night out!

Eleven Years

2011-10-24T20:05:00.000-05:00

On this day eleven years ago, early in the morning, I was driving to east Texas with Savannah, then 20 months old, in the backseat. My sister Valarie had called a few minutes after six to tell me our father had died after a hard battle with bone cancer.

We knew it was inevitable he would be gone soon, I just wasn't ready for it to be that soon. I had just left his house 36 hours before. He had suddenly seemed to be getting a second wind. Wanting to eat and laugh, trying to get up from his bed, a hospital bed placed in his den so he could be with his family. We now know that was the surge of energy terminally ill patients get before they die. It can last for one hour, two days, or two weeks. I wish I would have known.

Today, eleven years later - hard to believe - I still find myself grieving. All day I've been quick to grow angry, cry, or feel overwhelmed. Dustin Hoffman once said you never get over the loss of a parent. I couldn't agree more. It seems strange that my three kids will never know their Grandpa Ralph and just how much he would have loved them.....does love them.

But as the day draws to an end, I want to remember the good things,

not the drive I had to take that morning,

or selecting his casket,

or walking away from the gravesite.

I want to remember his hugs.

How he smelled of saw dust and sweat when he came in from his workshop.

How he ate his fries with a fork.

And hearing him say, "Pass the sugar, Sugar."

Grandma's Front Porch

2011-06-28T15:50:00.000-05:00

Last March I took a leap of faith.

(You can read about my decision to leap here.)

I left my job...

a secure job...

a well-paying job...

a job with benefits...

a job with a HELL of a lot of stress and leadership that made everyone's life difficult.

For too long I was gritting my teeth, tired all the time, quick to lose my temper, and very hard to live with. I felt I was getting a nudge from something greater than me to leave - that there was another path waiting. So after a lot of discussion with Pat I turned in my notice.

I was on cloud nine for weeks, but after time passed and no yellow brick road or sparkly red shoes magically appeared, and a mystical voice didn't whisper sweet anything in my ear, I began to doubt my decision and the tension crept back in to my jaw, shoulders, and home.

Savannah was due to go to my mother's for a visit at the beginning of the summer. We typically meet my mom half way instead of taking the entire 3-hour drive, but this time I decided to make the whole trek. As we drove down the narrow country road leading to her house, trees forming a thick canopy over the car, it all seemed so familiar to me. A place of love, family, and home.

My mom now lives with her sister, my Aunt Peggy, in the house they grew up in, the house my grandfather built in 1931. It's the place I visited every summer and many holidays. It's where my grandmother, aka G-ma, rubbed my back until I fell asleep; it's where my mud bakery spanned the vast front yard complete with mud pies, mud cakes, and mud cookies, and where I snapped fresh peas and peeled potatoes from G-ma's garden as I sat next to her on the porch. Despite the memories I hold, I don't believe I ever fully appreciated the comfort this place provided until this recent trip.

I was in need of calm; something to get my mind to stop. I was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, the same one G-ma sat in for many years, when I heard thunder in the distance. Not long after a soft rain began to fall. A breeze blew in with the rain and eased the Texas heat. I could feel the coolness brush my face and listened to the rain drops softy land on the trees and grass. and I felt my body sink down into the rocking chair as it released the stress. I laid my head back and enjoyed the moment; a much needed moment to gain a little peace of mind. A moment that I now refer to when I feel my jaw tense up, my "safe harbor" as author David Trottier calls it.

I go to my safe harbor, my grandmother's front porch, and bring all of my senses with me, and just let go...if just for a moment.

What about you? What's your safe harbor?

Fourteen

2011-02-15T08:00:00.000-06:00

This was me fourteen years ago today...

It's been quite a roller coaster.

A ride with

anticipation

laughs

screams

and relief.

And I don't want to get off.

Happy Anniversary, Pat!

I love you!

Belated Birthday

2011-02-09T16:26:00.000-06:00

I let Biscuit’s birthday pass last week without much fanfare. She turned two on the second. It was late in the day before I realized it and we were iced in most of the week, so I didn’t make it out for the new squeaky toy I had planned to buy her. Pat pulled out a big rawhide bone so she could have a special treat that evening.

I’ve never been big on celebrating pets’ birthdays. Partly because I never knew their actual birthdays, only a guess at which month they were born based on the vet’s estimate. Even so, I felt bad about almost missing Biscuit’s b-day this year. I feel like she’s gotten the short end of the stick, and I’m to blame.

She was a few weeks old when we brought her home, only a couple months after our beloved Clyde passed. I wrote about it on her first birthday last year, so I won’t bore you with the details again.

I don’t know if Biscuit came to us too soon, while my grief was so raw I was tender to the touch, but she and I have never completely meshed well.

I hate to say it, but “the dog” grates my nerves, and I think it’s all because I compare her to Clyde, two totally different dogs. Clyde was small, sweet, and obedient. You could pet him without getting smashed in the nose, although he did lick a lot. He greeted you at the door with a smile and a wag of the tail, and he was a perfect leash walker, walking with an heir of dignity about him and showing off for the other dogs locked behind fences. And last but not least, he lived peacefully with our cat Gilligan.

Biscuit, well, she’s insane. Of course she’s two, which calculates to fourteen, a horrible year for hormones. I remember my fourteenth year, except I didn’t follow people around licking at their heels or stretching my tongue to eat meat off the counter, though I did bark at quite a few people.

But I digress…

A complete opposite of Clyde, Biscuit is tall and muscular. She goes nuts whenever you try to pet her. I’ve had many a sore chin and nose just for trying to show her some love. I’m greeted by 60 pounds of dog pushing me down when I walk in the door - and that’s just coming back from getting the mail. You can’t walk her on a leash without having to drag her or her dragging you. And I’ll certainly never be able to own another cat for fear she’ll eat them for breakfast.

We should have named her Marley...

(Yes, we’ve had to replace our bedding because of Biscuit.)

but I thought I was getting that sweet, cuddly dog from the vet’s office. Man, she pulled one over on me.

Pat likes to remind me that Clyde was mischievous when he was young, too. I guess I have selective memory. There was that one time he slid down the roof of our house from the second story and landed in the bushes. And it took him a few months to catch on to the leash and pooping outside. And he used to run around the living room in lightening-fast circles leaving cushions in the dust.

I try to remember that Biscuit is young. No, she’s not Clyde, but she’s a good dog, a sweet dog, and she deserves just as much love as Clyde.

I guess I just need to buy a hockey goalie’s mask to give it to her.

Time to Bloom

2011-02-05T22:55:00.000-06:00

I have a bouquet of flowers sitting on my table that’s eight days old. I’ve removed a few wilted blooms, but it still looks beautiful. Usually by now most of the flowers would lie limp and pitiful and I would be forced to throw them out, even though I don’t want to. Fresh flowers are a rare treat for me. But this particular bouquet is still standing tall and showcasing lavender lilies, white daisies, and pink mums. I think they’re still thriving on the excitement I felt when I bought them.

You see, eight days ago I turned in my resignation at work after three years of growing increasingly unhappy with the leadership. I was at the point of dreading Mondays…and Tuesdays…and Wednesdays….and, you get the point. But it was more than just dread.

I grew increasingly tense the closer my car came to the building. By the time I drove into the parking garage I was throwing curse words at anyone and anything I saw. Okay, maybe I didn’t literally yell profanities at innocent co-workers who happened to cross my path – I still had to work with them, you know – but I certainly thought them. I also grew resentful of meetings (especially those at 4:00 on Fridays – I mean, seriously!), and colleagues that expected me to work with the detail that used to come natural to me. I blamed my lack of that detail on having a third baby, when in actuality my morale had tanked.

The culprit: the organization I used to be so proud to work for has changed, and what used to be a friendly environment has become quite toxic, and I've grown bitter.

The worst of it all, I brought my unhappiness home. I tried to nip my bad mood in the bud when I walked in the door, but many times I was unsuccessful. And honestly, no job is worth having an unhappy home.

Pat and I discussed the possibility of me leaving for the last few months, but fear always kept me tied down and just when I didn’t think things could get worse, they did. I had no idea how I was going to drag myself into that office every morning without imploding. I was getting headaches, I was physically and mentally exhausted, and I had chest pains. My body was trying to send me signals, or giving up on me.

When I didn’t act on my body’s message, I received it from another direction: church. Two weeks ago the topic was to trust God enough to take a leap and know that He will lead you where you need to go. All of the songs I sang were speaking to me:

Precious Lord, take my hand. Lead me on, help me stand.
I’m tired, I’m weak, I am worn.

One of my band mates sang a song titled “Word of God Speak.” It’s all about shutting up and listening. As I stood waiting to sing harmony with him I had this feeling of something surround me. It was like I was in this warm pocket and I could feel the music envelop me.

Afterward I talked with a close friend about my feelings during the service and she pulled out a quote that she just happened to have with her. She said it helped her while she was having difficulties and she had thought of me recently when she ran across it again.

What was it about? Taking a leap and trusting that there will be a net to catch you or you will be given wings to fly.

I don’t know how it sounds to you, but I feel like I was getting all kinds of messages that day.

After much discussion and many freak outs with Pat, we both decided it was time for me to get out. I had one final meeting with my superiors that confirmed everything I was feeling and the next morning I plopped my resignation on my supervisor’s desk.

I. Am. Done.

And I couldn’t be happier.

Except when my doubts creep up, and fear settles in, and I think that I was crazy to believe I was receiving messages.

I think that’s why the flowers are still flourishing. They thrive as a reminder of the confidence and joy I felt that day.

I’ve taken the leap and hope there will be a net to catch me, or better yet, I’ll be given the wings to fly.

Am I Still in Texas?

2011-02-04T12:39:00.000-06:00

Where do I live?

In Texas, right?

Down south where the winters are short and you rarely get below the 30s?

Isn’t that why I love it here?

Or I used to.

But the last two years have been rather freakish.

We typically have one snow/ice day a year when school is out and you stay home from work with a fire in the hearth and jaunts outside to build a snowman; a snowman that used up all of the snow in the yard. He looked like Pig Pen from Peanuts with patches of brown grass stuck in his snow body.

Now, and I mean this very minute, we can build a family of snow people and still have enough powdery stuff left to trudge through.

I don’t know if I like this. I admit that I don’t like having to wear shorts on Christmas Day, as we’ve had to do occasionally, but this is getting ridiculous.

Remember December of 2009? We had a White Christmas. And last February we had two separate winter “events.” One was known as a Mini Snow-pocalypse, which only lasted a couple days. Not too bad. The other was the Texas snowstorm from hell that knocked out our electricity for 40 hours. We had to keep our milk and eggs in the foot of snow on our deck.

I thought that was just a freak winter for us Texans, but oh no. I had to be proven wrong. We’ve had about an inch of ice on the roads since Monday night, temps in the teens and single digits all week, and then I woke this morning to 6” of snow. School has been closed for an unprecedented four days straight, and I’ve been working from home just as long. I do love being home with my family, but my toes are cold.

I think Mother Nature’s trying to tell me geography no longer matters. I’m trying to make a deal with her, though. If I now have to live with these wickedly cold February months, she should drop the temps down at least a little bit in August.

It’s only fair.

Mac and What???

2011-01-26T10:52:00.000-06:00

I tried an experiment last night and, oh, how successful it was.

Let me take you back to the beginning of my research…

When Pace was just a couple weeks old he turned into a crier. We thought he would grow out of it in a few days like Savannah did and just have a brief spell of colic. No such luck. It was hard to soothe him for several weeks and we were at each other’s throats due to lack of sleep.

After a little Googling and reading and talking (to myself usually – I do that a lot), I decided to cut out dairy and see if it would ease our baby boy. Of course almost everything I love contains some kind of dairy, so following some very frustrating days I found a couple of books on Amazon to see if I could gain some tasty recipes to help me through this “sacrificial” time. Yes, I’m wringing this out for every bit it’s worth, and, yes, I’ll remind Pace what I did for him when I need an upper hand.

I purchased a dairy-free book. It was pretty much soy replacements everywhere. Not quite what I was looking for, although I don’t know why I thought it would be different. And then I found a vegan cookbook. The Amazon reviews raved about it, especially over the “Mac & Cheeze” recipe, stating that recipe was worth the price of the book.

I used some of her soup & Mexican recipes (no soy in sight - yeah!) and all have been delicious, but because it was summertime I used that as my excuse not to try the Mac & Cheeze. I didn’t want to heat up the kitchen...plus, I feared the gag reflex: my families and my own.

With a resolution to make my family healthier and to incorporate more vegetarian & vegan meals in our weekly diets I decided to give the Mac & Cheeze a try last night. To my delight it didn’t have any soy cheese or milk in the ingredients list. Instead it was nuts & veggies that made the “cheeze” sauce. I have to admit I did worry when I poured it over the macaroni and I was very hesitant as I dished it out on to our plates, even though it looked exactly like mac & cheese as we know it.

The first test – Savannah: "Mmmmm. This is soooo good!" as she stuffed another bite in her mouth.
(She still has no clue there was no cheese in it, so sssshhhhh!)

Next up – Sarah: "I no want it!"
(She wouldn’t want it even if it had real cheese in it, so no surprise there.)

I had the next taste: "Wow!" Seriously! It was so good. Not cheesy and gooey, but moist and very tasty, and it had a slight sweet flavor to it as well from the pureed onions & carrots.

Then came the big guy, the carnivore, the past Atkins follower: "Oh man. What a great meal!"

That’s right folks, the vegan Mac & Cheeze was a hit in the home of a meat-loving, dairy-guzzling family! I’m so impressed I have to tell you the name of the book:

“Quick and Easy Comfort Food” by Alicia C Simpson.

She seriously rocks! Check out her book. You won’t be disappointed.

You can always do what I did and serve your vegan side dish with pork chops & and green beans cooked with bacon. Kind of an oxymoron, right?

I know what you’re thinking…

Who the hell are you? And why are you coming back so nonchalant, like you haven't been missing for weeks???

I realize you were tempted to put my face on a milk carton, but just trust me when I say that things have been crazy and pretty much hellish.

I sure did miss you, though.

Mama

2011-01-06T16:10:00.000-06:00

I admire my mother for many reasons.

She’s immensely talented in music and word.

She’s highly intelligent.

She can laugh at herself.

She found her calling after having kids.

She’s a pioneer in her career.

She‘s given several of the best sermons I’ve ever heard.

She’s a calming presence.

And one thing that gives me hope: she found a way to live out a dream after she qualified for a Senior’s Blue Plate Special.

My mother has had a love affair with England for many, many years. Throughout my childhood and teen years Sunday nights were reserved for British comedies. There was no getting around it, no matter how badly I tried.

She wanted to travel to England throughout her life, but first came college, then came love, then came babies, and then came a career with a not-so-high salary. Dreams of travel drifted further and further away.

Then one day after retirement she heard of a program that sent retired preacher’s to the UK. She applied and, of course, was accepted. A year living in England followed. And she had the time of her life – aside from all of the amazing times she’s had with me, of course; frustrating teen angst and all.

Being a tall, elegant, American lady, she was treated like the Queen herself. Who wouldn’t love that? She lived by the Black Sea, whipped around the roundabouts (going the wrong way, I might add!) in a Mr. Bean car, developed many lasting friendships, and fell in love.

Of course her favorite time that year was when Savannah and I came to stay with her for two weeks.

(I love this picture of Savananah @ 4!)

She’s given me hope that those dreams I’ve yet to accomplish may still come true.

One other thing - she’s showered me with love my entire life.

I love you, Mama.

Happy birthday!

The Year of No Fear

2011-01-01T11:53:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

It’s another beginning.

Another clean slate.

Another chance to make lifelong changes.

At least that’s what millions like to believe.

I’m no different. Every year I make new resolutions, with the exception of last year, and I didn’t accomplish much in 2010 except for managing to hang on to the baby weight after Pace was born.

Now that I think about it, though, dealing with a demanding baby, a preschooler who’s stuck in the Terrible Twos, and a tween filled with attitude, not to mention my demanding full-time job with a boss I can’t stand, and not killing anyone by Dec. 31?...that’s quite an accomplishment!

This time next year, however, I’d like to be able to say that I have a busy toddler, a sweet preschooler, and a teen whose attitude I can deal with a little better, AND a job I love, plus a book that’s ready to be considered for publication.

The secret to the last two, or three?

Conquering fear. Or at least not allowing it to block me. I don’t know that I, or anyone, can actually conquer fear, but we can find ways to push past it. Me being the Self Help Queen should be able to manage that.

According to the hundreds of books I’ve read on career changes, living a more creative life, conquering clutter, getting fit, looking younger, being a better mother, being a better wife, being a better employee, being a better writer, and on and on and on (Yes, I do a lot of reading and not much doing, but I can coach anyone to almost anything they want to accomplish. Hmmm….maybe that’s a possible new career!), one of the first things you need to do is find support. For me, that would be my husband, my great friend Crystal, and my family – my mother, my sister, and my aunt.

You also need to make yourself accountable to someone so that you’ll work to keep from embarrassing yourself. Looks like that’s you guys!

Next, you need to have some kind of map. I’m working on monthly goals and at the end of each month I’ll check in with myself to see what I’ve done. For instance, by the end of January I hope to have applied for three positions (God willing there’s three I’m interested in) and my updated resume posted on a career website. I also want to have two more chapters completed for my book.

Those are completely doable goals that will help move me forward. I just need to make the time and push past my fear of getting a new job (What if it’s worse than where I am? What if I hate it, too? What if I’m no good at it?), or the fear that I constantly battle in my writing, both my book and my blog. (I have nothing to say! Is this any good? Did I ever learn proper grammar?)

Are there any changes you’ve wanted to make, but have allowed fear to stop you?

Join me on my quest this year. Let’s battle fear together and make 2011 the year we conquered those HUGE goals.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do a little decluttering.

Did I mention I’m a procrastinator?

My Smoke Signal to You

2010-12-25T16:09:00.000-06:00

We had our Christmas Eve service yesterday evening, which ended with singing "Silent Night" by candlelight. After everyone had extinguished their candles and left to finish last minute wrapping and cooking (at least that was my plan), Savannah came up to me holding her candle.

"Mom? If I blew out my candle and lit it again, is it still holy?"

"Sure," I responded. I couldn't see how her intentions would be anything but.

"Good. I want to take it outside and blow it out and send the smoke up to Jesus for a present."

She touched my heart and I'm sure put a smile on the one who came to us as a baby many, many stars ago on this day.

I'm sending out a smoke signal to all of you; you who still come to see what I have to say despite my absences.

I hope you have a blessed and joyful Christmas and a happy and safe new year (but I plan to talk to you again before then.)

City Woman

2010-12-20T15:56:00.000-06:00

Savannah is crazy for animals. She is a sweet and gentle soul who loves all, er…most animals. Her goal is to become a veterinarian, animal shelter owner, grunt, or volunteer – however she can get in the place - or a marine biologist.

Oh yes! Or a singer!

Pretty hefty goals if you ask me, and I know she can do any of them.

Of course she has the typical love for dogs, cats, and birds. But she goes crazy for dolphins and horses. Unfortunately, there are no dolphins close by that we can introduce her to, but horses are another story. At least that’s what we recently discovered.

There is a very cool couple in our church, Angie and Frank, who own two horses. Frank grew up with horses, but four years ago Angie discovered them for the first time and fell in love. They ended up selling their house along with most of their possessions inside, bought their horses and built a barn with part of it being their home. They literally built it with their own four hands.

Talk about living your dream! They discovered what they wanted and went for it, no matter what the sacrifice. They’re my new role models.

It’s a shame I didn’t get pictures of their home. It’s absolutely beautiful…and very small. I think Pat and I would kill each other in a month’s time.

They invited us out after church yesterday so Savannah could be with the horses. It was wonderful watching Savannah sit atop Sundance, a beautiful creamy Quarter horse. And he was so sweet with her. Angie said he’s usually easy to get along with, but not as calm and mild as he was with Savannah. I think he knew what kind of person he had on his back: 1) a brand new rider, and 2) one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet. I can’t believe she came from me sometimes. I’m foul mouthed, impatient, hot tempered, and…

definitely a city girl.

Now I spent time in the country growing up. My family comes from the piney woods of East Texas. We chopped down our own Christmas tree behind my grandmother’s house and we listened to Willie Nelson. If that doesn't make you country, I don't know what does.

Plus, when I was around eleven my father moved back to East Texas from the city after my parents divorced and I spent every other weekend and many summer days poking around with cowboys and my very country kin. I’ve always prided myself that I could switch from city to country in the 3-hour time period it took to go from one to the other with a stop at Dairy Queen on the way.

Yesterday, though, I realized just how long it’s been since I’ve been, well, countrified. I got dressed for church that morning, keeping in mind that I would be going out to see horses later. When it came time to walk outside with the Quarter horses and our gracious hosts, I looked down wondering why I was having such a hard time. Hmmm…I wonder why I thought leopard print flats would be good for the dirt and sand. Plus, my open-holed crocheted sweater didn’t do much to keep the cold wind out. Oh! And I held a baby wrapped in a “I’m a Rock Star” blanket.

Then there was Savannah. She had on Levi’s – very appropriate - with a beautiful, thin blouse – not so appropriate, but luckily she had her hoodie to keep her warm – and her Ugg wanna-be boots. Not appropriate at all! And we had Sarah running around in a dress and keds.

They wouldn’t write a country song about us. We would be the Lifetime Channel movie about the family that takes a trip to the country and all mayhem ensues. I don't think I could have convinced anyone I've spent time outside the city lights.

But the cold wind and the sand in my shoes were all worth it. Savannah couldn't keep the smile off her face, and Sarah was in complete awe of the mighty creatures. We managed to get her up on one for a short while before she wanted down, but Savannah stayed up as long as they would have her.

That's Angie with the girls sitting atop Sundance.

Look at that blue Texas sky! You don't always have that in the city.

I still can't believe I wore leopard print flats. Good grief!

Attack

2010-12-08T16:10:00.000-06:00

I’ve been the victim of a hideous, senseless, moronic, and immature crime.

My computer was slammed, crashed, and broken down by a virus!

Melodramatic?

Maybe a little.

Pissed?

Oh yeah!

Everything came to a halt...my work, my writing, and most importantly, my surfing.

What I don’t get, though, is what gain do these anonymous attackers seek? I realize some are after money and try to hack in to your bank or credit accounts, but all this particular virus (and I’m told it was a nasty one) did was tie up the screen and then it went black. So what does that get them?

Satisfaction that someone has been inconvenienced?

The pleasure in knowing someone’s work has ceased?

You know that last one isn’t necessarily a bad thing when you work in the corporate world. I know I enjoyed my 36 hour break.

But seriously, what kind of person works to make others miserable? It’s very Grinch-like if you ask me. I envision a pear-shaped man with bird legs sitting in the corner rubbing his green hands together with a creepy smile slinking up his face.

Dude, get a life!

It’s really a sad existence when you think about it: living just to make others miserable.

After the smoke cleared from my ears and I rode out the frustration, I started to feel sorry for whoever is responsible for my computer’s illness. I didn’t lose any documents or important photographs – at least not this time. I just went technology-free for a while. I even took the day off from work yesterday and spent it hanging out with my husband and two younger kiddos. We had some great Thai food and a few laughs together, and I was able to relax for a little while.

Maybe I should thank this bird-legged Grinch. His work to inconvenience me just gave me a little breather I needed.

Eva

2010-11-30T18:56:00.000-06:00

My niece Eva turns 21 today.

Twenty-one!

That makes me the aunt of a legal drinker. Egad!

Eva was the first baby I ever cared for. I was in awe and completely smitten from day one. She was my original Little Buddy. We tore all around town causing all kinds of trouble together. She was with me when I ripped the pump off the gas tank. But that’s a story for another time.

When my sister, Valarie, returned to work after some time at home with Eva I was working part-time in a retail store, mainly evenings. So whenever she needed someone to care for an ill baby or toddler I was available. That’s when I learned how to hold, feed, bathe, and shower a young one with love and care. I also learned how to make a child tardy for school. I guess you could say that was the start of my bad mommy ways.

When Eva was in Kindergarten both of her parents had to be at work, or at least on their way, before the start of the school day. My apartment was on the way to work for her dad, Rick, a.k.a. Dren, so he would drop her off at my place before the sun came up. I don’t remember what he was doing at the time. I just remember he had to be somewhere at an ungodly hour.

Dren would knock on the door and I would answer it, taking Eva’s backpack and clothes for her to change into and we would both fall on the couch or the bed (depending on whether or not Pat was in town) and we would be out as soon as her head hit the pillow and my arm wrapped around her. Almost every morning I would wake up and look at the clock and that would start our harried routine: fling back the covers, yank off her pj’s, throw on her clothes, rake a comb through her hair, disguise my pj’s in whatever was near, and run out the door with breakfast in hand.

We were late…again….and again….and again. I don’t think Rick and Val were too happy when they got the report listing the number of tardies Eva had at the end of each semester. Oops! That’s what you get when you leave your child in the hands of an immature twenty-something who stays up until two or three in the morning.

I don’t think those Kindergarten tardies hurt her, though. She’s now a junior in college with an unbelievable GPA and has been accepted to study abroad next semester. She leaves for Botswana, Africa after the new year. I don’t see her near as much as I did when she was a little one, but thinking of her half a world away still hurts. I may have to snatch her up during the Christmas festivities and take a little joy ride with her.

Maybe we can vandalize another gas station.

Happy birthday, Eva!

I love you so much and I’m so proud of the young lady you’ve become.

The Sin I’ve Committed

2010-11-15T16:02:00.000-06:00

I‘ve been careless.

I’ve been way too hasty.

I’ve been wishing for something that I truly don’t want to come.

The problem is I’ve been so caught up in myself that I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing, or thinking, or wishing.

You see, I feel run down. I’m working full-time in a stressful and toxic environment. I’m also a full-time mom, a wife, and a housekeeper. I’m probably not much different from many of you.

At the same time I’m trying to work out a risky career change and singing at church part-time. I’d say I have more than a full plate. It’s more like a buffet table. Instead of picking and choosing from my custom-made buffet, I tend to pile it all on and stay stuck in the mode of How am I ever going to get this all done?

So today I worked on my weekly schedule, because a buffet needs A LOT of planning. Each week I try to find time for some exercise, cleaning, researching, writing, and, oh yeah! There’s the kids. And, I’m embarrassed to say, it never fails…I end up thinking to myself, Man, I can’t wait until they can bathe themselves, or feed themselves, or entertain themselves.

Right after I printed out my schedule with a heavy sigh and an overwhelmed feeling, I saw a video of a woman whose daughter is getting married. A sad look came across her face and she said, “You just don’t think when your child is small that in just a few years it’s going to be completely different, and you look back and say where did that time go? It goes by fast.”

This hit me so hard I almost fell to my knees. I felt like I had committed the mother of all sins. You can take that literally. I’ve been wishing away my kids’ childhoods.

But what does any of this matter without your kids? What if I do get that dream career one day, but they don’t want to call or visit me because I was always preoccupied?

What if I have a clean house, but they feel like I’m always yelling at them for leaving out toys or crumbs on the table?

What if I have all the time I want to sit and brood about what all I have to get done, and I forget that my first priority is enjoying every minute I can with my precious, aggravating, loud, and beautiful kids, as long as they’ll allow me to hold them, snuggle with them, run and play with them, or just lie with them as they sleep?

It’s time to repent and ask for guidance to get back on the right road. I need you guys to remind me if I start to stray again.

I still have a schedule because I’ll forget what’s coming up if I don’t, but I’ve changed it to be more lax. It reads, “Things to Do If There’s Time.”

I’ve got more important things to tend to.

It's All in the Mind

2010-11-03T11:55:00.000-05:00

I’ve been in a baking kick lately: gooey s’mores bars, moist banana muffins, and my awesome chocolate cream pie. Ok, the last isn’t baked, but it’s a treat so I’m counting it.

So earlier this week I found a fantastic recipe for red velvet cupcakes (Thank you, Paula Deen!). As I was pouring the finished batter into the muffin tins Savannah came in. A little late, I might add. She usually runs in as soon as she hears the mixer running, but she strolled in rather nonchalantly this time.

“Wha’cha making?”

She looked a little confused when she first saw the red batter and then her eyes grew big with excitement.

“Are those red velvet cupcakes?”

“Beet muffins,” I responded.

“What’s a beet?”

“It’s a vegetable. Wanna try a taste?”

She looked repulsed when I held out the spatula to her.

“Just try it,” I encouraged her.

She got a very small dot of batter on her finger and tasted it, then stuck out her tongue.

“Yuck!”

“Are you serious?” I said stunned. Yuck wasn’t quite the response I had expected.

“I don’t like it,” she said with a slightly disgusted look, yet there was still something on her face that told me she wasn’t sure she believed she had just tried beets.

“I can’t believe you don’t like this. Try it again.”

With a little trepidation she took a bigger bite of the batter and with all the drama of her sister she protested, “Oh! It’s horrible!” and ran out with her head thrown back and her arms flying behind her.

Oh the horror of supposedly trying a new vegetable!

A red one at that!!

I finally confessed when Savannah found Pat and me sharing the very tasty leftovers in the mixing bowl and a laugh that our oldest, hater of all things good for her, had immediately hated it just because she thought it was a vegetable.

It’s amazing what we can keep ourselves from enjoying just because of our thoughts….and fears.

Just a little food for thought.

Ghost Stories

2010-10-31T15:52:00.000-05:00

Do you believe in ghosts?

I don’t.

I don’t think.

I laugh when I hear stories and secretly hope they’re not real.

I’m fascinated by ghost stories, though. I watch paranormal shows and movies like The Others and What Lies Beneath while the hair on my arms stands up and I constantly look over my shoulder.

In the last couple of years I’ve had the opportunity to travel to two “haunted” hotels through work. I was excited about the trips. I thought maybe this would be my chance to see if there is really something to the tales, although I didn’t really believe there was. But the whole time I was there, both times, I was on edge for fear that maybe there was some truth.

My first trip was a conference a couple years ago. Pat and Sarah, a baby at the time, traveled with me to the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado. The Stanley Hotel is the infamous hotel where Stephen King came up with the idea for The Shining while he was snowed in doing research for another book. It’s been featured on Ghost Hunters on the Sci Fi channel.

Even though I was creeped out during my stay, I never experienced anything except for jumping when I saw my white shirt hanging in the closet while I was getting ready before the sun came up. Those early morning conferences will make you hallucinate like that.

Two ladies from work traveled with us. One, we’ll call "T," was originally placed next door to Stephen King’s room. He claimed to hear children playing in the hallway at all hours and other experiences in his room. She asked to be moved to another room. The next morning when she told me her new room number I didn’t say anything, but as soon as she walked away I looked at my other co-worker, this one we’ll call "J." Our eyes grew and we immediately reached for the computer. Sure enough on the Ghost Hunters website, there was T’s room, jumping table and all. We kept our mouths shut until we arrived back home. She said nothing happened until her last evening.

T was sitting on the bed working when suddenly there was a knock at the door. She said she had an immediate uneasy feeling. Then there was a little girl’s voice, “Mommy, let us in.” Another knock. “Mommy, why won’t you let us in?” And then it stopped. No footsteps. The story is that a woman drowned her two twin girls in a room on that floor.

*Shiver*

J claimed she also had an experience. She had stepped out to take a breather on a balcony that was next to her room. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs above her and then footsteps behind her, but she never saw anyone. She turned to see if anyone was there and saw a black shadow moving down the hallway. No shadows on the walls, just a dark figure walking down the middle of the hall.

I must place a disclaimer after this story. J frequently came to work smelling of alcohol, and this conference was no exception. She no longer works for my organization.

T was creeped out by the entire trip. She thinks the General Manager was a ghost. I have to admit he was a little creepy and loved to tell ghost stories. For instance, every New Year's Eve they close all the blinds and lock the doors to one of the ballrooms so the past employees can have their own party. He claims you can hear them talking and laughing and playing music.

My second trip to a “haunted” hotel was just recently in mid-October. I attended a conference at the Omni Shoreham in Washington, D.C. I had completely forgotten there were ghost stories about this hotel until I had breakfast with co-workers that had come in before me. T was one of them again, and believe me, she hated being there. The General Manager had taken all three of them up to the “Ghost Suite” the night before and tried to call the ghost out. T said they all had sufficient wine in them to allow them to laugh their way through, but she didn’t want to go back.

My last day there one of the ladies came into our onsite staff office completely freaked out. She said she had placed her shoes beside her bed before she went to sleep. She claims her closet light turned on and then off again in the middle of the night, and when she woke in the morning her shoes were in the closet with the heels lined up at the threshold with the door closed.

*Skin Crawl*

Later that afternoon the General Manager came to tell us that one of their housekeepers had just quit when a porcelain lamp went flying across the room in the Ghost Suite. I think she just didn't want to pay for the lamp.

Did I have an experience this time? I washed my face in the bathroom sink and when I looked up in the mirror a saw a figure behind me. A figure that turned out to be from the picture on the wall that had reflected just right in the etching around the mirror. I had let out a scream, though, and ended up doing my make up backed up to the headboard of the bed and it was done in record time, thank you very much.

I have another conference coming up there in a little over a year. I’m going to have to get Pat to go with me because I know my mind will play tricks on me.

So, do I believe in ghosts now? I still say no, and I’m still fascinated by the stories. I’m watching ghost stories on television as I type this. Also, I think General Managers love to scare the crap out of their guests.

What about you? Do you believe in ghosts?

Happy Halloween!

Booo-wah-ha-ha-ha-ha! (That’s supposed to be a spooky laugh.)

10 Years

2010-10-24T20:06:00.000-05:00

Today marks 10 years since my father passed.

10 years.

That's a long time to be without a father.

And an even longer time to miss someone like crazy.

This is an article I wrote about his death that was published in the United Methodist Reporter a few years back. I don't really have any words to describe how I feel about the significance of this day, so I thought I'd use this once again.

"A Holy Death"

It had been just a few months since my father’s death when I sat in a pew listening to my sister, Valarie, who was at the time the Associate Pastor of my church. The title of her sermon was, “The Divine Argument.” I could feel my husband’s hand squeezing mine as she described the pain and frustration my father and the entire family went through as he neared the end of his days. I’ll never forget her words: “This was a holy death.” I sat confused. I was still grieving. I still felt an ache in my chest every time I thought of him. I was still unable to eat a full meal knowing I would never sit at the table with him again. I could remember his anger as he lay dying. The pain from the loss of my father was palpable, and now my sister called it a holy death?

Our father had fought cancer for several years, always winning the battle, at least for a while. But in February of 2000 it was announced that the cancer had found its way into his bones. When they tested his bone marrow for a possible transplant, they were unable to remove a drop of liquid. The cancer had ravaged his body and was determined to win this time. Our father was only expected to live for a few months, so Valarie and I began making several trips from Dallas to East Texas to spend as much time with him as possible. In late September of that year he was placed in hospice care when his body began shutting down. Valarie and I took off work to be with him. He wasn’t expected to live longer than a week. We sat with him for three weeks and watched him hallucinate from the morphine.

Daddy had been a Minister of Music in the Baptist church for several years and was very skilled in woodworking. I sat next to his hospital bed in his favorite living room chair and watched him build things in the air. His hands gripped an imaginary hammer and nails, using the level to be sure everything was set just right. He also conducted his church choir. Though no music played, I could hear it in my head just by watching his movements. The most difficult thing to watch, however, was his argument with God. He wasn’t ready to go, and couldn’t understand why his time had come. He was only 74 and felt he had more to do, most importantly, watch his granddaughters grow and mature. He wanted to see where life would lead them. My father, a devoted Christian who held a Master’s degree in religious education, was pissed off and I was afraid he would never make peace with the inevitable outcome. I wanted to curl up next to him in his bed to comfort him, or maybe comfort myself, but I was afraid I would hurt his now frail body that was in constant pain.

My sister and I stayed in that house with our step-mother as we tried to tend to his needs, keep him company, and let him know he was not alone. The world stopped for us. Nothing else mattered during these three weeks. The house was like a cocoon, guarding us from everything outside those walls during this precious time.

During out third week with Daddy he experienced a second wind. His appetite returned, he could sit up a little higher in bed. He wanted to try to stand up and see if he could walk. We all knew he couldn’t, but we felt relieved to have him back, to hear him talk to us as Daddy always did. “Pass me the sugar, Sugar,” he would say with a twinkle in his eye. That night there was suddenly no anger and he wanted to begin his funeral preparations. Valarie sat right next to him writing down every word he said, wanting to be sure his wishes were met. I, on the hand, sat in the corner. Daddy’s bargaining with God may have stopped, but I wasn’t done with mine just yet.

No one knew just how long Daddy would hold, so Valarie and I worked out a plan to take turns going back and forth between Dallas and his house in East Texas. When my turn came to return to Dallas for three days, Daddy and I had a fight just before I was to leave. I ended up walking out of the house without giving him a kiss or an “I love you.” I just threw a goodbye at him and walked out the door. I was fuming. I had to stop for gas before I could begin my three-hour drive, so I pulled over at the gas station just behind his home. As I stood outside the car, the cool, autumn wind gently blowing, something told me to go back. It was as if the wind had whispered to me. I walked into the house and headed straight for my father’s bed. Leaning down over him I whispered, “I love you, Daddy,” and laid a kiss on his forehead. I can still remember how soft his skin felt. He looked at me with his crystal blue eyes, and what seemed to be relief, and said, “I love you, too Sugar.” I drove back to Dallas in peace. At 6:08 AM two mornings later I received a call from my sister. “He’s gone,” she whispered in the phone.

It has taken me a few years to understand why my sister was saying in her sermon. Now when I ponder the question if Daddy’s was a holy death, I think, yes. It wasn’t pretty like the images this term conjures up. A holy death is not a stream of light falling down around the dying as you sit next to them, your hands cupped under your chin. A holy death is feeling tired and broken, but you stay beside them. A holy death is cleaning the disease, like used coffee granules, from their chin with a soft touch. A holy death is being given the gift of time as you sit and watch their bodies shut down. It’s being given the nudge to back and say goodbye.

Letter to Pace

2010-10-21T15:36:00.000-05:00

Dear Pace,

You turn 5 months old today. It’s going so fast. Too fast really, considering you’re my last.

Honestly, I’m a little sad and relieved at the same time. I’m getting too old for the late nights and early mornings, but I’ve loved watching your sisters bond with you. Each in her own way.

I’ve always known that your oldest sister, Savannah, has a kindness about her. A warmth that can settle your soul. When I’m not around she’s the one who can calm you when nothing else seems to help. She holds you tenderly and rocks you while speaking in a soothing voice. If I or your father need someone to take care of you for a while, she’s right there. When you’re older and you need someone to talk to or just sit with for a reprieve during rough times, Savannah will be the one to call. She’ll be your rock through life.

And there’s Sarah. Before you came home from the hospital I worried that she would have a jealous streak. Some of the attention she was used to getting would be given to you, and believe me she LOVES the attention. You’ll discover that. But Sarah showed an immediate interest in you and has grown to love you fiercely. And I do mean fiercely. She gets right in your face and sweetly says, “Ah-goo” a few times and then she shakes with such an intensity. I don’t think she knows what to do with the strong feelings she has. She may wear you out, always on the go and craving the spotlight, but you’ll never doubt her love for you.

I pray that the three of you will be a tight unit, able to help each other, laugh and cry with each other, and keep the family bond intact. Encourage each other to work toward your dreams.

And always remember…

Mom loves you.

P.S. So does Dad.

Room to Breathe

2010-09-24T17:33:00.000-05:00

The last couple of weeks have been unspeakable.

The last couple of weeks have been unbloggable (as you can tell from my absence).

The last couple of weeks had me gasping for air, literally. I found myself trying to catch my breath a couple times while just sitting on the couch.

I’ve wanted to curl up in a fetal position and sleep until everything cleared itself up. Fortunately, I have kids that don’t allow me to check out like that or believe me, I would have stayed in bed for days.

Today was the first day I felt like I had some breathing room. During a lull in the afternoon I put on one of my David Gray cd’s, picked up a book I’ve been wanting to read, and eased back in the recliner ready to zone out for a while. Sarah came up asking to sit with me. I pulled her up thinking I could read with her snuggled in my lap, but she kept throwing Ziggy, her prized stuff animal, down to the ground.

Over and over I picked it up.

Again and again down he went.

Finally, I announced I was done with this “game.” She slid off my lap onto the floor to pout. Normally I would let her pout and just ignore her, but today it didn’t feel right. I spied one of her books on the coffee table and picked it up.

“Do you want me to read to you?” I asked.

A huge smile lit up her face. Without a word she climbed back up in the chair with me and I read the book, silly voices and all. Half way through I felt Savannah lean on the back of my chair listening. I guess they were glad to have Mommy fully engaged again. Not that I haven’t been engaged, but I haven’t been a lot of fun.

That reading time gave me a little breath I’ve been lacking. The smile on Sarah’s face, my voice luring Savannah in, a little music in the background; they may not have resolved my problems, but they were the fresh air I needed

Sometimes when things get bad and we feel stifled or hopeless, we just need to remember to give ourselves a little room to breathe.

Memories of a Miracle

2010-09-20T10:13:00.000-05:00

I was the recipient of a miracle one night last week.

I had all three kids showered or bathed, lotioned, teeth brushed, read to, and in their beds ready for sleep by 9:00, and I was in bed, also showered, read, and relaxed by 10:00!

I felt like the heavens were shining down on me.

Begin the Hallelujah chorus please.

I keep trying to make that wondrous event happen again, but alas, at least one of my kids goes to bed stinky, or refuses to sleep, or I’m dragging my tired, stinky butt to bed much later than I’d like.

Ah well. At least I can hold memories of that one magical night.

And now cue Barbra Streisand singing The Way We Were.

Yes, I like to talk about my life in soundtrack.

Look at me! I actually learned how to post a video to my blog! I might be catching on to all of this techie stuff.

Soliloquy

2010-09-14T20:46:00.000-05:00

I’m just going to be honest with you.

I’m pissed!

And yesterday I couldn’t think of anything else but why I’m pissed

So I didn’t write anything

Because I didn’t want to think about it

But I could think of nothing else.

Does that even make sense?

I woke this morning still pissed.

But I want to write

Because I enjoy it

It gives me a release

But I don’t want to write about what’s on my mind

Which is what I normally do

Write about whatever’s there

Hanging around in my mind

No matter how dark, sad, or silly.

I’m usually very honest

To a fault sometimes

But today all I’m going to say is

I feel like I have no options for things that are bothering me

I just have to sit and take it and try to make the best of it

But I’m not happy about it

I’m pretty tired of it, actually.

And I’m pissed!

Sarah

2010-09-10T10:24:00.000-05:00

Today is a big day.

Three years on this day, just before noon…

Sarah was born.

And she met her sister for the first time.

Sarah has added a little more light to our home.

She’s easy going.

She’s got a great sense of humor.

She loves her sister

And her brother

And she’s incredibly cool.

Happy birthday, Tugar.

I love you so much.

Update on Savannah

2010-09-09T12:34:00.000-05:00

My baby has had two days at her new school.

My baby, though initially scared, had a great first day.

My baby made friends on her first day of school.

My baby looked confident and happy when she walked out of the school.

My baby was eager to tell me about her first day.

My baby followed me around the house to talk about her second day.

My baby is happy.

My baby is 11 and in middle school.

My baby is not a baby anymore.

She’s grown up on me when I wasn’t looking.

She took on a major change with poise, grace, and determination.

She maneuvered the hallways and portables of a much bigger school with ease.

She has crossed over from girlhood to teenager.

And she still greets me with a huge smile and even bigger hug.

She gives great hugs!

I’m so proud of her.

Savannah on My Mind

2010-09-07T15:11:00.000-05:00

I’ve got Savannah on the brain. She started her new school this morning complete with a new uniform, lunch box, and a stomach full of nerves.

When we pulled into the parking lot Savannah let out one of those nervous stretches. You know the kind. It’s shaky and tight and you take in a deep breath and let it out in a last effort to get out the butterflies, but it just pumps the adrenaline more.

I told her we could sit in the car for a little bit, so we sat together listening to her new Camp Rock 2 CD until she said, “Okay. Let’s go. Now.”

It was toward the end of first period before we had her registered and a class schedule worked out. I was fine with the delay because it gave me some extra time before I sent her out into the great unknown. She’s going from a school of 300 to a school of 1000. BIG change for my timid girl.

An eighth grader gave us a tour of the huge school…that is until it was time for second period to start. Then she took off leaving Savannah and I staring at each other.

“Well, I guess I should go,” Savannah said trying to look confident. Then a scared look came across her face, but just briefly. I laid my hand her arm, “You’re going to have a great day.”

She nodded and walked toward her class, shoulders back, and head held high.
I wanted to reach out and cling to her. I wanted to take her back home and fill in for her until the school day became routine and I had landed a friend or two, then she could drop back in and take over for the rest of the year.

I stood in the hallway and watched her walk away until I couldn’t see her red curls anymore. Then I turned and cried as if I had just dropped off my five year old for her first day in kindergarten.

I am the epitome of an overprotective mom. I admit it. Maybe it’s because I remember what it’s like to be awkward and eleven. Or how it feels to be shy and have to start a new school without knowing anyone. I attended five different schools in six years, and each time I was terrified.

I’ve been watching the clock all day.

Savannah’s in choir now. That will be a nice break in her day.

Oh God. This is probably her lunch time. I hope she finds a place to sit.

She’s in her last class right now and I’m counting down the minutes until I can give her a big hug and hear how her day went.

I hope it was good.

I’ll keep you posted.

A Bedtime Story with Sarah

2010-09-06T13:37:00.000-05:00

I try to read a couple books with Sarah most nights before she drifts off, which lately is about three hours after I’ve put her to bed. She likes to burn the midnight oil.

Our reading time usually goes something like this:

Me: Said the mother hor…

Sarah: MOMMY, LOOK! HORSE!

Me: Yes, Sarah. To her ch…

Sarah: NNNEEEEIIIIIGGGGHHHH!

Me: That’s right, Sarah.

*Give up and turn the page.*

Said the mother b…

BEAR, MOMMY! BEAR!

Yeah, it’s a bear. To her chil…

GGGRRRRR!!

Yeah, ggrrrr. I love you as mu…

LOOK! I COLOR!

I know. You colored the page.

*Give up and turn the page.*

Said the mother cam…

OOOOH! CAMEL!

Yep, camel.

*Pause this time and wait for it.*

*Silence.*

What does a camel do?

*More silence.*

LOOK, MOMMY! I COLOR!

That’s right. You colored the page.

*Chuckle, give up and turn the page.*

Said the mother du…

DUCK!

Uh-huh. To her child…

QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!

I lov…

QUACK! QUACK!

You as mu…

QUACK! QUACK!

*Sigh, give up and turn the page.*

Said the…

SHEEP!

Mother sheep to…

BAAAHH!

Her child…

I COLOR!

I love y…

MOMMY!

As much…

MOMMY!

As the grass…

MOMMY!

What?

SHEEP!

Yes, Sarah. It’s a sheep.

*Sigh, give up and skip to the last page.*

Now sleep…

BABY!

Child of…

IT’S A BABY!

I lov…

I COLOR!

A mother…

RREEEDDDD!

Can love. The end.

*And close the book.*

This is when Sarah sticks her thumb in her mouth and sinks down next to me….ready to read a book.

Can you guess that book?

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2010-09-03T20:22:00.000-05:00

This week has been trying.

This week has been frustrating.

This week has been sad, mixed with anger, mixed with hope.

This week has brought out the lioness in me like no other.

We had… let’s call it “issues” with Savannah’s school this week.

“Issues” that resulted in us pulling her from school.

Pulling her from a school she’s attended since Kindergarten.

I was so angry at the administration of this school.

Then I felt completely broken at the loss…for me….for Savannah.

Now at the beginning of her sixth grade year she will need to start over at a new place, with new kids, new teachers, and the semester has already begun.

I find myself holding my kids, especially my oldest, closer than ever and growling at anyone who dares to come near.

But then a little hope emerged when Savannah and I toured schools together, and we felt ourselves getting excited about one. I swear I saw a future friend walk by. She had the same curly hair as my girl pulled back into a ponytail and she looked at us with a shy smile as she walked by.

This morning I picked up Savannah’s information from her old school for the transfer to become official. As I stood at the office window the Kindergarten class walked by in a single-file line and I could see Savannah, five years old, walking with them. Then the Science teacher Savannah had been looking forward to having this year walked out into the hallway, talking to the kids as they walked by. My heart sank and I could feel the tears well up.

We’ve been a part of this school for over six years and they’ve been a part of us, frustrations and all.

As I turned to leave the office manager said, “Tell Savannah I love her and I’m going to miss her.” I could only nod.

In the car I wiped my eyes and drove away.

We’ve made our decision…

And there’s no looking back.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pl3vxEudif8

A New Chapter

2010-08-31T20:19:00.000-05:00

Before the summer began I added a new chapter to the bad mother saga.

We know that I don’t swaddle.

I’m not available to my kids.

And I cuss.

Like a hell of a lot.

Let’s call this addition “Tacky.” I’m blaming this incident on pregnancy hormones because it makes me feel better.

Before I get into it I’d like to give you just a little back story. One of Savannah’s classmates since first grade, we’ll call her The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named, is rather, let’s say, snooty and manipulative. She has said and done some things to Savannah through the years that has made me not a fan. For instance, she likes to come between Savannah and her best friend.

I’m a protective mother.

OVER protective mother.

FIERCELY over protective mother.

You don’t like my kid? Then I don’t like you. Hmmm…I could stop the tacky story right there, couldn’t I? But, oh no. There’s more.

I was seeing Savannah off at school for her fifth grade trip last spring. I was big, pregnant, and miserable. The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named had heard that we were naming our new baby Pace. She looked at me and said rather sarcastically, “You’re naming your baby after the picante sauce?” She then looked at another girl and laughed.

I mimicked her laughed and matched her sarcasm with my best, responding, “Yeah, we just looove it so much.” Then I added rather pointedly, “No, we’re not naming our baby after a picante sauce,” and rolled my eyes. I glanced back at her and she was staring at me rather stunned. As if my head had just spun around and sprayed her with pea soup.

I immediately felt horrible and petty, and afraid that I had just given her more ammunition to try and ostracize my girl. When the time came for the bus to leave, there sat Savannah…alone. She gave me a wave and then smiled with excitement as the bus pulled out. When she returned four days later she reported that she had had a blast. I breathed a sigh of relief. Her mother’s tacky, immature behavior hadn’t damaged the trip she had been looking forward to all year.

I told Savannah about my run-in with The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named tonight at dinner. She laughed hysterically. I asked her, “Do you think it’s a blog post?”

“Oh yeah,” she giggled.

Can you tell me how a tacky, foul-mouthed, sometimes clueless mother can have such a sweet, laid back daughter?

When I stepped away for a moment while composing this post I came back to find this message,

“Hey mommy! Love ya! – S”

I love my girl.

Eat, Pray, Love with a Side of Guilt Please

2010-08-30T12:00:00.000-05:00

I read Eat, Pray, Love and really liked it.

No, let me rephrase that…

I DEVOURED Eat, Pray, Love and absolutely LOVED it.

I was pulled in by Elizabeth Gilbert's writing, captivated with her travels, and jealous of her ability to take a time out…..for a year! Of course, a hefty book advance helps.

My love for the book made me want to share it, so I loaned the book to my mother who has been holding it hostage for a while. I believe we’re on day 526, but I’m not counting. When hype for the movie started, I asked mom if she ever finished it. She admitted that she had barely cracked it and wasn’t sure she wanted to. When I asked why I could tell she didn’t want to tell me, but after a little prodding she caved.

She didn’t have a problem with the eat (Italy) and love (Bali) sections necessarily. It was the prayer section that gave her cause for pause: Elizabeth Gilbert’s time at a meditation center in India.

“How,” my mother asked, “can you go to India to find God, peace, or religion, and not talk about the immense poverty all around you? How can you turn a blind eye to the suffering and just focus on yourself? I think it’s selfish. And you don’t have to go to India to find God or religion. You can find it right here, wherever you are.”

My mom gave me food for thought. Actually, she made me feel like a heel. Not on purpose. She didn't talk down to me or tell me she didn't raise me to be selfish or unaware. I did it to myself. Why hadn’t I realized there was something missing in that tale of self exploration?

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our conversation. On the one hand I could relate to wanting to drop it all and go. To focus on nothing but self care and exploration. What makes me thrive? What revives me? What could I accomplish if I didn’t have the daily grind to tend to?

But on the other hand…

This weekend at church our pastor played a video that brought this all home for me. I had heard of TOMS shoes before, but I wasn’t aware there was a mission behind the company. Founder Blake Mycoskie traveled to Argentina in 2006 to play polo, drink the wine, and basically have fun. He and his friends were staying close to a poverty-stricken area where none of the kids had shoes. None!

He came up with the idea for TOMS while he was there. With every pair of shoes he sells, he gives a pair away. They sold and gave away 10,000 shoes that year. This year they plan to sell/give 300,000.

Blake took this opportunity to open his eyes and make a difference, not just close them and keep the focus inward. What really got me, what had tears form in my eyes - they don’t just drop off the shoes and go. They're not a hit and run charity. They place the shoes on the children’s feet.

That’s true ministry.

You can watch the video about TOMS here.

You can also purchase a pair of shoes here. They have really cute wedges for this fall.

Side note: I wasn’t asked by TOMS or any company or person to post this. Their story moved me enough to want to share it.

Also, I’m still going to see Eat, Pray, Love. Just with a little more awareness.

The Many Faces of Pace

2010-08-26T11:26:00.000-05:00

Pace has become a very complex person in his old age. He goes through a wide range of emotions whenever I have to wake him.

I know, I know. You should never wake a sleeping baby, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Like when you’re running late for work, AND your office is right next to your boss, AND you still need to feed the baby before you can walk out the door, as in this morning. It was a very harried morning.

But back to the subject…

When I lay Pace down on the changing table he likes to show his range of emotions. He goes from frustration to confusion to pure happiness.

First he furrows his brow, rubs his fists all over his face, and stares me down.

“Dude, what’s the big deal? I was sleeping, man.”

Then he lifts his eyebrows.

“Wait a minute. Where am I? Who are you and what are you doing to my pee pee?”

And then comes my favorite part. A grin spreads across his face and turns into a huge, open-mouthed smile.

“I know you! You’re Mommy....Dairy Queen....The Boob.

FEED ME!”

He’s three months old and he’s already acting like a teenager. Jeez!

Yoga Makes the Family Come 'Round

2010-08-24T20:30:00.001-05:00

I love Yoga.

Yoga has kept me flexible as I’ve aged.

It eases the lower back pain I developed after carrying Sarah.

I even found a routine that alleviates menstrual cramps all day without having to take a single Ibuprofen.

And when Pat was traveling while Savannah was a toddler, it gave me respite from her terrible two’s.

A few years ago after Savannah got over those terrible two’s, my sister Valarie, a Yoga enthusiast herself, gave Savannah her very own Yoga DVD complete with a mat. Savannah and I spent many weekends with our mats next to each other, leaning on one another during Tree Pose, laughing until we cried doing the rocking Beetle Pose, and I frequently ended up in Corpse Pose, my favorite of all poses (Duh!), with Savannah sitting on top of me giggling. It didn’t have quite the calming effect on her I hoped it would, but we had a blast.

Now when I exercise at home Sarah waits for me to finish and then asks me to put in that same yoga DVD.

“Lay down, Mommy. Lay down,” she says and I go through all the poses once again with a different child, and she doesn’t lie on top of me in Corpse Pose. She’s too busy talking. Again, not quite fulfilling the purpose of Corpse Pose, but I enjoy it.

Corpse Pose is meant to give you total relaxation, a meditative moment at the end of your practice. You lie on your mat, eyes closed, hands open, and let the relaxation come.

The power of Corpse Pose came to me not long after I began practicing Yoga on the weekends. It was the week after my father died and I had been back at work for a couple days. I had a gym membership through work and they offered a Yoga class every Friday during lunch. I decided to take advantage of it to see if I could get any relief from the grief that completely consumed me, if just for a moment.

I had never taken a Yoga class before. I had only used videos and books. The instructor announced we would be concentrating on our feet that day. Interesting, I thought. And then we spent the next 20 minutes looking at, stretching, and massaging our feet.

Interesting, turned to, This is just weird.

Finally, about half way through, we began doing the traditional poses and ended with Corpse Pose. Aaahhhh! I sunk down into the floor, took in a deep breath, and closed my eyes. I hadn’t been too impressed with the class, but I was ready to just be alone, away from work, away from the phone, and even away from family.

After a couple moments the instructor’s voice faded and I felt like I was in my own cocoon. Suddenly I found myself in my father’s living room. He was lying in the same hospital bed the hospice care company had set up for him 3 weeks before he died. During those 3 weeks I had wanted to lie down next to him so badly, but he was in so much pain from the cancer, I was afraid of hurting him. He seemed too delicate.

But that day, in that Corpse Pose, in that imaginary cocoon, I walked to the bed and laid down next to my father. His arm, attached to many tubes, wrapped around me, and we clung to each other in silence.

I don’t know how long I stayed that way before I heard the instructor’s voice call to me. I was the last one in the room. Tears were streaming down my face.

“You okay?” she asked kneeling beside me. I just nodded and wiped my face. She helped me fold up my mat and put my things away, and we parted ways with a smile to each other.

Yoga has continued to be what I turn to when things get to be too much, or I feel as though I’m sinking. I’ve tried to make time for it while working through this postpartum funk. Three kids don’t allow a lot of free time for a full routine, but I try to sneak in a Corpse Pose every once in a while, even if it’s with a babbling toddler next to me and a sleeping baby in the swing. It still gives me just a moment.

Namaste.

A Word

2010-08-23T09:38:00.001-05:00

Pace asked me to pass a message on to everyone....

"Ah-goo," spoken with a little drool.

His vocabulary's a little limited.

A Little Lift

2010-08-21T19:27:00.000-05:00

I finally gave in and tried an exercise routine yesterday. I've done a little walking with Leslie Sansone and some postnatal ab work with Erin O'Brien, but for the first time yesterday I pulled out a cardio and toning DVD: Buff Moms Beyond Baby Workout.

It whipped my butt! But with Savannah's encouragement, "Come on, Mom! You can do it," I made it through.

And you know what? I felt fantastic afterward! I felt like the fog had lifted and I could think a little more clearly. It's carried over into today, too.

I need to follow my own PPD description and get that exercise in.

Snakes Everywhere!

2010-08-20T10:14:00.000-05:00

Have I told you I'm terrified of snakes?

I have no idea where the fear came from, but it’s there, and it’s BIG. I can’t even look at a drawing of a snake without freaking out. And lately whenever my husband surfs through the channels, there’s something about a stinking snake.

Or the news shows a picture of a snake curled up in someone’s washer.

Or a snake appears in one of the children’s books. (I’ll come back to that one later.)

OR, and this is HUGE, Savannah’s new homeroom teacher has one in a cage right beside the door. And it hangs out right there...right beside the door.

Right. There.

I felt very uncomfortable in that room on Meet the Teacher Night earlier this week. I literally sat there watching the clock over the teacher's head mumbling for him to hurry up. I’ve heard it all before: No late papers. No tardies. No gum. Not much homework but lots of group work. We’re all in this together.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, Dude. You’ve got a snake by the door. Let me out of here!

I can still see it’s grey and black skin lying against the glass.

A shiver just went up my spine.

I can’t believe I haven’t scarred Savannah and Sarah yet. I’ve had freak out moments with both of them. Once during reading time with Savannah I threw a board book across the room when I turned the page and saw a coiled snake. It didn’t matter that it was a book about mothers’ love for their children. It was a snake.

And poor Sarah. She had an animal book that had a HUGE snake taking up 2 entire pages. For some reason she thought I liked it. I guess because I just kept muttering, “Snake. Snake. Snake.” I was trying to keep my cool, but then she picked up the book to give me a closer look. When I took off running she came after me holding the book open. “Look, Mommy. Snake!” I started yelling at her to get it away from me. Seriously. I was yelling at my 2-year-old. She didn’t understand I was scared and kept chasing after me with that damn book wide open to the snake. We literally ran around the family room a few times like that until she started crying. That’s when I finally sucked it up, went to her and pitched the book across the room. Then I gave her a huge hug. Later that night I threw the book in the trash. Yes, I’m a bad mommy with serious issues.

Oh! And I’ve already laid down the law with Pat. Pace will NOT have rubber, plastic, or stuffed snakes in this house. And he knows this is NOT a joking matter.

Have I told you I'm terrified of snakes?

The Absentee Y

2010-08-19T15:54:00.000-05:00

I’m sorry I’ve been absent for a few days. I’ve been overwhelmed, tired, and honestly, still fighting some depression.

That last little nugget came to me yesterday while sitting in a meeting and I suddenly felt tears welling up in my eyes. Granted, the meeting was pretty gnarly and full of changes that none of us want to make, and there were a couple venomous people who love to point fingers, but there was certainly nothing said or done that should have caused tears. I think I disguised them pretty well. I acted like I had something in my eye, which I did….mascara. Man, it burned, which caused more tears.

I won’t get in to the nitty gritty about my past week, but I do have a few posts saved, so keep checking back. I have a few things I want to share with you.

I'm a Loner, Dottie. A Rebel.

2010-08-12T22:32:00.000-05:00

I love that line from "Pee Wee’s Big Adventure." That’s how I felt in the first years of my marriage to Pat.

Being a professional musician, Pat traveled a lot and was sometimes gone for up to 3 weeks. Being the “loner” I am, it didn’t bother me. Well…the 2 and 3 week trips were difficult, but the long weekends apart didn’t usually phase me. That was my time to recharge and regroup, which basically meant I ate a lot of salt and sugar, watched a buttload of chick flicks, and managed a little shoe shopping in between.

When Savannah came along I still snuck in my recharging ritual, it was just scaled down quite a bit and happened after she went to bed. Then Sarah came along, the music business took a dive, and Pat stopped going out on the road. We became a regular family of four and I had to let go of my rebel spirit. But, oh, how I looked forward to those evenings when Pat was invited to meet up with some friends for a jam session. I’d walk him out with blessings for a great night, wear out the girls so they’d go to bed early, and pull out a favorite movie, a great pint of ice cream, and a little pink polish for my toe nails. Would I be showing my selfishness if I said I lived for those times?

So tonight Pat has a gig. As he walked out the door I got really excited because I haven’t had one of those loner nights in ages. Then I walked back into the living room and saw my evening sitting in front of me. It was Savannah sitting on the couch, her eyes glued to the Wii game while she yelled at Sarah to quit jumping on her; Sarah giggling in response and continuing to jump. Pace was lying in his swing crying to be held. I then remembered that Sarah’s not falling asleep until late at night since we’ve moved her into a big bed and Pace is wide awake until at least 11:00, at which time I fall on the bed and shut my eyes whether or not I’ve had time to take a shower or brush my teeth.

As I stood at the door listening to the crying, the yelling, and the giggling, I realized that my sugar eating, movie watching, toe painting night wasn’t going to happen. Maybe in a year or two I’ll be able to recharge again. Just think of me when you’re watching "Eat, Pray, Love" on DVD in a few months; maybe with a glass of vino and some cheese or the latest Ben & Jerry’s flavor, but never both because that would just be overkill (wink, wink).

I’ll stick with my 30 second YouTube videos for entertainment.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKLizztikRk

The Heavenliest "Wip-Thick"

2010-08-11T21:27:00.000-05:00

Sarah likes to go through my makeup while I'm getting ready. She rubs my blush brush on her cheeks and combs her eyebrows. Then she likes to top it all off with a little lipstick, or "wip-thick" as she calls it, and looks in the mirror and says, "That's Sarah!"

Tonight she was going through lipsticks I have stashed away and never use. The first one she showcased was really beautiful with her skin and hair. If she was older, I would have told her to start wearing it every day. Or if she was a beauty pageant toddler, to wear it for the big competitions. But instead I thought Hey! I bet that would look good on me!

I looked at the name on the tube and realized why it looked so good on Sarah and that there was no way it would look half as good on my foul lips. The name?...

"Angelic"

All at once now....

Awwwww!!!

Tale of the Projectile Poop

2010-08-09T19:58:00.000-05:00

Yes, that's right.

I got hit.

With poop.

All down my shirt.

It was that lovely, stinky, runny breastmilk poop.

Yeah, so, um....Happy Breastfeeding Awareness month. I know I'm certainly more aware.

And, no, this isn't really a tale. It's more.....let's call it sharing an experience.

So Mommyhood really CAN be the shits sometimes.

Guest Blog

2010-08-06T13:38:00.001-05:00

My Aunt Peggy (You can read about her here.) sent me an email about my weight gain post. It reminded me so much of the weekly column she wrote for more than 30 years, I asked her to be a guest blogger. Enjoy!

Your mother read me your blog about your post-Pace weight gain including the comment from one of your Facebook friends about how having babies ruins one's body. It reminded me of my friend, Dora in Baytown, in the 70s. We worked at Good Will together.

I was from East Texas and she was from New Jersey,and although she was about 40 years my senior with a bit of dementia setting in, we became very good friends. We talked a lot as we worked, often bemoaning our fate: I was a recent TCU grad and she was an uppity lady from the east coast; how had we landed here?

We'd be elbow-deep in bin work, sorting through someone else's discarded clothing when suddenly she'd look up at me and ask, "Pegs, did I ever tell you I could have been a Rockette?"

I would want to reply, "Yes, about 400 times." But I didn't. I would try to work my voice up to a surprised and interested level and respond, "Oh?"

"Yes," she'd say, enthusiastically. "It was back when I was young. About the time I married, and before. From my home in New Jersey, I went over to New York City a lot. It was just across the river. You know, I was married to the man who was the staff organist at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. I was very pretty with a lovely figure -- just the kind they wanted for the Rockettes."

There would be a pause then and she would sigh and say, "But I got pregnant and had those kids and it ruined my figure."

Her head and shoulders dropped low as she remembered. So low, her face was buried in the clothes she was sorting. It sounded like she was sobbing. In a few seconds, though, her head came upright. She'd have a blouse or a similar article of clothing in her hand. Shaking it like a Shih-Tzu with a chew toy, she would say, "Two of them I had, a boy and a girl, and where are they now?" (Her son she lived with was at work and her daughter was in New Jersey being a mom herself.)

She would go up the aisle muttering, "I coulda been a Rockette...."

Some years later after I had come home to Crawford Creek and was out of touch with Dora, I was watching the evening news around Christmas time. They said this would be the last season for the Radio City Rockettes. But there they were then: shapely legs kicking. Off to one side, a woman stood by herself watching the show. She was wrapped in warm winter clothes as an old woman would be. I imagined it was Dora taking one last look, mumbling to herself, "I coulda been, I coulda been."

At 5:30, when her middle-age son came to pick her up, from the enthusiasm with which they greeted each other, you would never know he was one of the kids who had spoiled her future.

"Ma, you look like a million dollahs," in his suave east coast accent.

I hope her son or daughter was there to take her home from that last Rockette show.

A Mother's Lullaby

2010-08-05T12:56:00.001-05:00

I wanted to share a song with all of you today. Though I’ve never been the biggest fan of her music, I’ve always liked Sheryl Crow, especially as we’ve aged. I try to forget that she once dated Kid Rock. We all have questionable taste at times.

I was checking out tunes from her latest CD on You Tube when I found this one from a prior album. It’s a song she wrote for her son.

“Lullaby for Wyatt”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHZi9qJsxvw&feature=av2e

The lyrics, the music; it’s all beautiful. The third verse is what really jumped out at me and made me stop everything to write this piece:

I have held you close
And breathed your name, my dear
I was with you then
And will remain, my dear

As I listened to those lines I had visions of holding Pace late in the night while the rest of the house slept.

All is quiet.

It’s just me and Pace.

I hold him close while he eats or I breathe in his scent while his sleeping head lies on my shoulder. I whisper in his ear, “Mommy loves you,” and I snuggle a little closer.

I had this experience with all three of my kids and I will always cherish the warmth of those memories, no matter how far they may roam.

How do I keep you from losing your way
Hope you will find love like I did some day
But love is letting go
And this I'll know

Cause you were mine
For a time

I think that’s every mother’s unsung lullaby.

A Breastfeeding Story

2010-08-04T15:24:00.000-05:00

Happy Breastfeeding Awareness Month!

And Phhttttttttttttttt! to all those people who shot me looks whenever I fed my babies in public.

(I have no idea who this baby is. I found it on the web.)

I ask you people: Would you rather listen to a crying baby or see feet sticking out from under a blanket and maybe hear a little contented gurgle? That's what I thought.

I thought I’d share a funny breastfeeding moment with you guys today in honor of Breastfeeding Awareness. There may be more to come throughout the month, but who knows. I'm spontaneous like that.

When Pace was just a few days old I was feeding him on our bed, one of my favorite spots. It provided direct cold air for the hot flashes I was having and lots of pillows to keep me propped up when I wanted to sleep. Sarah climbed up next to me and noticed that I had a baby attached to me. Out of curiosity she leaned in close, investigating the scene. She looked up at me with a confused look.

“Juice?”

“It’s milk for the baby,” I replied.

She tilted her head and gave me her best you-can’t-resist-me-look and said, “Weeth?” Translation: Please?

Luckily I was too tired to laugh, although I did manage a chuckle.

Watching me feed Pace has become boring for her now, but she still loves it when I break out the pump. She likes to watch the milk shoot out and sometimes hits my boob like a ball to help it come out. She gives a whole new meaning to word the dribble.

She's Mommy’s little helper!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2010-08-02T11:57:00.000-05:00

There is a quote by Kelly Ripa of “Live with Regis and Kelly” that has stuck with me for a couple years. In an interview with Fitness magazine she said, “I never want my daughter to hear me say ‘Do I look fat in this?’” This came back to haunt me yesterday in a dressing room at Target, except it had a different angle.

I took Savannah clothes shopping. I was also trying on a few things myself in an effort to cover up my “post baby bump.” I was a little frustrated that the items I liked didn’t fit in a size I was comfortable with and made my boobs look like I’m the ice cream replacement at the local Dairy Queen. I kept telling myself that the sizes ran small and the next store would be better.

But while we tried on clothes together at Target Savannah hit me with something that I needed…a dose of reality.

“Wow, Mom. You’ve got a lot of fat now.” She was completely stunned to see me this way. When she saw the look on my face, which was probably mortification, she quickly said, “But you just had a baby and it’s empty in there, so it just looks fat.” No, Sweetie, it doesn’t look fat. It IS fat. I was so embarrassed. I've always wanted to be a role model for my kids, especially my girls, but there I was struggling to button some pants with my daughter staring at my belly. What a great role model, huh?

Yes, I realize I just had a baby nine weeks ago and I know it’s too soon to be back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but the scale has gone up the last three weeks while I validate my extra snacking with breastfeeding and my lack of exercise with fatigue and needy kids. So I’ve decided to put it all out there, despite the embarrassment.

You see, I feel this is worse than all the other bad habits I’ve admitted to on this blog. This involves my health and confidence, which affects my family, and kids learn by what you do, not what you say.

My blog won’t turn into a diet and fitness blog, but I will keep you posted on how I’m doing through my tears, frustration, and, hopefully, my accomplishments. Maybe this, and Savannah's occasional slips, will hold me accountable.

G-ma

2010-07-29T21:22:00.000-05:00

This is my grandmother, also known as G-ma.

She was born 110 years ago today. She died at 98 while I was pregnant with Savannah, her namesake.

Whenever I would be on my way out of the house, to work, to meet with friends, or just go to the store, she would always have the same offering...

"I have a dollar in my purse. Do you need it?" And if her purse was sitting next to her, she would be reaching in for her billfold before I had a chance to say no. When she died my aunt gave me one of G-ma's billfolds. I put a dollar in it and tucked it away.

There's another memory I have that reminds me just how deep her love ran. I was in fifth grade when my parents separated. My mother drove us to the Piney Woods of East Texas where we lived with G-ma and my Aunt Peggy for the next nine months. That first month was rough. Daddy would call most nights to check in with me and by the end of the call he was struggling to keep his composure. I would hang up bawling. G-ma would draw me a bath and sit on the commode while I cried, my head resting on the edge of the tub. Afterward she would sit beside me on the bed and rub my back until I fell asleep, no matter how long it took.

Thanks, G-ma, for getting me through the rough patches...

And being a bad ass domino partner.

Happy b-day.

Confession of a Bad Mother

2010-07-28T14:27:00.000-05:00

We all know I have parenting…issues, shall we say?

I don’t watch my mouth much. My two-year-old’s cussing can attest to that. I do have one good thing to report, though. She’s stopped saying shit. Although she did say dammit yesterday. Hmmm…not much better.

I also don’t pay much attention to my kids, seeing as how my tween fell and split her head open just seconds after I dropped her off to school LATE and hauled ass out of the parking lot.

I've come to accept that I'm not your average, good natured, attentive, saintly mother. I mean, sometimes I give my kids gummies for a serving of fruit. Oh stop your sneering. Welch's gummies are made from real fruit. It says so on the box.

Anyway, I follow the blog of a woman who had her son two weeks before I had Pace. He's cute as can be. She appears to be big on swaddling. This lady even swaddles her son on the beach!

I just let Pace hang out; arms dangling, legs hanging. I also heard you're supposed to watch the neck, but I figure what the heck. I bet it feels good to roll all around like that and let it pop back from time-to-time. (You know I'm kidding, right?)

My babies have all felt so warm I've actually been afraid to swaddle them. Not to mention the claustrophobia they must feel with their arms tied down by their sides.

I feel your pain, son.

I was told about a book called “The Happiest Baby on the Block” by Dr. Harvey Karp, which I obviously haven’t read since bad mothers don’t read books like that. According to him swaddling is key to having a happy baby.

Pace… the unswaddled baby…the boy who has never spent a day swaddled…the one with the clueless, unattentive mother...looks pretty happy to me.

Look at him hanging all out there. Be free, my son! Be free!

Erased Memories

2010-07-27T15:12:00.000-05:00

I had a scare this morning. Pat called to tell me our desktop computer at home crashed. This is the computer that houses Pat’s music for his students, my various writing trials, and most importantly, pictures of our kids.

I’ve been working to back up these photographs, but I haven’t made it all the way through yet. And the really sad thing is that this happened to us previously. The hard drive crashed and took Savannah’s first and second grade years into a black hole with it. Why the hell do I not back up my photos on a daily basis?

Maybe it was the fatigue or the rough weekend I'm still trying to get over, but the thought of losing all those pictures broke me. The tears streamed while I quietly cried into a napkin trying to keep my co-workers from hearing my sobs.

Thankfully, Pat called back in a little while with the good news that he was able to turn the computer on again. “Don’t touch it!” I barked as I dried my tears. I want everyone’s hands off of it until I can get home this evening and get those photos saved elsewhere.

We’re talking about this one…

And this one…

Oh! And this one…

Yes, memories stay with us in our hearts and minds, but there’s something about viewing them on the screen or holding them in your hands. Seeing the light in the eyes, or just how the hair curled, or how the hand rested on my shoulder, brings it all back so much more vividly.

And warms my heart just like this one that sits beside me at work for those days when I miss my kids so much it hurts.

Le Artiste

2010-07-26T16:17:00.000-05:00

I do believe we have an artist in the family.

Last week we were all stunned to see Sarah's drawings.

Pretty damn good for a two-year-old, right?

Or are we all just that bad? I mean, that picture above looks like my Frankenstein drawing from when I was ten or something. Ok, I was younger than that, but I certainly wasn't two!

Sarah calls this one Me-Tow (like "ow!") I have no idea who Me-Tow is.

This one is a drawing of me! A little thick around the middle, but she got the bird legs right.

Savannah thinks Grandpa Ralph taught Sarah how to draw when he visited her in my dream.

I think that's a pretty cool thought.

The End of Privacy

2010-07-24T21:58:00.001-05:00

Privacy no longer exists in our house. Sarah can now open doors.

God help us all.

The Dreaded D-Word

2010-07-23T14:50:00.000-05:00

Yes, I’ll say it. It may hurt, but here it goes...

DEPRESSION.

More specifically, Postpartum Depression.

There. It’s out. And it didn’t hurt too bad.

I thought I was fine, but I think it keeps creeping up like the co-worker you try to stay away from. You dodge them every time you see them coming and then while you’re getting a Diet Coke from the machine you turn around and there they are staring you right in the face. I think I’ll call her Debbie Downer from Saturday Night Live. That seems appropriate.

Except Debbie Downer isn’t staring me in the face. She’s hiding out in the dark corners of my mind. I don’t think about her until I find myself tearing up for no reason at all.

Or I realize that I’m snapping at my kids for no good reason.

Or Pat and I fight over the most minute things and can’t seem to get along.

I keep telling myself that it’s the fatigue. I’m tired, therefore I’m cranky and eating all kinds of crap to comfort myself, therefore I’m gaining weight instead of losing it, and therefore I feel even worse.

I think it’s more than exhaustion, though. I have feelings of despair, then it turns to rage, and a little hopelessness comes in for good measure. There’s some light, too. Pace melts my heart frequently, Sarah makes me laugh, and Savannah gives me these great bear hugs. Maybe they should call it Postpartum Bi-Polar Syndrome.

I feel so hot and cold, up and down, and all around. Three kids with a full-time job has turned out to be a little daunting. I’m also aggravated that I can’t be home with my kids. I had really hoped that I would have worked out a work-from-home plan by now, but it just never came to fruition. And here come the feelings of hopelessness.

I really don’t want to be Debbie Downer...

...so I’m working out a holistic plan, rather than medicinal, that includes a little yoga and meditation, a grateful list most nights along with more blogging, and cardio with a baby strapped to me – that will at least help with the weight issue. Maybe I can pop myself out of this. I know my family will be happier.

I’ll keep you posted.

If any of you ladies have any suggestions for me that worked for you, I'd love to hear them.

He’s Definitely a Boy

2010-07-19T08:31:00.000-05:00

Pace will grunt and grunt and roll himself into a ball while grunting and then there’s a long, loud….

**FART**

Then he smirks.

Yep, he’s definitely a boy

Dr. S.

2010-07-17T07:22:00.001-05:00

Eight weeks ago yesterday Pace came into the world. Eight weeks, and I still haven’t said anything about the man who delivered him.

Dr. Schermerhorn has been my doctor for 20 years. He’s the best. Really! He’s been voted the doctor with the best bedside manner (or something like that) several times. And he knows his stuff. Pat has said, “I’m not worried about you if I know he’s taking care of you.”

He’s encouraging…
When the complications during my pregnancy began to ease up he kept saying, “You’re doing great. Just keep doing what you're doing.”

Calming…
I was beating myself up in the hospital the next morning for getting an epidural. He sat with me and explained why, in a way only Dr. S. can, I shouldn’t worry about it. “That transition period’s a bitch.”

Consoling…
After I lost the twin he took the time at every appointment to make sure I was dealing with it okay, including my postpartum check up. He likes the fact that I’ve named him and even wrote it down in his file so he would remember.

And funny…
“You’re a champion pusher!”

He’s the best and I’m proud to say he’s delivered all three of my kids.

D-Day

2010-07-14T15:05:00.000-05:00

Monday was D-Day, or more commonly known as my first day back to work.

A little melodramatic? Maybe.

I’ll tell you, though, when I walked in that building I felt the weight of the world on me, or at least the weight of a new mom re-entering the workforce. I had my lap top bag on my left shoulder, my breast pump on my right shoulder, my lunch bag hooked to my left arm and my purse hooked on my right. Plus, I was dragging my feet because I had been up since 4:30 that morning and don’t forget….I REALLY did NOT want to be there. I was sooo not ready to go back to work and leave my kids behind.

The fatigue didn’t help at all. I was sitting in a meeting at 9:00 – Can you believe they had me in a meeting by 9:00 on my first day back? Geez, people. Whatever happened to bring’er back in slowly? – So I’m sitting there trying to focus and listen and someone says, “What do you think, Yvonne?”

** YAWN **

And it was a big one.

“Huh?” was my response.

A bad omen of things to come.

Afterward it was time to pump a little breastmilk. I returned to my desk, took out my pump and realized it felt different. I open it up and what do you know? No accessories to do the pumping. I rolled my eyes at my forgetfulness and then let out a slight smile. I got to go home for lunch!

While I'm home I decide to call our insurance company to see if they cover nutritional counseling. When the guy came on the line I couldn’t think of the proper words to ask my question. What came out was, “I need, uh…do I have…I mean, can I….um…Nutrition. Talk. You know, food help.”

Ok, I’m exaggerating a little, but I'm not far off. I was completely embarrassed and tried to explain why my use of the English language was at a pre-school level.

“I just had a baby, you see. I’m tired.”

“Uh-huh,” was his response.

After I finally managed to get a logical question out and end my call I had to quickly feed Pace so I could get back to work for, yes, another meeting. This is where the heartbreak of a working mom comes in. Instead of eating he wanted to smile at me. And smile again. And smile some more. It was so sweet and I had to keep rushing him. Sarah overheard me saying I needed to go and she then sat next to my feet and said, "No, no go, Mommy." And my heart broke some more.

And now that I’ve written all of this out I realize that I've combined the past two days in my head.

Good grief. I need a nap!

And totally off subject, Pat was able to catch Pace smiling with the camera. Here's a pic to brighten your day...and mine.

Seven Weeks

2010-07-10T22:25:00.000-05:00

Pace turned 7 weeks old yesterday.

He’s smiling now and trying to coo. Sometimes he’s successful.

My little man is growing up and it’s going way too fast.

Pretty soon it will be the first day of school

And then we’ll be going to his football games…

or baseball…

or basketball…

or maybe to watch him dance???

Just kidding, Pat.

Then he’ll be leaving for college and Pat and I will have a lonely, quiet, empty house since Pace will most likely be the last to go.

*sigh*

And I go back to work this Monday. The time has gone way too soon.

Does someone know how to stop time for a while?

The Meeting

2010-07-09T20:39:00.000-05:00

I lost my father to cancer the morning of October 24, 2000. My oldest daughter Savannah was just 18 months. There was 180 miles between my and my father’s homes, but when we realized that previous January that the cancer had come back with a determination to win, I made every effort to visit my dad every other weekend with Savannah by my side. She doesn’t remember “Grandpa Ralph” today, but I'm glad he was given time to be with her during those last few months.

Seven years after his death I had my second child. A couple years later my third came along. It has disturbed me that I have two more children that my father has never met.

That is.....until now.

Stay with me here. I’m not necessarily a believer in the paranormal, but my husband and his sisters shared a common dream after their grandmother’s death that gave me chills. I myself had a dream of my father a couple years after his death. I walked into the convenience store I stopped at each morning on my way to work for my AM caffeine hit. I stepped up to pay the same lady who was there every Monday – Thursday and then I heard his voice behind me: “Hi, Sugar.” I turned to see my daddy smiling at me. I threw my arms around him and we hugged each other tight. To this day I believe that was him coming to say hi.

And I believe he came to meet Sarah last night. It was another vivid dream. I walked into the living room to find him sitting with Sarah on the couch. They were drawing together. (Daddy had a talent for art. I have one of his paintings hanging in our family room.) Sarah was chattering away while she colored. Dad looked up and smiled at me. I took the drawing pad from him. He had drawn a field with one tree, but it was blurry. I said to him, “Daddy, this isn’t how you usually draw.”

And that was it. I woke and couldn’t hold it back. I sobbed. I knew he had come to see the granddaughter he had never met. It was good to see him.

Now I’ll just wait for his meeting with Pace.

Dose of Reality

2010-07-07T11:06:00.000-05:00

I opened up my Facebook page today and was smacked with a dose of reality. A friend of mine from high school announced that she just turned 40. I thought, No way. Tiffany can’t be 40. And then it hit me…

Oh yeah! I’M 40!

I don’t feel 40 at all. I feel like I’m somewhere in my twenties. I wish the grey in my hair and my ever growing middle would agree.

I scrolled down further and was hit a second time. Laura, my best friend in high school and for several years after, posted pics of her oldest son GRADUATING FROM HIGH SCHOOL.

SAY WHAT?!?!

Nick’s going to college in a few short months and I’m still trying to figure out who I want to be when I grow up.

I still remember Nick like this –

(Who are those hot chicks anyway??)

And this -

Now he looks like this -

Happy Graduation, Nick! Here's wishing you a life filled with laughs, friends, love, and great satisfaction.

Six Week Gift

2010-07-02T10:10:00.000-05:00

Pace is six weeks old today and last night he decided to give me a gift. He's already such a good boy - giving his mother a gift instead of expecting one from her.

Last night at dinner.....he SMILED at me. A big, beautiful smile. It was brief but it took my breath away. I actually clutched my chest.

And he did it again this morning after I fed him. See, I told you he was a good boy. Thanking his mother for giving him such a delicious, nutritious breakfast

Have I already told you I'm in love?

Meeting Peggy

2010-06-30T16:30:00.000-05:00

Pace turned one month last week, and in celebration we piled all three kids in the car and headed down a very familiar road to East Texas. Athens, Texas to be exact. After my parents divorced, my mom would drive me to Athens every other weekend where she and my father would make “the transfer” and I’d go off to spend time with my dad in Lufkin until they made another drop Sunday evening.

Pat & I were making our own transfer this time. We were dropping Savannah off to her grandmother, also known as “Ammie” (like Sammy without the S), and also to introduce Pace to his Great Aunt Peggy, my mom’s sister.

Peggy has been a steady fixture in my life. She’s been like a second mother, an older sister, and a great friend all balled into one. She's also a fantastic story teller and can have you laughing so hard that the room is completely silent, except for a few gasps when you can catch your breath. She has stories about her and my mother's childhood that could make your hair stand on end. Stories that include mattresses, mud, and Hitler. They’re absolutely hilarious, but I’ll save those for another day.

What a bunch of misfits we are!

A Little Self Indulgence

2010-06-22T12:22:00.000-05:00

This morning after back-to-back feedings, I placed Pace in the bassinet next to our bed and laid down beside Pat. My body collapsed on the sheets from complete exhaustion. I allowed myself a moment of pure indulgence as Pat gently rubbed my arms and legs and Sarah quietly placed stuffed animals around me. I felt like a queen being catered to by her servants.

Pace was on the verge of vocalizing his unhappiness. He wasn’t crying, but occasionally grunting, letting me know that he wasn’t going to let this last for too long. I stole a glance where he lay and could see his arms and legs waving around above the sides of the bassinet. He looked like a water bug on his back trying to turn over.

I closed my eyes and turned my attention back on my euphoria and then…BAM! Sarah’s elbow went into my breast. Thankfully I had just fed Pace or that would have really killed instead of just wounded me. And then another BAM! And her knee slammed into my jelly belly. Bye-bye long-awaited moment of bliss. Hello Mommydom.

Though I will say Mommydom has its own moments of bliss, doesn’t it?

A Father's Day Card, of Sorts

2010-06-20T15:44:00.000-05:00

I want to take some time today to say “Happy Father’s Day” to a few of the men in my life.

To my father-in-law,

“Big Pat” and I share the same birthday, therefore the same sign, and therefore a (slight) stubborn trait that can get us in trouble.

He's a fantastic grandfather, and he’s coming to meet his first grandson in less than two weeks.

To my brother-in-law,

Rick and I share a few traits that I don’t care to admit. He’s been there for us whenever we’ve needed him, though, be it with a lawnmower, a truck, or an extra key to our house. I sure will miss you when you move, Rick. A special dessert is coming your way soon.

To my father,

Last Father’s Day I sang a song titled, “Finally Home” by the band MercyMe at church. It sums up how I feel.

“Finally Home”

I’m gonna wrap my arms around my daddy’s neck
And tell him that I’ve missed him
And tell him all about the (woman) I became
And hope that it pleased him
There’s so much I want to say
There’s so much I want you to know
When I finally make it home.

You can listen to it hear. It's a beautiful song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnTu0i9cj-I

And to my husband,

Thank you for being such a hands-on dad.

For loving your children with all of your heart and making sure they feel that love.

I haven’t said it near enough since the birth of our son, but I appreciate all of you’ve done, and are doing, to try to make it easier on me.

For feeding him at night so I can sleep.

For taking your turn holding him when he cries (and not wanting to give him up).

For offering to do anything I need.

I love you so much.

Happy Father’s Day, Honey.

And Happy Father’s Day to all you daddies out there!

Pace is 4 Weeks Old....

2010-06-19T18:05:00.000-05:00

...and I'm still tired.

He's a good baby, though. Except he's started having crying periods in the evenings, which can be trying for all of us. But it gives us a good excuse to go get some ice cream since driving in the car quiets him down.

Pat is such a proud daddy.

And the girls are so sweet with him and happy to have a little brother. They're the new 3 Musketeers!

I told you I was tired. I'm just throwing together random items and photos and calling them a blog entry. At least I'm speaking a little more clearly now instead of just....Rassa frap doh, man!

Keep Dancing

2010-06-13T20:53:00.000-05:00

It was bittersweet at church today. The music was great, if I may say so myself seeing as how I select the songs and sing at least half of them. The energy in the room was high and everyone was singing and clapping. It was my first Sunday back since I had Pace and I really enjoyed myself.

BUT…it was also my sister’s last Sunday with us. In case you don’t know, my sister Valarie is our pastor. Or was. She is moving to another church…in another town, which saddens me for two different reasons: (1) I’m losing my pastor, and (2) I’m being separated from my sister who has lived just a block away from me for the last several years. Pat and I will now be without any family in this big city.

Despite the closeness of our homes, Val and I could go a month or more without seeing each other due to the demands of our jobs and family schedules. Plus, we both really appreciate quiet moments alone – totally alone. No kids. No husbands. Just the quiet, and a great book. It wasn’t until I started singing in the band at church and taking more of a leadership role in the music that we saw each other every week and sometimes had several conversations as I worked to find songs to coincide with her sermon. We developed a partnership through the church and a new type of closeness.

I’ve been a member of a couple different churches with Valarie as pastor. It was always sad when she left for her next assignment and I stayed behind for a while, but things went back to normal fairly quickly. This time feels different, though. For one thing, I won’t follow my sister to her next stop. Pat and I have found a home in this church. An extended family, actually. We are exactly where we want to be.

For another, the last couple of years have been a special time in my spiritual life. I feel I’ve grown and discovered my own relationship with God, not the one I always felt I should have, and Val has been with me, and talked me through this exploration. I feel honored to have shared this time with my sister.

Today Val preached on a scripture from 2 Samuel, chapter 6, which includes, “David and all the house of Israel were dancing before the Lord with all their might, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals.” She concluded by thanking the congregation for dancing with her and asked us to keep on dancing now that she’s gone.

And that’s what we’ll do, but it will be a little different. We’ll probably move to a slightly different beat with our new pastor, but I will continue to explore my spirituality through music, still reaching for the phone for a little guidance, though it will be long distance now.

And I’ll keep dancing.

I hope Val’s new church dances with her.

Exhaustion

2010-06-07T22:01:00.000-05:00

Rassa fron ma foo.

I’m so tired that’s about how I talk nowadays. I had completely forgotten just how tired you get with a newborn, which is probably a good thing. I think we’re deliberately set up to forget how painful child birth is, and just how enormously exhausted you are during the first weeks…or months.

I want to enjoy this precious time with Pace so badly, but I keep thinking about how great it will be when I can sleep through the night once again. Or better yet, when all three of my kids can make their own breakfast, dress themselves, and at least one of them can drive. That way I can sleep in until noon if I want.

Who am I kidding? I don’t care how tired I am, I’m not ready for them to grow up.

I love how Savannah still shares her secrets with me and needs me to help with her hair and homework.

I love how Sarah curls up next to me, books in her lap, while I’m feeding Pace, and she melts me with a smile and says, “Hi, Mommy.”

And I love the moments with Pace when he nuzzles my cheek, rooting around for some food. Or when I rub my cheek on top of his soft head and take in that baby smell.

These times are just too sweet to give up yet. You'll just have to excuse me when I start speaking gibberish again.

Y’s Version of “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”

2010-06-02T19:31:00.000-05:00

Author's Note: Pat is concerned I sound a little angry or bitter. I'm neither. Just having fun.
Ok, maybe I'm a little irritated, but this story is all in good fun.

IF YOU TAKE A BABY TO THE STORE

If you take a baby to the store…

That baby will most likely start whimpering in the stroller…

And when he starts whimpering in the stroller, it will turn into a cry…

And when he starts to cry, people will turn and look at you like you’re a bad mother, so you pick up the baby…

And when you pick up the baby, you’ll get even more looks and some will think they need to call social services because that baby only has on a onesie and NO SOCKS (GASP!)…

So you grab the blanket as quickly as you can and wrap it around the baby, quickly tucking in the bare toes, but they keep popping out and taunting the old ladies….

And those taunted old bags…uh, ladies…will come up to you and fawn over the baby….

And when they fawn over the baby, you smile sweetly and look lovingly at your child clutched to your breast…

And those fawning women show their fangs and yank on the baby’s toes and say gruffly, “You should have socks on that baby. That baby’s cold.”

And when those old ladies spit their venom on you, you still try to keep that sweet smile on your face and say, “Thank you,” but you’d really rather say, “Mind your own business, you hag. I know if my child is cold or not.”

You turn and walk away as quickly as you can, hitting the baby’s head on a shelf and causing him to cry even louder…

So you break into a sprint and tell yourself that you have got to remember to bring extra clothing next time, no matter how hot it will be that day….

no matter that the mercury is going over a hundred degrees…

no matter that you know your baby is hot blooded and was crying in the stroller because he was too warm…

None of this matters because if you take a baby to the store…

You WILL be the center of attention.

One Week

2010-05-29T21:25:00.000-05:00

Pace is now one week old. Ok…one week old plus one day. I didn’t get this post up yesterday like I planned.

His umbilical stump fell off yesterday. We made that discovery after we returned home from lunch out and some grocery shopping. I was changing his diaper and saw his belly button free and clear. I couldn’t find the stump, though. I looked at Pat and asked, “What if it fell through the bottom of his onesie in the grocery store?” Simultaneously, we both stole a phrase from Sarah….

“Ewwww!!”

I could just see this little black stump being kicked around in the dairy department. Or worse, by the bagels hidden among the fallen poppy seeds. I’ll stop before I get really gross.

Pat found it lurking among the folds of the onesie and we both breathed a sigh of relief.

On another note, I’ve started reading Anne Lamott’s “Operating Instructions.” This makes my third time through as I also read it when both of my girls were infants. It’s a journal of her son’s first year. It’s hilarious, sad at times, and completely validating. She’s honest about how it feels when the baby won’t stop crying or nursing, or sleep for the fifth night in a row.

Pace has kept me up until 3:00 in the morning for two nights now. I’m exhausted….

and completely in love.

Meet Pace

2010-05-25T16:29:00.000-05:00

More later...

Imminent

2010-05-20T21:55:00.000-05:00

It’s fast approaching.

Ok…it’s not so fast. It’s slowly creeping up on me.

Crawling…hour by hour….

minute by minute….

false contraction by false contraction.

My son will be here in less than 24 hours.

He’ll be born in the same hospital, and by the same doctor, as both of his sisters. In a small neighborhood hospital that has two birthing rooms. What happens when a third woman shows up in labor? I have no clue. Luckily, I haven’t had to find out, and hopefully I won’t tomorrow.

I described the magic of Savannah’s birth last week. Tonight I’m thinking about Sarah’s. She was scheduled to be induced the fourth day after her due date. In the wee hours of the morning on the third day, though, my water broke. Three hours later we were at the hospital in the birthing room all the laboring mothers want. It’s a room that feels more homey than sterile. The bed is hidden from view and a curtain stays up at all times so you feel as if you are completely away from everyone and everything. The windows look out to the trees that surround the lake.

If another lady is there at the same time as me tomorrow morning, I’ll throw my billfold at Pat and say, “Here, Honey. Take care of the insurance and paperwork. That room is mine!” I'll room up the stairs to the fifth floor if I have to.

Unlike labor with Savannah, this time it was just the two of us. No family or friends were there. They were all driving into town, working, or caring for our oldest. Pat and I were alone and it was one of the most beautiful, intimate moments of my life.

Sarah was born 8 hours after my water broke in true Drama Queen style. The doctor showed her to us and that bottom lipped slowly formed a pout and out came a wail. I had never seen a newborn pout. Don’t they typically throw their mouths open and cry? Sarah pouted…for hours. Even then she wanted to be sure she got all the Awwww’s she could. And believe me, she did.

How could you not oooo and aaaah over this face?

Week 39

2010-05-18T17:26:00.000-05:00

I was all geared up to write about being one week away, and possibly more, from giving birth.

BUT....

The doctor has scheduled us for induction this Friday morning.

So we are not ONE WEEK away.

We are THREE DAYS away!

Our family of 4 is about to become a family of 5...

And we will be complete.

Week 38

2010-05-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

I had my weekly check up Tuesday and my doctor refused to touch me. No, I didn't stink or look dirty or crouch down on the table blowing air out of my mouth like Mr. Peepers on Saturday Night Live.

My doctor's going out of town this weekend and didn’t want to risk pushing me into labor. I was really hoping something might happen this week until he told me he’d be in Philadelphia Thursday – Sunday. He and the same nurse have delivered both of our girls. I don’t want him to miss delivering our son, nor does he, so I’m good with crossing my legs and sitting tight.

I didn’t say I liked it, but I’ll do it.

For some reason the 30th is sticking out in my head. Don’t know why, and I really hope I’m wrong because that’s more than two weeks away. Okay, not by much, but you see, there’s this meeting next week…

Is it bad of me to want to go into labor so I miss a meeting?

We are getting so close. 2 weeks away!

Week 37

2010-05-07T09:16:00.000-05:00

Tuesday morning Savannah left for a 4-day school trip. They’re studying the environment at a school camp. It’s an exciting trip for her, but I’m missing her like crazy. I still feel like I was the reason she had to get stitches and I want to smother her in affection. I probably won’t be over these guilty feelings for a long time considering I still feel pangs when I think about the tooth I helped her chip when she was 4. That was 7 years ago. I tend to hang on to things.

All week I’ve stopped and watched the pictures flash across our computer screen: Savannah with her new glasses, Sarah & Savannah on the swing, me holding Savannah as a newborn. These pictures, mixed with the pending birth of our third child, has me thinking about her birth and the absolute magic I felt our first night together.

My doctor induced me 3 days after my due date. Once he broke my water around 1:00 that afternoon it was full force ahead and Pat and I had our first daughter at 7:52 that evening. My sister Valarie was in the room with us while her husband and daughter and my mother waited in the hallway. I’ll never forget the door opening after Savannah was delivered. I still had my legs up while the doctor was taking care of things. I looked out into the hallway and there sat my brother-in-law Rick and my niece Eva, who was then 10. Their eyes were huge. I don’t know if it was more of a fear of the noises that had come out of that room, or if it was more, “Oh my God, I can see her xxx.”

While I laid there with my legs hiked in the air scarring my niece for life, Pat experienced his own bit of magic. They were cleaning Savannah up on the warming table and she was wailing. Pat kept looking over at her. I could tell he wanted to be with her, but felt he should stay with me until the doctor was done. I told him to go to her. The hard part was over. He walked over to the screaming baby, leaned down close to her ear and said ever so softly, “Hi, Savannah. It’s Daddy.” She stopped crying that very moment. Her protector was there. Maybe it was appropriate that he was the one to pick her up from school last week when she fell. Sometimes there’s nothing better than the presence and the loving words from your Daddy.

That didn’t work. I still feel guilty.

Pat slept at home that night, and I was really nervous about being alone with Savannah for the first time. She stayed in the nursery for the first few hours while I slept and then sometime in the middle of the night I woke to a knock on the door and they wheeled her into the room to eat. Her red fuzz covered head was facing me. At just a few hours old she moved around until she could get her head back and look at me as they brought her closer. We locked eyes and the sparks flew. I didn’t want her to leave my side again after that moment. And that includes this week while she’s away studying nature with her fifth grade class.

I can’t fathom how it’s possible to have this amount of love for a being. I literally feel an ache for a little bit when I remember that she’s not in her room reading, or getting ready to ask if she can play Wii.

And to think that love spread to include another one. And soon it will expand again and envelope yet another little one. Love is a miraculous thing, isn’t it? Pure magic.

3 weeks to go!

Another Installment in the Bad Mother Saga

2010-05-04T19:10:00.000-05:00

Get ready. This one ends with a lot of blood, 8 stitches, and a heaping amount of guilt. Pass the kleenex please.

I’m notorious for hitting the snooze button. It’s part of my morning routine. When the alarm goes off, that is. Our current clock is very unpredictable. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Pat swears it’s a “user issue,” meaning I don’t know what I’m doing. I disagree. I’ve successfully set many alarms in the past 25 years, and I can figure out hotel alarm clocks in mere seconds. I don’t think it’s a “user issue,” my dear.

But I won’t drag you guys into our little spat.

This particular morning, last Friday to be exact, I awoke to silence…40 minutes past the scheduled alarm time. Piece of crap.

Anyway…I hustled out of bed and ran to Savannah’s room yelling for her to get up and get dressed while I threw something together for breakfast. I got ready for work while she ate and we were out the door in less than 30 minutes. I was really impressed with ourselves, and hopeful that we might make it to her school on time.

Alas, we pulled into the parking lot a couple minutes past the school’s start time. And there was that Nazi…errr…lady, affectionately (?) called “The Yanker,” locking up the door. She’s called The Yanker because she can sometimes literally yank your kid out of the car if she thinks they’re taking too long. She’s out there rain or shine, hot or cold. Someone’s gotta get that carpool line under control, dammit. I call her the Nazi because she refuses to cut these kids any slack. We’re two minutes late, dang it. Let my kid in the door instead of wrapping it in chains and snapping the padlock shut with brute force. I can just see her giving her best Hulk Hogan move each morning after a good yanking session.

Instead of letting my daughter through the doors, she turns and grunts, “Go down to the office!”

*sigh*

OK, I’m not that passive. It’s more like, “Damn *&^% $*&^ *&^!”

So we drive down a few feet where another tardy person is parked. I calm myself, give my kid my usual, “Bye. Have a good day. I love you.” Normally, I would sit and wait for her to get in the back doors that lead to the office, but this other tardy person was having difficulties with letting her kid go and was parked right in the line of sight, so I drove off.

On my way to work I ran an errand, stopped for donuts (which I got busted with later), and ever so slowly made my way into the office because I just didn’t want to be there. After eating a bowl of cereal, because I felt I needed something semi-healthy before scarfing fried fat, I listened to my work voicemail that had been blinking at me since I walked in…30 minutes before.

The first call was the school, “Mrs. Boyack, please call the school as soon as you get in.”

The next call was Pat, “Yvonne, why is your cell phone off? I’ve been trying to call you. Savannah fell at school. I’m taking her to the ER. Turn on your phone!”

Savannah had tripped on the school steps just outside the door and bashed her head on the iron rail…AS I WAS DRIVING OUT OF THE PARKING LOT.

How did she trip?
She was running because she was late.

Why was she late?
Because the school has a Wrestler Nazi for a guard AND the word is her mother has alarm clock user issues.

Why did it take an hour for anyone to reach said mother?
It only stands to reason…it’s because the school has a Wrestler Nazi for a guard AND her mother never turned on her cell phone.

When I arrived at the ER I was overcome with guilt as I heard the story and saw my girl lying on the bed with blood stains on her shirt and shoes. Pat said she had been covered in blood but the school receptionist had cleaned her up before they left for the hospital. I meekly handed over the previously referred to donuts. "Sorry about your head, sweetie. Here's some chocolate."

Such a brave girl. They said she handled herself so maturely. Never cried or whimpered. She just sat calmly as they tried to reach me and waited for her dad. She then talked with the doctor as he put her forehead back together with 8 stitches. It probably didn’t hurt that he was really nice and very good-looking.

Yes, Pat, I noticed.

Later Savannah went with me to the office to gather some work to do over the weekend (I have maternity leave approaching fast and lots to do to take off without worry). On the way my guilt drove us to Sprinkles of Beverly Hills where I bought my freshly sewn kid the BEST CHOCOLATE MARSHMELLOW CUPCAKE EVER! I treated myself to a red velvet cupcake. I mean, it was there, we were there…what are you going to do? Let it sit there for the person in line behind you?

All weekend I showered Savannah with hugs and kisses (and treats). I must have had a sad look on my face whenever I looked at her stitches. She would say, “Mom, it’s not your fault.” She knew I was struggling with the fact she was running because she was late.

I now have a new ritual when I drop Savannah off at school. As I drive away, after flipping the Wrestler Nazi the bird, I turn on my cell phone.

36 Weeks

2010-04-28T13:42:00.000-05:00

Today marks 36 Weeks!

We’re doing pretty well. Not too many complaints.

I will say, though, the Braxton Hicks contractions are a bitch! I didn’t have any with my other two pregnancies, but I definitely am this time. They take my breath away. You’d think with as painful as they can feel some birthing work would be going on in there. You know, a little baby head dropping, or some cervical effacing or dilating. According to the doctor yesterday, everything is still exactly as it was….good and tight.

Peachy. Just peachy.

(Too much info for some of you? Sorry! But that’s where my mind is.)

No more ultrasounds, which Pat and I were bummed about, but it’s a good thing. That means I’m not having any complications. I was looking forward to seeing what the baby looked like all cramped up his womb. I’ve never had one this far along. I’d especially like to view him when he’s punching me, or kicking, or just trying to get comfortable. Sometimes I can’t figure out what in the world is going on in there. I see this little mole hill go from the right side to the left and then suddenly my right hip bone is kicked and I can envision sparks flying off my bladder as he pounces on it.

Maybe he’s taking after his sister Sarah and jumping around to the music on “Dancing with the Stars” and dipping himself with his legs high over his head. I don’t think his daddy would like to picture that too much. Pat was warning me about all the little league football, guitar lessons, GI Joes, and even snakes coming our way. I asked what would happen if he wanted dance lessons? That didn't go over too well.

But, hey, sometimes a dude’s gotta dance! That's how Pat got me on our first date.

I just wish the baby would wait until he’s born to kick up his heels. Then I’ll dance around with him all he wants.

4 weeks to go!

Yes, I’m still here. I hope you are, too.

2010-04-19T20:36:00.000-05:00

I took some time to grieve and rest, and then work kicked up into fifth gear. I feel like I’m driving down the highway in a Toyota with sudden acceleration and just hope I can slow it down or find a rubber tree on the side of the road.

I’m working like crazy to meet more deadlines than humanly possible over the next few days with the phone ringing every 5 minutes, plus I’m trying to get things organized for whoever takes over my position while I’m out on maternity leave. Not to mention the things I need to get done here at home before the little one makes his appearance in approximately….5 weeks! Yeah! I actually managed to get some things done this weekend. I was very proud. I was achy last night, but I was able to lay down with a sense of accomplishment.

I realize I owe you the story of Gilligan (RIP). I also have an urge to write about another someone special in my life. I’ll try to bust those out as my emotions allow…somewhere in between the deadlines, ringing phone, and the toddler jumping on the couch next to me right now.

I promise. I won’t take another holiday for a while.

Well, not until I have an infant in my arms.

Gilligan

2010-04-11T18:39:00.000-05:00

I had to put Gilligan, my cat of almost 20 years, to sleep yesterday morning. I'll write more about her when the loss is not so raw.

RIP, Gillie.

A Quick Rant

2010-04-08T09:06:00.000-05:00

Okay…so I’ve been sitting here this morning thinking about a topic for today. I was originally going to post pics of the girls for Easter and give an Easter egg update. Then I surfed the web a little to see who was voted off American Idol last night. Big Mike! Come on! He’s one of my favorites this season. I was going to vent about the tone deafness that seems to be plaguing America right now. Or at least American Idol voters (and a few others that I won’t talk about).

BUT THEN…

I saw the new Nike/Tiger Woods ad. I read that it’s controversial, so naturally I watched and then read the article explaining the controversy.

I’m furious!

In case you haven’t seen it, it’s just a black and white shot of Tiger looking into the camera all “remorseful.” In the background you hear his deceased father’s voice asking Tiger what he was thinking, how he feels, did he learn anything. Obviously, he was talking about something besides the infamous affairs….and more affairs….and, oh yeah, even more affairs.

The article I read stated the controversy was Nike using his dead father’s words “without his permission.” Really??? That’s the controversy? How many millions does Tiger get for one ad with Nike? Shouldn’t the outrage be more about this golfer (and that’s all he is) making money off of cheating on his wife?

I never had feelings about this guy one way or another until the numerous affairs surfaced. I pretty much came to the conclusion that the guy’s a phony and a jerk and needs some serious help with his zipper.

Now?

He’s a BLEEPity BLEEP BLEEP!

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

The Countdown Continues

2010-04-07T13:01:00.000-05:00

Last weekend our friends John and Kim came over with baby stuff in tow. They have a 9 month old boy who is growing like crazy, so they gave us his swing, bouncer, bath chair – or more like a lounger, and even more clothes than what they had given us previously - 2 tubs that’s still waiting to be unpacked. I asked Pat to hide them before they came over.

John and Kim are very much on top of things and despite having 2 dogs, a baby, and 2 full time jobs, their house is always neat and everything is in its place. Oh yes! And they don’t procrastinate. They’re both military people, so there you go. Maybe Pat and I should sign up for boot camp. Uh…..no.

Savannah and I were still on our marathon shopping trip when they came by, and I’m so glad we were. I wouldn’t want to make our friends uncomfortable with my ticks as I saw everything that was wrong with our house, like the dust on the tables, or the dog hair on the floor, or *GASP!* Biscuit’s chair that really needs to go out on the curb. It would start with a little eye twitch, and then progress to a shoulder twitch like Michael Jackson in the “Thriller” video. I might even pop my mouth open like he did in full zombie-wear and then pretty soon they’d think I’d have Tourette Syndrome as cuss words fly out of my mouth when I try to take their attention off the hole in Biscuit’s chair.

Pat said Kim was anxious to see the nursery. He just laughed and said, “This is our third, Kim. This baby’s going wherever we have room.”

You really would have no idea that we’re expecting another baby pretty soon. Of course my wide butt and big belly, not to mention swollen ankles, are pretty big giveaways.

Despite our, or should I say MY, embarrassment at the lack of cleaning and organizing we’ve obviously done in preparation for this baby’s birth, we are so grateful to them for all they’ve given us.

7 weeks to go.

Holy crap! Somebody light a fire under my big butt.

A Moment

2010-04-06T19:16:00.000-05:00

There was a little magic in the six o’clock hour last night. Nothing extraordinary or out of the norm. Just a little special time.

We had dinner early with Pat before he had to leave to give lessons. One of our favorite comfort meals: pancakes, bacon, and eggs. After Pat left Savannah, Sarah, and gathered on my bed with our various books and read quietly with an occasional check-in.

“How are you?”

“How’s that book?”

Or Sarah’s, “Hi,” said in a whisper with a bright smile peeking over the edge of the page.

Then Sarah bounced over next to me with the book "Where the Wild Things Are" and I read it aloud with all of us growling, roaring, and gnashing our teeth. A quiet moment turned into a let-it-all-out, crazy time. We fell into a heap laughing and then Sarah brought over the next book, "Ten Kisses Good Night." Lots of sugar was passed around.

Then seven o’clock hit and we all jumped off the bed and ran to the TV. “Dancing with the Stars” was coming on. There were Waltzes to watch and Salsas to imitate. The fun continued, but there was something about those magical moments together on the bed. It’s the little things we share that unexpectedly turn into the most cherished of times.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go break up a fight between my daughters.

Ah, memories.

Easter Procrastination

2010-04-05T12:21:00.000-05:00

We had a really good Easter. A service that included a precious little girl asking me for a hug because she liked my singing - so you know that made it the best Easter service ever! We had a fun, tasty lunch with my sister and her family. And we had lots of silly, goofing off time at the house.

My Bad Mom Skills abounded the entire weekend, though. I bought Easter egg dye with every intention to use it. Really, I did.

On Saturday evening, after an hour-long egg hunt at church, then 3 hours of shopping (with no success) for Savannah’s Easter outfit, followed by 2 hours of grocery shopping, I was looking for a quick dinner to make. Savannah came in the kitchen and asked when we would dye the eggs.

** sigh **

“How about after dinner?”

After dinner comes:

“Mom, can we dye the eggs now?”

** sigh **

-- stretch –

“&*^$” ACHE! “&*%^”

“How about tomorrow after lunch?”

Savannah sulked out of the kitchen. Bad Mom strikes again.

I felt guilty so I invited Savannah to lay down with me and read for a while, only to fall asleep and wake at 11:00 realizing I hadn’t put the girls’ Easter baskets together yet. Yikes! I dashed out of bed, as fast as my tired, pregnant body would allow, and assembled everything eating quite a few jelly beans along the way. I laid back down around midnight satisfied that the girls would wake to their goodies and hoping that I may have redeemed myself a little bit.

After Sunday lunch comes and I get the question:

“Mom, can we dye the eggs now?”

** sigh **

** yawn **

-- light bulb pops over my head --

“How about we play Wii together?”

“Okay!”

Bad Mom rears her ugly head again.

As of Monday at noon we still don’t have dyed Easter eggs at the house. Savannah ended up sick as a dog last night. Would it be in bad form if we made our eggs the Monday or Tuesday after Easter? Maybe Wednesday? No, I can’t Wednesday. There’s always Thursday. Hmmm…Think the dye tablets will last another year?

Sarah's Moving On Up

2010-03-30T19:24:00.000-05:00

Sarah has now graduated from cussing to taking the Lord’s name in vain.

I have been more conscious of my cussing around the house, especially since writing my confession. But this evening we were watching something on TV while eating a treat (another bad habit I’m instilling in my kids) when something was said that must have been so ridiculous it prompted a boisterous response from me, because, you know, I never over react. (wink, wink)

I said rather loudly, “Oh my God!”

Next thing I know I hear Sarah’s high-pitched voice, “Oh my God.” Throwing up her arms in outrage and knocking over her glass in the process.

She did a drama queen proud…

Her mother was brought down another notch…

And I’m sure her preacher grandmother is cringing about right now.

Speechless

2010-03-28T21:08:00.000-05:00

Today would have been my father's 84th birthday, but we lost him to cancer on October 24, 2000. I've been trying to think of what I can say about him on this blog for the last 24 hours, but nothing comes to mind. What can I say about a man I miss so much, my heart still literally aches when I think of him 10 years after his death.

The only thing that has continually popped in my head is this photo taken before he walked me down the aisle at my wedding. Pat and I have wished since our wedding night that we had just taken the money we spent on the cermony and reception and eloped to Vegas. It would have been so much simpler. But then I wouldn't have this picture.

Happy birthday, Daddy.

I love you.

From: Your "Sugar"

31 Week Belly

2010-03-26T12:52:00.000-05:00

This week marks 31 weeks.

9 weeks to go!

And the count down is on...

Welcome Spring...I Think

2010-03-22T17:43:00.000-05:00

Our last day of winter was beautiful. The sun was out with a temp in the mid-70's. It was the perfect day to drive around listening to some amped up U2 and the windows rolled down. A great way to say good-bye to an unusual winter for us here in the south. Remember? We had snow for the first time on Christmas Day. Then there was that freak blizzard that left us without power for a couple days. I was very anxious to leave this winter in the past and welcome spring with open arms and open windows.

So what was the first day of spring like?

FREAKING COLD!

For our usual Saturday romp we had to bundle up in our coats and sweaters, items I had almost packed away a few days before. Thank God for low energy.

How was the second day of winter? I woke to this...

And this...

And this...

3 to 4 inches. Seriously? In March? In the land of "if you've had one snow day, you know you're done for the year?"

My youngest takes after me. She clung to her Ziggy and made a cocoon for herself in the middle of her room.

If winter threatens not to secede, that looks like a good plan to me.

Proof I’m a Crappy Mom

2010-03-18T14:16:00.000-05:00

I’m really embarrassed to write what I'm about to, but if I can’t confess on this blog, where else can I?

I cuss like a sailor (to use a cliché, and because I’m too sleepy after lunch to think of something more original.) I have so many friends who, like “good Christian women”, stop using profanity when they have kids. When one slips out of my mouth during a conversation with them, they wince like I just made them drink curdled milk. I have tried and tried and tried some more to quit, but it’s just part of my vocabulary. I mean, what can express frustration, immense joy, and sometimes even flat-out boredom, better than a choice 4-letter word? Plus, hearing the stories of my maternal grandfather, it’s in my blood, man. I can’t fight it.

This fairly regular (I’m wincing now because I know that’s not completely accurate. Hush, Pat!) spillage of profanity has it’s consequences, though. I give you the top moments that immediately come to mind.

One note – I’d like my mother and aunt to stop reading here.

Seriously, stop reading.

Now!

Ok. Others may proceed…

Christmas Eve and the “Flock”
Savannah was 3 this Christmas Eve. We were waiting for the children’s Christmas program to begin. Yes, we were IN CHURCH, and Pat was in the back acting as USHER to the GOOD, WHOLESOME people who came in, and we were surrounded by GRANDPARENTS and other CHILDREN.

Savannah was innocently, and ever so preciously, coloring the front of the bulletin. She angled her leg just slightly and the crayons fell to the floor. Remember, it is QUIET before the service and we are SURROUNDED. Savannah said what she felt was appropriate – the mother of all words - the f-bomb.

BAM!

Everyone 3 rows up and back looked at us with complete shock and I believe I even saw some disdain from a few faces. I did what any “good” mother would do. I patted Savannah lovingly and said, “You’re so smart, Sweetie. That IS a flock you’re coloring.”

I’m laughing hysterically right now out of sheer embarrassment. But I’ll continue on.

The “Frog” In the Store
Pat and I were pushing Savannah in a cart through Target. This was just a couple months after the previous…chronicle. Suddenly Savannah blurted out something that started with the letter f….again. I believe she said it just to hear her voice echo in the store. That means she said it loud enough to get an echo in a very large store.

Pat stopped the cart and looked at me.

“What did she just say?”

“Uh, frog. She said frog, honey.”

He gave me this doubtful look.

“Seriously, honey. How would she know that other word?”

I was trying to cover my obvious failings in motherhood.

Sarah’s Turn
Not long ago, about a month ago I believe, Sarah, our 2 year old (even younger than Savannah was!), was pushing one of her toys around in the living room. Pat was being a good father and playing with her. I have no idea what provoked this because I was lying on the couch and probably yelling profanities at the damn Wii game, but suddenly I heard a soft, sweet voice say, “Shit.”

I shot up and looked at Pat who was already burning a hole in my head because I had obviously tarnished another one.

“Did she just say…?”

“I hope not,” was all I could say as I sank back down into the cushions.

Savannah was 3 with her first cuss word, Sarah was 2. Maybe our son’s first words will be, ‘Oh hell, Mommy.”

Testing the Limits
A couple months ago Savannah was giving me the scoop on her day. I asked her something as I was putting clothes away and she said, “Oh shit.”

I stopped everything and just looked at her. When she found the courage she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Is that ok?” she asked sheepishly.

“Uh….no. No, Savannah, it’s not okay.”

She then replied with something every parent hates to hear, “But you say it.”

Oh (BLEEP!). Well, she had me there. So what did I do?

I made the Crappy-Parent-Deal because I realize it’s in her blood, too. “Just refrain for a few years and you can cuss when you’re in the upper grades of high school, but ONLY at home and ONLY with me and Dad. That’s it!”

Dear God, I’m a bad mom.

Please don’t judge me….too harshly.

It’s just words, right?

Out of the mouths of babes.

I'm Back

2010-03-13T11:29:00.000-06:00

I took an unintentional break from blogging. I’ve been consumed with changes that are coming my way and the worry that is growing during this “wait and see” perod.

I‘m writing this at 4:50 on a Saturday morning. This is the first day I’ve been able to sleep in for 2 weeks and I can’t keep my eyes closed. I’ve been lying awake staring into the black (both literally and figuratively) since 3 o’something. I’ve been thinking of all the challenges we’ll be facing over the next few months and searching for solutions, but my mind comes up – well, black.

I’m filled with worry – and it sucks!

We have such a joyous occasion ahead of us. Our son is due to arrive in just 10 weeks. I cannot wait to meet him and hold an infant in my arms again. There is something so sweet and precious about those moments. And they are just moments. It passes too quickly.

So this morning I wake with a full bladder somewhere around 3:00, take care of it, and when I lay back down Worry 1 makes an appearance. Then Worry 2 decides to make it a duet, which leads to Worry 3 trying to snatch some of the spotlight. All of this then leads to a whole new worry I didn’t even realize existed, and now it’s trying to get some attention.

You know how it goes.

This whole show has been going on for the past few nights and it’s seeped into the daytime hours as well. At least the cost is less during the day, as matinees usually are. I have other things vying for my attention when the sun is out.

But at night, when everyone’s asleep, the Worries come out like Thing 1 and Thing 2 from the Dr. Seuss book, stirring up this and that and basically wreaking havoc.

Now if only the Cat in the Hat could come and make everything neat and tidy again.

If only.

Friday Night Update

2010-03-05T20:38:00.000-06:00

I guess I can't pawn the craziness I referred to last Tuesday on to my family. My brother-in-law, Dren, gave Savannah this t-shirt for her birthday last week.

("If you think I'm crazy, you should see my mother.")

He bought this before my post. I guess my reputation precedes me.

Looking a little cocky, aren't we, Dren?

Or is that fear I see???

On another, happier note...

Ziggy, Sarah's beloved stuffed zebra/cat mutant that she can't sleep or breathe without, went missing for a few days. She found it somehow, somewhere today. No one knows where Ziggy was hiding.....or why. He/She/It is filthy, so I don't think I want to know. Maybe Ziggy just needed a little quiet time. You know, a moment to ponder life's deepest questions without a toddler twirling her tail and gripping her neck so hard the stuffing falls out.

All I know is we'll all be sleeping more sound tonight.

Sarah's Going Crazy

2010-03-02T17:21:00.000-06:00

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Do I have something on my face?”

Uh…Sarah?

Where’s your pants?

“The dog took ‘em.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

In the meantime my oldest daughter, who used to be crazy, is working to become a proper young lady.

Gone are the days of pantless dancing.

Although she does still have a little of the wild child in her. The bangs in her eyes make her “feel cool.”

Who am I kidding? They’re all crazy!

Here We Go Again

2010-03-01T13:34:00.000-06:00

Oh no.

Puh-leez no.

Don’t tell me it’s starting all over again.

During my 6th month, I felt better than I had the entire pregnancy. I had a little more energy, no nausea, and most importantly, no cramping or bleeding.

I’ve now entered the last trimester…

*slight pause for celebration*

HAPPY DANCE!
(Imagine Elaine on “Seinfeld” with the weird kicks and thumbs up.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0

*Ok. I’m done*

…and for the last few days I’ve been fighting nausea. Major nausea. Please don’t tell me I’m going to end this pregnancy the way I started – completely green. Just call me the Grinch, which pretty much matches my attitude lately. Hence, the reason for not much blogging the last few days.

This is just the final confirmation -- this WILL be the LAST pregnancy. One of us is getting tied, snipped, or castrated. No finger pointing yet, but I can feel it coming.

Sweetie Turns Eleven

2010-02-24T14:27:00.000-06:00

My baby girl, my “sweetie” as I’ve always called her, turns 11 today.

ELEVEN!

What?!

That means I’m…..

*gasp*

FORTY!

But today is not about me, even though I gave birth to this beautiful girl without drugs. But I won’t start with the guilt trip…yet. She hasn’t pushed me to that point. I figure that will come some time around 14 or 15. I don’t want to waste it and have her be immune to the guilt when I really need it.

I’ve been thinking about what to blog for her birthday for at least a week. What could I say that could live up to the love I have for my first born? The person who helped me realize my dream of becoming a mother.

It occurred to me just now as I’m writing this - I’ll list all the things I love about her. Please note, this list is far from complete.

Another note, this may be sappy.

I love Savannah for…

* the beautiful red fuzz that was on top of her head when she was born.

* recognizing her Daddy’s voice. (She was crying on the warming table. He went over and said, “Hey, Savannah.” She immediately stopped.)

* our moments together in the middle of the night at the hospital. We would just stare at each other as I held her.

* sleeping for 4 hours at a time and allowing me to get some sleep.

* for being so dang photogenic.

* for being a great traveler. (She was such a trooper when we traveled to England without her Dad when she was 4. All the luggage we had to carry through the tube. It was a nightmare, and she loved every minute of it.)

* for dancing when I play the piano.

* for her love of music. (“Music is my life, Mom.”)

* for her beautiful voice.

* for her love of animals and wanting to work in an animal shelter one day.

* for being a great helper in the kitchen.

* for being a kick ass volleyball and basketball player.

* for realizing it’s just a game when she wins or loses.

* for being a fun Wii partner…and reminding me it’s just a game, especially when I lose.

* for still resting her head on my shoulder while we watch tv.

* for being my biggest fan of both my singing and my writing.

* for having her Daddy’s sense of humor.

* for being a sweet, gentle soul.

* for being a loving big sister.

* for being Savannah, and no one else.

Happy 11th birthday!

I love you, Sweetie, more than I can say.

2010-02-22T16:20:00.000-06:00

Things just haven't been the same in our household for the last few days. Sarah's been sick.

She's kept her chipper attitude, but her appetite has waned and she's sleeping more.

Savannah's been such an attentive big sister.

I was so worried about her last night that I slept in her room. I should say I tried to sleep. She kept waking up crying while trying to catch her breath. Her cough and congestion were so bad it would literally take her breath away.

We made it to the doctor today and discovered that she has an ear infection, but luckily the cold hasn't made it down to her chest.

We are now on the mend with medication...

and looking forward to better days ahead.

Speechless

2010-02-19T19:09:00.001-06:00

Yesterday I was going to post a rant about my discontentment with my job. I got about half way through and deleted it. Who wants to read about how miserable someone is at work, right? At least I have money in the bank and medical insurance. I have friends who were laid off last April and they’re still looking for employment. I feel guilty at times that I don’t appreciate my job more than I do.

I came in this morning with a desire to start the day a little differently – with a more upbeat attitude. It’s Friday, I tell myself. I smile at those I pass and duck into my office as quickly as I can. The first thing I do on my computer is turn on some fun music…and then I open my email. Oh, the emails. My least favorite part of the job, besides the meetings we have to decide what meetings we need to schedule for the upcoming BIG meeting. Did you follow that?

Then a lady I’ve worked with here for the last 4 years steps into my office. Our jobs intersect only every couple of months, so this is a very rare visit.

“How are you doing?” she asks me.

“I’m good.”

“Listen,” she says lowering her voice. “I just want you to know that I really admire you. I know you’re having a hard time with your pregnancy and with your boss and you’re still doing such a great job. I just think you’re awesome. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. Have a great day! It’s Friday!”

And she walked out.

I was stunned, but so appreciated her comments. She knows where I’m coming from. Her teenage son was diagnosed with cancer 2 years ago and she had to juggle a demanding job with his treatments and doctor visits.

I don’t agree that I’m so awesome or even doing as great of a job as I used to. I find myself missing little details that I would have caught a year ago. That’s what happens when the passion begins to leak out.

It’s amazing what a 2-minute interaction with someone can do with your outlook for the rest of the day.

After she left I turned around and saw this drawing Savannah hung on my wall.

Just a Taste

2010-02-16T14:38:00.000-06:00

At the close of my blog last Thursday, we had received 6 or 8 inches of snow, according to the weather man and my husband. By the time we went to bed, it had grown to a foot. A foot of snow in Texas. Unbelievable, but soooo cool.

Savannah and I were looking forward to being off our respective school and work that Friday, Pat was reminded of his childhood, and we all went to bed in good moods. The house felt a little more cozy with the snow surrounding us.

All of those good Norman Rockwell feelings vanished, however, around 1:30 that morning when we woke startled to a

*CRACK*

Lights out…

Clocks out…

And most important…

HEATER OUT!

We’ve lost our electricity frequently during storms, but it was always back up in the next couple hours. So Pat and I returned to bed with no worries, but snuggled a little closer.

We woke earlier than usual the next morning with cold noses. Still no electricity. We piled more blankets on Sarah and brought Savannah in to bed with us since her room is the coldest in the house. Plus, she provided a little extra warmth in the bed.

The next 40 hours were spent waiting for the electricity, and eating out. Then waiting some more, and eating out again. And so on, and so on. I tried to expand our times inside the warm restaurants by praying for slow service while Pat lamented about how much money we were spending. Meanwhile, the waiting period at home grew colder and colder as the temperature continued to drop.

Sarah walked around in her hat and mittens (When she would keep them on. There was serious playing to be done, you know) Pat kept on the sweater I gave him for Christmas, and I doubled up my socks and kept a blanket with me at all times.

Savannah’s another story. Part of the time she wore a tank top and a short-sleeved shirt until her father and I yelled at her to put on more clothes. Saturday she was playing in the snow after her basketball game – in her sleeveless jersey….with NO gloves….and NO COAT! The girl has lava running through her veins. She can even withstand the cold longer than her Utah-bred father.

36 hours in to our freeze out, we were all on a short fuse and looked like Sarah did when I brought her in from the snow Thursday afternoon.

It’s not fun when you can see your breath inside your home.

Late Saturday Pat received a call from one of our neighbors. Their lights were back on. We rushed to the front door like those crazy shoppers on Black Friday, busted inside, and lo and behold…the heater was on! It sounded like the Hallelujah chorus. Although that may have been me singing and Savannah chiming in. We have a tendency to break out in song. We’re a very musical family.

We still had to eat out that night, though. The storm hit right before our weekly grocery trip. I was back to being annoyed by the slow service but Pat continued to gripe about the money coming out of our checkbook.

That night after I changed into a tank top and Pat walked around in shorts he said, “You know how sometimes you say you might want to move up north?”

“Yeah,” I said hesitantly.

“This was just a taste.”

Well put, sir.

13 Years

2010-02-15T17:57:00.000-06:00

Today marks mine and Pat's 13th anniversary.

I’m not even going to acknowledge the number (13) or how unlucky it is,

because as we mature in age…..

our marriage has matured as well.

I expect this to be our best year yet.

Thanks, honey….

For all the support you’ve given me

The music you’ve played for me

The laughter we share when we’re being silly

The family we’re growing together

And the love you shower on me.

And most important…

The awesome foot rubs!

I love you!

Texas-Sized Mini Snow-pocalypse

2010-02-11T20:18:00.000-06:00

I woke this morning to Pat muttering something about an inch of snow outside.

"Whatever," I grumbled and turned over.

"No, really. There's an inch of snow outside."

I finally managed to grunt my way out of bed and looked out. Sure enough, there was a thin blanket of snow covering our backyard. Savannah and I spent the next 20 minutes wishing for a day off. She sat on the coffee table watching the school closures scroll across the screen and I dialed my voicemail at work every few minutes waiting for the inevitable message that the office was closed for the day.

Every few minutes Savannah would yell out, "Awww, man!" and flip to the next channel. Soon afterward I would echo with "Aw, come on!" I mean, this is Dallas. Everything shuts down for an inch of snow, except for the pool halls and grocery stores.

To our dismay, Savannah and I both had a full day at school and work. But when I returned home I took the kids and Biscuit (the dog) outside for a little winter wonderland play time.

Sarah did a little better this time around. She lasted about 15 minutes in the snow before she started crying wanting to go in, as opposed to Christmas when she lasted only 5 minutes. She's not a cold weather baby.

The good sister: Savannah helped Sarah out on to the snow.

"Hey. This isn't so bad."

"Wait. What's this?"

"Help?"

Our cat Gilligan got stuck outside with us. Like Sarah, she couldn't wait to go in.

"Mommy, that was awful!"

"Seriously, don't make me do that again."

Inside safe and warm....

while the two snow freaks stayed outside for at least another hour.

I finally lured them in with biscuit-topped chicken pot pie and Grandma's chocolate cake.

As I write this Pete, our weather guy, says we've had 6-8" of snow. A record for Dallas.

And it's still snowing!

Maybe we'll get our snow day tomorrow.

An Eventful Monday

2010-02-10T09:33:00.000-06:00

It started at work after driving through a downpour. My work hours were filled with nothing but budget talk the entire day. I hate budget talk. Especially when it’s focused on budgets in the red. I break out in hives and try to hide in the bathroom as much as possible.

Lucky me, though. I got to leave work early to pick up Savannah’s new glasses. We had to order another pair after she lost her originals….oh yeah….and mine. She has a knack for losing glasses just like jackets.

But I digress.

She looks so freaking cute.

And every time we were in the car I was informed of what street we were on, what businesses were near by, including their slogans, and also what the speed limit was.

“Mom, the speed limit is 35. You’re going 40.”

Maybe I’ll attach blinders to her glasses.

I had signed Sarah up for a gymnastics class that evening. What the hell was I thinking?!

(I should probably change the name of my blog to “What the Hell Was I Thinking?!” I say it A LOT.)

When we arrived I was told to take off my shoes.

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t wear your shoes on the mat.”

Duh! Sarah is 2 and doesn’t form complete sentences. The only class offered for her age is a Mommy and Me class. I should have known that considering I put Savannah in the same class when she was 2. Another pregnant brain fart.

To make a long story short, I decided not to commit to the class. I was exhausted, and Sarah was exhausting. I was constantly calling her, chasing her, lifting her, and I’m not even supposed to pick her up to put her on the couch. I told them we would pass.

“Sorry, doctor’s orders.”

Then I came home and put Sarah to bed and Savannah in the bath, and I crashed on the couch. My day may not sound like much, but to my ragged, ever growing, pregnant ass it was very eventful.