Yesterday was a challenge. The day before that was a challenge. I pretty much figure today's gonna be a challenge, too. This just seems to be the going trend in my life currently.
There is so much that needs to be done right now. So much so that my Overwhelm 'O' Meter is registering off the charts at the moment. I started to make a list of things that needed to be done so I could seem a little organized and systematically check them off as I did them, but once I hit 50 things To-Do I just wadded up the paper and threw it in the trash. I'd be happy just to get the toilets cleaned.
Oh well. So much for lists, I guess.
Monk always likes to tell me that you can only eat an elephant one bite at a time. Well, what do you do when the room is full of elephants and you have no appetite? Hm? Tell me that.
Well.
You continue to do laundry, cook meals, sweep floors, wash dishes and pray like crazy that the doctor tells you your foot is well enough to be out of the silly boot. You continue to do what you do, even if you feel like you're on autopilot, because it is the only way to keep from drowning in the sea of people you like to call your family.
And somebody has to wash all the underwear.
You block out words like: failure, inadequate, overwhelmed and weak. Those are words to lose by - not to live by. It's what you feel, but you simply can't give in to those destructive words. They will eat you alive. I know this.
These are the things we do in this season of life because it's just that ~ a season. Mine just feels like it's a very looooong winter at the moment. But rest assured this season is only temporary.
How do I know this? Especially when I'm smack dab in the middle of it? Because the Bible assures me that this is only a season and it won't last forever.
Even though it feels like it.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
2 a time to be born, and a time to die;a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
3 a time to kill, and a time to heal;a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh;a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 a time to seek, and a time to lose;a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 a time to tear, and a time to sew;a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 a time to love, and a time to hate;a time for war, and a time for peace.
I just wish there was something in there about a time for Sonic's Happy Hour.
Or any Happy Hour for that matter.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Monday, September 07, 2009
A Little of This and a Little of That, But Mostly a Whole Lotta Nothin'
This last week has been a little challenging for me. Not counting the sweat attack to beat all sweat attacks, it's just been a very frustrating week in a lot of different ways.
Charlotte has been sick all week which has really put a damper on some things getting done. Poor baby. I've more than obliged her in the area of attention and one night I slept almost upright in the recliner just so she could breath. Wouldn't you know it was the night after I had gone to the chiropractor. ::sigh:: Needless to say, my house and my sleep are suffering.
...my poor little snotty nosed baby ... you can tell she doesn't feel well ...
And this boot on my leg? Well, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna burn it once the doctor lets me take it off. It is really becoming ANNOYING! I sort of liked lounging about for the first week, but now that it's been a month later I'm fairly certain I might have a hissy if the doctor makes me keep it on any longer! It's driving me cUh-RaZy!!
I've also acquired some extra poundage over the last month. All that lying about and eating highly fattening comfort food and drinking Sonic Happy Hour Cokes has had an impact. And not a positive one. My Mommy Muffin is now officially a Mommy Meatloaf. With mashed potatoes and gravy. So I've put myself on a new eating plan. It's called ... Eat Less and Drink More Water. I'll be doing ELDMW for about a week and then I'm gonna try and Low Carb it again. My carbohydrate, sugar loving genes just cowered in fear and are begging for chocolate to make them feel better. Don't worry, I shut'em up with some salt 'n' vinegar almonds. That'll teach'em.
I did get most of the grocery shopping done this week already and that is a definite plus. Well, besides the 5-10 items I forgot because you know, I didn't make a LIST! Hope went with me to Target and we had a swell time with one another. She belted out 'Jesus Loves Me' 5 of 52 times all through the store. And I let her. We had our own little praise and worship time right there in the midst of the Ethnic Foods aisle. People were looking and I just smiled and started another rousing chorus with her. It was just precious if I do say so myself. And it made me not be so mortified whe she announced to me quite loudly in the Paper Goods aisle that she found a .....
'Boo-guh'.
Monk found out this week that he has to go away on a business trip later this month. He'll be gone for a week. He was a little taken back after he told me and I exclaimed, "LUCK-EEE!". It was quite reminiscent of Jr. High when my friend Nat got her bi-level haircut (read: mullet) and I was jealous because I didn't have one yet. But anyway. He moaned on about how he would be all alone and I just clicked my tongue and shook my head. I reminded him of how he would have a fancy hotel room ALL. TO. HIMSELF. and that he would be able to sleep through the night without a baby in the bed and a toddler next to the bed waking up at all unholy hours. He just looked at me with his sad face. Then I said,
"Dude! (Oh okay, I didn't really say 'Dude', but I wanted to...) Honey, I would give anything to be able to get 4 full nights of sleep!! Think of all the reading you can do! Think of all the non-Barbie movies you can watch! Think of all the food you can eat and not have to share one single morsel"
Sleep, reading, movies and food are obviously things I highly value. Anyway, he's still been moping about. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to miss him, but I'd still kill to get all that uninterrupted sleep. I think I'm going to call him in the middle of the night a few times just so he'll feel at home.
And finally, I went for my sonogram at the Doctor 'O' Gynecology this week ~ you remember, that was one of the 'tests' I had to have done after the Appointment of Sweat. And I was quite pleased to learn from the sonographer that my uterus looked really good. Her words, not mine. I immediately texted Monk and said,
'Sonographer said uterus looked really good. Wanna have another baby?' BUAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I do love messin' with that man's head. Not that he thinks babies are bad because he doesn't, I just like to mess with his head.
And I succeeded.
Charlotte has been sick all week which has really put a damper on some things getting done. Poor baby. I've more than obliged her in the area of attention and one night I slept almost upright in the recliner just so she could breath. Wouldn't you know it was the night after I had gone to the chiropractor. ::sigh:: Needless to say, my house and my sleep are suffering.
...my poor little snotty nosed baby ... you can tell she doesn't feel well ...
And this boot on my leg? Well, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna burn it once the doctor lets me take it off. It is really becoming ANNOYING! I sort of liked lounging about for the first week, but now that it's been a month later I'm fairly certain I might have a hissy if the doctor makes me keep it on any longer! It's driving me cUh-RaZy!!
I've also acquired some extra poundage over the last month. All that lying about and eating highly fattening comfort food and drinking Sonic Happy Hour Cokes has had an impact. And not a positive one. My Mommy Muffin is now officially a Mommy Meatloaf. With mashed potatoes and gravy. So I've put myself on a new eating plan. It's called ... Eat Less and Drink More Water. I'll be doing ELDMW for about a week and then I'm gonna try and Low Carb it again. My carbohydrate, sugar loving genes just cowered in fear and are begging for chocolate to make them feel better. Don't worry, I shut'em up with some salt 'n' vinegar almonds. That'll teach'em.
I did get most of the grocery shopping done this week already and that is a definite plus. Well, besides the 5-10 items I forgot because you know, I didn't make a LIST! Hope went with me to Target and we had a swell time with one another. She belted out 'Jesus Loves Me' 5 of 52 times all through the store. And I let her. We had our own little praise and worship time right there in the midst of the Ethnic Foods aisle. People were looking and I just smiled and started another rousing chorus with her. It was just precious if I do say so myself. And it made me not be so mortified whe she announced to me quite loudly in the Paper Goods aisle that she found a .....
'Boo-guh'.
Monk found out this week that he has to go away on a business trip later this month. He'll be gone for a week. He was a little taken back after he told me and I exclaimed, "LUCK-EEE!". It was quite reminiscent of Jr. High when my friend Nat got her bi-level haircut (read: mullet) and I was jealous because I didn't have one yet. But anyway. He moaned on about how he would be all alone and I just clicked my tongue and shook my head. I reminded him of how he would have a fancy hotel room ALL. TO. HIMSELF. and that he would be able to sleep through the night without a baby in the bed and a toddler next to the bed waking up at all unholy hours. He just looked at me with his sad face. Then I said,
"Dude! (Oh okay, I didn't really say 'Dude', but I wanted to...) Honey, I would give anything to be able to get 4 full nights of sleep!! Think of all the reading you can do! Think of all the non-Barbie movies you can watch! Think of all the food you can eat and not have to share one single morsel"
Sleep, reading, movies and food are obviously things I highly value. Anyway, he's still been moping about. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to miss him, but I'd still kill to get all that uninterrupted sleep. I think I'm going to call him in the middle of the night a few times just so he'll feel at home.
And finally, I went for my sonogram at the Doctor 'O' Gynecology this week ~ you remember, that was one of the 'tests' I had to have done after the Appointment of Sweat. And I was quite pleased to learn from the sonographer that my uterus looked really good. Her words, not mine. I immediately texted Monk and said,
'Sonographer said uterus looked really good. Wanna have another baby?' BUAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I do love messin' with that man's head. Not that he thinks babies are bad because he doesn't, I just like to mess with his head.
And I succeeded.
And we wonder why our children all act so weird...
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Yes, This Really Happened
For all you fellas that might read here (::snort::) ~ this may not be the post for you. Consider yourself warned. Just sayin'.
I had to make a little visit to Ye Olde Female Doctore this past Monday. I've had a few ...um... issues I've been dealing with over the past few months and I finally decided to bite the bullet and make an appointment. So I loaded Charlie into Phil the Burb and off we went to the OB/GYN's office ~ broken ankle and all.
(And no, I'm not pregnant. Now you can rest easy. Especially my sisters and sisters-in-law.)
I was a little nervous about going to the doctor because I haven't been to see Dr. Z. since I was expecting Hope and actually left her services for those of a midwife when I was 4 months along. I didn't know if she would be offended or irritated over the fact that I had birthed two children without her assistance and I didn't even want to think of how she might, you know, get me back.
::Shudder::
Anyway, the nurse gets me (and Charlie ~ stroller and all) into the room and takes my history ... yada ... yada ... "oh by the way, I've had two more children with a midwife" .... yada ... yada ... ::eyebrow raise:: ... yadda ...yadda. Weight check (2lbs lighter than the last time! woo-hoo!) at which I had to take off the blasted boot!! Blood pressure check (118/72). And then those famous words we females all love to hear,
" Here's a sheet, go ahead an undress from the waist down."
Dang. So much for small talk.
I realized rather quickly that undressing was going to prove more difficult than usual. My boot wouldn't fit over my capri pants, so I had to completely remove it before I could even attempt to undress. By the time I removed the boot, undressed and put back on my boot (while naked I might add ~ I apologize if you just threw up in your mouth a little ), hobbled myself up onto the table and applied my napkin sheet, I had worked up a little sweat.
Sweating has been an issue with me lately. I don't sweat. I perspire a little, but rarely do I do a full on hard sweat. Except for lately.
People. I've been sweatin' like a hardened sinner at a Pentecostal tent revival in the middle of July. Buckets, my friends. Buckets. This was one of the reasons I was at the doctor this particular day. I'm afraid that even at 40, I'm still a little too young for, you know, the change 'o life hot flashes!
Anyway.
As I sat there waiting (which in my mind is the absolute worst!), one would think that my glands would get the message. I wasn't doing anything active, just sitting, yet the sweating was getting worse! I had brought a magazine with me and began to fan myself. I figured that would help.
Nope. It only got worse.
About 5 minutes later I realized it was going to take a little more that Southern Living to take care of this particular diaphoretic episode. The back of my thighs and rear were beginning to stick to the white paper on the exam table and I was becoming more and more uncomfortable. I had to take drastic measures.
I grabbed the sheet and began to furiously fan myself, throwing the sheet into the air and abruptly back down, shifting my weight from one side then to the other, desperately trying to get some air into my nether regions. I knew that if the doctor were to walk in while I was fanning myself with one side of my hiney perched into the air, she was going to assume that I had ... uh .... been gastronomically expressing myself or something.
Right about this time Charlotte decided to wake up. I wriggled myself down the table far enough to scoot her stroller a little closer to me. It was at this point ~ while I was attempting to wriggle ~ that I realized the lovely white paper had pretty much glued itself to my backside. I grabbed the magazine and once again began to fan furiously, trying to unstick myself from the paper and the vinyl. It wasn't working.
Then the doctor walked in.
I won't say panic set in because by that time I pretty much knew my fate was sealed. I just decided to ride the wave. Dr. Z. played and chit chatted with Charlie for several minutes and then she noticed me fanning myself. She asked whether I thought it was hot in the office or if it was just me. I let her know that this was one of the reasons I was in to see her ~ my profuse sweating.
Momentarily I thought just maybe I was gonna get out of an exam. But nope. She called for her nurse to come in and pulled out the lovely stirrups. Then she asked me to scoot down the table.
I just sat there. How was I to tell this woman I was physically bonded to her examination table with my own perspiration? She looked at me and I began to stammer.
"Uh. Well. I'm sort of stuck to the table ...hehe...or rather the paper is stuck to me....hehe....I told you I was sweating a lot!"
:: Mortified::
I then leaned over to show her the saturated white paper adhered to my backside. She seemed nonplussed by the whole situation and sort of exclaimed,
"Oh my, you are sweating a lot." ::someone just shoot me now::
Then she tells asks the nurse if they have any chux pads. A CHUX PAD, y'all!! For sweat!
Once they find the chux pad, Dr. Z. asks me if I can lean over so they can just slip it under me. Um, no. Because once I leaned over the stupid white paper tore from the table and came with me! I had to stand up (half naked!) and then PEEL white paper from off of my butt and thighs!!! It wasn't coming off easy, either! Oh, no! It was all rolling up and coming off in bits and pieces! At that moment, I seriously couldn't believe that this was my life.
I was apologizing profusely and the doctor, being the amazing woman that she is, just kept helping me peel the paper from my backside and telling me that I couldn't help it. Once most of the large pieces were stripped away, I quickly sat back down where the doctor proceeded to do the examination.
Quite honestly, I don't remember much after that because my Mortified-'O-Meter had just gone off of the scales and I was absolutely dying of embarrassment. She basically ordered some blood work, another test and in a round about way said my ovaries had HAD it. Or so she thought. She said a few other things I don't remember and then said she'd see me in a few weeks and left the room.
I sat there, every ounce of dignity gone, looking at the shredded paper on the floor, wondering what I had ever done to deserve such a horrifying experience. I stepped down from the exam table so I could get dressed and guess what? I STILL had to peel more paper from the backs of my legs and rear! It was at that moment I had to laugh. And once I started, I couldn't stop.
As a matter of fact, I chuckled all the way home. I went out with some girlfriends that night and when I told them the story we laughed so hard we cried. It was especially funny when I was demonstrating in my storytelling of how I was leaning to the side on the exam table and then realized I was fanning my backside with a menu! I'm fairly certain the other patrons in the Olive Garden were pretty much displeased by this little demonstration.
So what have I learned from this experience? Well.
- I've learned that exam table paper is most definitely not waterproof.
- I've learned that when exam table paper is wet, it adheres to skin quite well.
- I've learned to always ask for TWO sheets ~ one for cover and one to sit on.
- I've learned I could probably make a fortune if I could come up with waterproof exam table paper.
-I've learned that if you lean to one side and fan your backside with a menu at a popular restaurant, you will get funny looks.
-I've learned not to take myself too seriously.
I mean really. If you had been the nurse's assistant in that room that day, would you not have gone home and totally laughed your tale off telling your family about the lady with the sweaty paper stuck to her backside?!?!
I so totally would. And I did.
I had to make a little visit to Ye Olde Female Doctore this past Monday. I've had a few ...um... issues I've been dealing with over the past few months and I finally decided to bite the bullet and make an appointment. So I loaded Charlie into Phil the Burb and off we went to the OB/GYN's office ~ broken ankle and all.
(And no, I'm not pregnant. Now you can rest easy. Especially my sisters and sisters-in-law.)
I was a little nervous about going to the doctor because I haven't been to see Dr. Z. since I was expecting Hope and actually left her services for those of a midwife when I was 4 months along. I didn't know if she would be offended or irritated over the fact that I had birthed two children without her assistance and I didn't even want to think of how she might, you know, get me back.
::Shudder::
Anyway, the nurse gets me (and Charlie ~ stroller and all) into the room and takes my history ... yada ... yada ... "oh by the way, I've had two more children with a midwife" .... yada ... yada ... ::eyebrow raise:: ... yadda ...yadda. Weight check (2lbs lighter than the last time! woo-hoo!) at which I had to take off the blasted boot!! Blood pressure check (118/72). And then those famous words we females all love to hear,
" Here's a sheet, go ahead an undress from the waist down."
Dang. So much for small talk.
I realized rather quickly that undressing was going to prove more difficult than usual. My boot wouldn't fit over my capri pants, so I had to completely remove it before I could even attempt to undress. By the time I removed the boot, undressed and put back on my boot (while naked I might add ~ I apologize if you just threw up in your mouth a little ), hobbled myself up onto the table and applied my
Sweating has been an issue with me lately. I don't sweat. I perspire a little, but rarely do I do a full on hard sweat. Except for lately.
People. I've been sweatin' like a hardened sinner at a Pentecostal tent revival in the middle of July. Buckets, my friends. Buckets. This was one of the reasons I was at the doctor this particular day. I'm afraid that even at 40, I'm still a little too young for, you know, the change 'o life hot flashes!
Anyway.
As I sat there waiting (which in my mind is the absolute worst!), one would think that my glands would get the message. I wasn't doing anything active, just sitting, yet the sweating was getting worse! I had brought a magazine with me and began to fan myself. I figured that would help.
Nope. It only got worse.
About 5 minutes later I realized it was going to take a little more that Southern Living to take care of this particular diaphoretic episode. The back of my thighs and rear were beginning to stick to the white paper on the exam table and I was becoming more and more uncomfortable. I had to take drastic measures.
I grabbed the sheet and began to furiously fan myself, throwing the sheet into the air and abruptly back down, shifting my weight from one side then to the other, desperately trying to get some air into my nether regions. I knew that if the doctor were to walk in while I was fanning myself with one side of my hiney perched into the air, she was going to assume that I had ... uh .... been gastronomically expressing myself or something.
Right about this time Charlotte decided to wake up. I wriggled myself down the table far enough to scoot her stroller a little closer to me. It was at this point ~ while I was attempting to wriggle ~ that I realized the lovely white paper had pretty much glued itself to my backside. I grabbed the magazine and once again began to fan furiously, trying to unstick myself from the paper and the vinyl. It wasn't working.
Then the doctor walked in.
I won't say panic set in because by that time I pretty much knew my fate was sealed. I just decided to ride the wave. Dr. Z. played and chit chatted with Charlie for several minutes and then she noticed me fanning myself. She asked whether I thought it was hot in the office or if it was just me. I let her know that this was one of the reasons I was in to see her ~ my profuse sweating.
Momentarily I thought just maybe I was gonna get out of an exam. But nope. She called for her nurse to come in and pulled out the lovely stirrups. Then she asked me to scoot down the table.
I just sat there. How was I to tell this woman I was physically bonded to her examination table with my own perspiration? She looked at me and I began to stammer.
"Uh. Well. I'm sort of stuck to the table ...hehe...or rather the paper is stuck to me....hehe....I told you I was sweating a lot!"
:: Mortified::
I then leaned over to show her the saturated white paper adhered to my backside. She seemed nonplussed by the whole situation and sort of exclaimed,
"Oh my, you are sweating a lot." ::someone just shoot me now::
Then she tells asks the nurse if they have any chux pads. A CHUX PAD, y'all!! For sweat!
Once they find the chux pad, Dr. Z. asks me if I can lean over so they can just slip it under me. Um, no. Because once I leaned over the stupid white paper tore from the table and came with me! I had to stand up (half naked!) and then PEEL white paper from off of my butt and thighs!!! It wasn't coming off easy, either! Oh, no! It was all rolling up and coming off in bits and pieces! At that moment, I seriously couldn't believe that this was my life.
I was apologizing profusely and the doctor, being the amazing woman that she is, just kept helping me peel the paper from my backside and telling me that I couldn't help it. Once most of the large pieces were stripped away, I quickly sat back down where the doctor proceeded to do the examination.
Quite honestly, I don't remember much after that because my Mortified-'O-Meter had just gone off of the scales and I was absolutely dying of embarrassment. She basically ordered some blood work, another test and in a round about way said my ovaries had HAD it. Or so she thought. She said a few other things I don't remember and then said she'd see me in a few weeks and left the room.
I sat there, every ounce of dignity gone, looking at the shredded paper on the floor, wondering what I had ever done to deserve such a horrifying experience. I stepped down from the exam table so I could get dressed and guess what? I STILL had to peel more paper from the backs of my legs and rear! It was at that moment I had to laugh. And once I started, I couldn't stop.
As a matter of fact, I chuckled all the way home. I went out with some girlfriends that night and when I told them the story we laughed so hard we cried. It was especially funny when I was demonstrating in my storytelling of how I was leaning to the side on the exam table and then realized I was fanning my backside with a menu! I'm fairly certain the other patrons in the Olive Garden were pretty much displeased by this little demonstration.
So what have I learned from this experience? Well.
- I've learned that exam table paper is most definitely not waterproof.
- I've learned that when exam table paper is wet, it adheres to skin quite well.
- I've learned to always ask for TWO sheets ~ one for cover and one to sit on.
- I've learned I could probably make a fortune if I could come up with waterproof exam table paper.
-I've learned that if you lean to one side and fan your backside with a menu at a popular restaurant, you will get funny looks.
-I've learned not to take myself too seriously.
I mean really. If you had been the nurse's assistant in that room that day, would you not have gone home and totally laughed your tale off telling your family about the lady with the sweaty paper stuck to her backside?!?!
I so totally would. And I did.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
They Were a Little Jumpy this Weekend...
...the girls, that is. On the trampoline.
Hope is fearless on the thing and scares me to death! Charlotte was introduced for the first time this weekend and just giggled and giggled. Grace is not nearly as subdued as she used to be and Liv is just a wild woman. Maddie is a total instigator and I'm certain that eventually somebody (read: Liv) will be going over the side under her watch!
Me?
I just limp around and take pictures while trying to avoid stepping in doggy poo.
I could just eat her up. She found the whole experience "electrifying"...
One of the few times she was still. Oh, the hair this child has...
See, she's coming out of her shell ....
...and this one obviously has no problems being a wild child ...
These two cracked me up with this one...
After looking at these pictures again, I just realized I could've titled the post, "Hair", not typed another word and y'all would have completely understood.
And people wonder why I'm always running late because of hair. Sheesh. I'll just direct them to this page from now on.
Hope is fearless on the thing and scares me to death! Charlotte was introduced for the first time this weekend and just giggled and giggled. Grace is not nearly as subdued as she used to be and Liv is just a wild woman. Maddie is a total instigator and I'm certain that eventually somebody (read: Liv) will be going over the side under her watch!
Me?
I just limp around and take pictures while trying to avoid stepping in doggy poo.
I could just eat her up. She found the whole experience "electrifying"...
One of the few times she was still. Oh, the hair this child has...
See, she's coming out of her shell ....
...and this one obviously has no problems being a wild child ...
These two cracked me up with this one...
After looking at these pictures again, I just realized I could've titled the post, "Hair", not typed another word and y'all would have completely understood.
And people wonder why I'm always running late because of hair. Sheesh. I'll just direct them to this page from now on.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Firsts and Lasts
So Monday was the first day of school for my sweet Grace. It was a hard, hard, hard day for me, my friends. I was not ready to watch her walk into that school. At. All.
The decision to put her into a private school was not taken lightly. Several factors were taken into consideration, but ultimately we decided it would be what was best for her. And me. As much as I knew it was the best decision ... it was still very hard to let her go. You see, Grace is my helper. She's the one I can always count on. She's also just a really, really sweet girl to be around. I knew I was going to miss her.
But Monday morning came and she was beside herself with excitement. She also felt like she was gonna throw up -- a trait she inherited from ...um ... her mother. The morning did NOT transpire in the way I had hoped and because of several circumstances we ended up running late for the first day of school. Um, yeah. She wasn't technically late, but we certainly weren't early either.
I had pre-planned all the pictures I wanted to take DAYS ahead. Pictures of me and her, pictures of her with one of her best friends, pictures with her teacher... Guess how many I ended up with before school? Four. Four pictures. I wasn't mad, just disappointed. Okay ... and a little mad, too. I really wanted a picture of us together. Why? I don't know. I just did.
Anyway, here's my girl ~ not in front of our house or pretty flowers ~ but sitting in Phil the Burb.
And the one (ONE!!!) picture I got in front of the school. Can't tell she's excited or nothin', can ya??
I had only taken 3 pictures at this point because we were running behind, but apparently my girl felt like she had been subjected to a full fledged photography session because no sooner had I finished taking this picture when she turned to me and said,
"Are we going to do this every morning? Because if we are then I might as well just stay home!"
Oh yes, she did.
I didn't get a picture with her teacher, but at least I got one outside of her classroom. She was losing a little patience with me at this point.
Iwalked limped out those doors, got into my truck and bawled my eyes out. Then I pulled myself together, went home, put my foot up and watched the clock like a hawk until 2:45 pm. I also watched a little Food Network, but that's neither here nor there.
My friend Anita picked me up and went to get our girls together. I was never so relieved to see Grace's sweet face walk out those doors in all my life! She was smiling and bebopping her way to the truck like she had done this for years. She was a teeny bit overwhelmed, but mostly had a really good day!
And to celebrate her very first day of school EVER, we went to Sonic and got a Jr. Candy Sundae!!
And your probably asking yourselves, "We get the 'Firsts' part of the post title, but what about the 'Lasts'?".
Well Monday was the last "first" day of high school that My Boy will ever have. I can't believe that I'm the mother of a senior, y'all. I'm also having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to have an 18 year old son in less than 3 weeks. Or maybe it's hard to believe that I'll have an 18 year old AND a 9 (NINE!) month old!!! Oh my word. God is good, isn't He?
Anyway, this is the last year to sit in the football stands and cheer him on (and pray he doesn't get hurt!) on Friday nights. That makes me really sad. He's played football since he was 10 years old and it will just be ... well ... weird without it.
I guess this means we'll have to retire our Warrior headdress hanging on the rear view mirror of Phil, too. ::sigh:: I just love that thing.
So there you have it, my friends. The 'Firsts' and 'Lasts' of this past Monday. It was an emotional day to say the least. I'm spent.
Good thing I bought that double pack of Nutella last week.
The decision to put her into a private school was not taken lightly. Several factors were taken into consideration, but ultimately we decided it would be what was best for her. And me. As much as I knew it was the best decision ... it was still very hard to let her go. You see, Grace is my helper. She's the one I can always count on. She's also just a really, really sweet girl to be around. I knew I was going to miss her.
But Monday morning came and she was beside herself with excitement. She also felt like she was gonna throw up -- a trait she inherited from ...um ... her mother. The morning did NOT transpire in the way I had hoped and because of several circumstances we ended up running late for the first day of school. Um, yeah. She wasn't technically late, but we certainly weren't early either.
I had pre-planned all the pictures I wanted to take DAYS ahead. Pictures of me and her, pictures of her with one of her best friends, pictures with her teacher... Guess how many I ended up with before school? Four. Four pictures. I wasn't mad, just disappointed. Okay ... and a little mad, too. I really wanted a picture of us together. Why? I don't know. I just did.
Anyway, here's my girl ~ not in front of our house or pretty flowers ~ but sitting in Phil the Burb.
And the one (ONE!!!) picture I got in front of the school. Can't tell she's excited or nothin', can ya??
I had only taken 3 pictures at this point because we were running behind, but apparently my girl felt like she had been subjected to a full fledged photography session because no sooner had I finished taking this picture when she turned to me and said,
"Are we going to do this every morning? Because if we are then I might as well just stay home!"
Oh yes, she did.
I didn't get a picture with her teacher, but at least I got one outside of her classroom. She was losing a little patience with me at this point.
I
My friend Anita picked me up and went to get our girls together. I was never so relieved to see Grace's sweet face walk out those doors in all my life! She was smiling and bebopping her way to the truck like she had done this for years. She was a teeny bit overwhelmed, but mostly had a really good day!
And to celebrate her very first day of school EVER, we went to Sonic and got a Jr. Candy Sundae!!
And your probably asking yourselves, "We get the 'Firsts' part of the post title, but what about the 'Lasts'?".
Well Monday was the last "first" day of high school that My Boy will ever have. I can't believe that I'm the mother of a senior, y'all. I'm also having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to have an 18 year old son in less than 3 weeks. Or maybe it's hard to believe that I'll have an 18 year old AND a 9 (NINE!) month old!!! Oh my word. God is good, isn't He?
Anyway, this is the last year to sit in the football stands and cheer him on (and pray he doesn't get hurt!) on Friday nights. That makes me really sad. He's played football since he was 10 years old and it will just be ... well ... weird without it.
I guess this means we'll have to retire our Warrior headdress hanging on the rear view mirror of Phil, too. ::sigh:: I just love that thing.
So there you have it, my friends. The 'Firsts' and 'Lasts' of this past Monday. It was an emotional day to say the least. I'm spent.
Good thing I bought that double pack of Nutella last week.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Random Things ~Or ~ Business As Usual
Well, I just passed week 2 (TWO!) of the Flip Flop and Drop Debacle of 2009, which can now be referred to as Post Traumatic Idiotic-Moron-for-Tripping-on-My-Flip-Flops-and-Falling-on-My-Can Syndrome. Or PTIMTMFFFMCS.
Whichever you prefer. I'm easy.
Some of you have asked for pictures of my foot. Sorry. Feet are gross. I took about 15 pictures of my foot and erased every last one of them. Not because of the bruising, but because unpedicured toes were just too ugly to look at. But here's a pic of the lovely black boot!
I've learned a few things, experienced a few firsts and have most definitely exhausted my family with all mydemands kind requests these last few weeks. I've gotten up a few times against doctor's recommendations and tried doing a few things. My sanity depended upon it and in my head I justified every ill advised act.
Unfortunately, my ankle paid for it. So, the first thing I've learned is that when I get a wild hair in my keester to get up and you know, try and take pictures of my adorable sleeping baby or cook a full blown meal, it usually knocks me back down for a few days. Ask me how I know.
But honestly now. How many of you, broken ankle or not, could resist getting up to take pictures of this?
or this?
However, my ankle did not approve one teeny tiny itty bit. ::sigh::
In the last two weeks I've also realized how to get rid of my dry, cracked heels. It's simple, really. Stop walking on them. Really. They've all but gone away. And for me, that's a miracle. The little Vietnamese lady at the nail salon will be so thrilled, y'all!
I am a barefoot girl and quite frankly, that is one of the worst things you can do for your heels. I'm fairly certain that's why I was kicked out of Fly Lady. I wouldn't obey the whole "put your shoes on and tie them" mantra. Well, that and I don't think ever in the history of Fly Lady was anyone else's entire house deemed a "hot spot". I'm just sayin'.
And speaking of personal hygiene (okay, there was just no good way to segue into that!).
I also plucked an eyebrow or two and gave them a haircut. If I don't trim them Monk begins to call me Abe ...as in Abe Vigoda. Got to the link. You'll understand. I did not, however, put on any makeup. Because I don't have to, that's why. It's been quite freeing actually.
Here is my makeup-less self lounging about the couch. As usual. Nice, huh? Blech. Picture courtesy of 9 year old Grace.
I've worn makeup only twice this week. Once when I went to Costco and once when I went to Target.
And speaking of Costco... ( ahHA! Now THAT was a good segue!)
I was getting cabin fever and some grocery shopping needed to be done, so my good friend Anita came over and went with me to Costco. Monk made her pinky swear to make me ride around in one of those little Scoot About things that beep like a Mac truck when you back up. Right at the end of the shopping trip my Scoot About died on me. Lucky for me Anita is a NASCAR fan because she whipped right in behind me with the shopping cart and drafted me all the way to the checkout line. It was classic.
And just so you know ... the Scoot Abouts and Target were much better than the Scoot Abouts at Costco. I'm fairly certain that the Target one was so fast that it broke some sort of supermarket speed limit. Poor Sis was having to chase me through the store while pushing a loaded grocery cart. I just laughed maniacally and went faster, embracing the whole NASCAR like experience from Costco and had to refrain myself from trying to "bump" Grace into the Chef Boyardee Ravioli. That is until I nearly gave myself whiplash by accidentally letting go of the little lever thingy and my little Scoot About came to a rather unpleasant and abrubt halt!
Whichever you prefer. I'm easy.
Some of you have asked for pictures of my foot. Sorry. Feet are gross. I took about 15 pictures of my foot and erased every last one of them. Not because of the bruising, but because unpedicured toes were just too ugly to look at. But here's a pic of the lovely black boot!
I've learned a few things, experienced a few firsts and have most definitely exhausted my family with all my
Unfortunately, my ankle paid for it. So, the first thing I've learned is that when I get a wild hair in my keester to get up and you know, try and take pictures of my adorable sleeping baby or cook a full blown meal, it usually knocks me back down for a few days. Ask me how I know.
But honestly now. How many of you, broken ankle or not, could resist getting up to take pictures of this?
or this?
Totally justifiable if I do say so myself.
And it's fairly safe to say that Food Network has been my best friend over the last few weeks. You all know that I absolutely adore the Next Food Network Star and this last one was a doozy! I absolutely LOVED Melissa d'Arabian and was just thrilled that she won. Well, ever since I saw her pilot on the last show I have wanted to make this and this. And I made BOTH this week! Let me tell you, my friends ... it did not disappoint.
However, my ankle did not approve one teeny tiny itty bit. ::sigh::
In the last two weeks I've also realized how to get rid of my dry, cracked heels. It's simple, really. Stop walking on them. Really. They've all but gone away. And for me, that's a miracle. The little Vietnamese lady at the nail salon will be so thrilled, y'all!
I am a barefoot girl and quite frankly, that is one of the worst things you can do for your heels. I'm fairly certain that's why I was kicked out of Fly Lady. I wouldn't obey the whole "put your shoes on and tie them" mantra. Well, that and I don't think ever in the history of Fly Lady was anyone else's entire house deemed a "hot spot". I'm just sayin'.
And speaking of personal hygiene (okay, there was just no good way to segue into that!).
I took one of the longest, most enjoyable showers ever today. I didn't realize how grungy one could feel from just sitting and doing, oh you know ... NOTHING! I washed my hair (which Marinell the Hair Genius, was so kind to color and highlight for me a week post breakage. She stayed late ~ like until 10pm late ~ Just. For. Me. I love her. I don't think I could have handled both a broken ankle AND bad roots. It's just not right, y'all.). Anyway, I washed and rinsed although I did not repeat. I shaved my legs, which has proven to be quite interesting with a broken ankle. I shaved under my arms (I only have to do this twice a month, so it's quite exciting for me when it happens.) and I used my vanilla bean body scrub.
I also plucked an eyebrow or two and gave them a haircut. If I don't trim them Monk begins to call me Abe ...as in Abe Vigoda. Got to the link. You'll understand. I did not, however, put on any makeup. Because I don't have to, that's why. It's been quite freeing actually.
Here is my makeup-less self lounging about the couch. As usual. Nice, huh? Blech. Picture courtesy of 9 year old Grace.
I've worn makeup only twice this week. Once when I went to Costco and once when I went to Target.
And speaking of Costco... ( ahHA! Now THAT was a good segue!)
I was getting cabin fever and some grocery shopping needed to be done, so my good friend Anita came over and went with me to Costco. Monk made her pinky swear to make me ride around in one of those little Scoot About things that beep like a Mac truck when you back up. Right at the end of the shopping trip my Scoot About died on me. Lucky for me Anita is a NASCAR fan because she whipped right in behind me with the shopping cart and drafted me all the way to the checkout line. It was classic.
While I was at Costco I also purchased a double pack of Nutella and my life hasn't been the same since. I think about this stuff and what I can do with it incessantly. I do believe I'm going to make a pizza creation that involves a pizza crust, Nutella, almonds and marshmallows. I'll let you know when I try it. I could use my finger and eat it straight from the jar, friends. It is that good.
And just so you know ... the Scoot Abouts and Target were much better than the Scoot Abouts at Costco. I'm fairly certain that the Target one was so fast that it broke some sort of supermarket speed limit. Poor Sis was having to chase me through the store while pushing a loaded grocery cart. I just laughed maniacally and went faster, embracing the whole NASCAR like experience from Costco and had to refrain myself from trying to "bump" Grace into the Chef Boyardee Ravioli. That is until I nearly gave myself whiplash by accidentally letting go of the little lever thingy and my little Scoot About came to a rather unpleasant and abrubt halt!
(BTW, Jennifer asked me where I got Hope's puzzle rack and the answer is Target, of course. And the best part is that it came with 4 puzzles!! For under $20!)
Well, that pretty much wraps up my exciting life around here lately. What have y'all been up to? Anybody have any new blog worthy recipes to try? What are your eyebrow plucking habits? Finding any new interesting blogs? Anybody else draft people in a Scoot About at the local Costco?
Really. These are the things that make my life happy right now.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The 2nd Birthday Party...
Poor Hope. It really stinks being the 5th child. Actually, if you ask Olivia, she might tell you it stinks being the 4th child, too. And little Charlotte just doesn't have a chance at all, I'm afraid.
Birthday celebrations just seem to get more and more difficult with each child I have. Somewhere in all the hubbub of vacations, broken water pipes, broken air conditioning, broken ankles (it was a month of brokenness apparently!), Hope's 2nd birthday party just didn't happen.
::slapping myself:: Bad momma.
So because of the current state of my ankle bone, we knew a bigger family birthday party just wasn't gonna happen. I can barely get to the bathroom, much less try and get things read for a birthday party. So we improvised.
We decided that we would have a mini, mini, mini, mini birthday party for her this past Sunday. There were no party plates or hats, no balloons, no special outfits and no guests other than me and Monk and her 4 sisters. The cake was and $8 chocolate cake from Wal-Mart and the two gifts she received from Monk and I weren't even wrapped.
This little party we had went against everything I have ever believed that a birthday party should be. I felt like we had somehow let Hope down and gypped her of her special day. (Because we all know that when you deny your 2 year old a birthday party she will most definitely need therapy as an adult, right?) I felt that having this sort of impromptu party was somehow a major fail on my part.
But you know what? I was wrong. Dead wrong.
This little mini family party turned out to be one of the single most enjoyable birthday parties I've ever had with one of my children. There was no frantic shopping, or cleaning, or decorating. It was just us and our sweet 2 year old girl.
SHE didn't care that there weren't party plates and hats. SHE didn't care that there weren't balloons. SHE didn't care that her gifts weren't wrapped or that she ate an $8 Wal-Mart cake. She just smiled and giggled and loved the fact that we sang Happy Birthday to her.
And that my friends, is not a fail. It's what celebrating is all about. As a matter of fact, after it was all over I began to ask myself why I hadn't done most of our previous birthday parties this way. It was fun, relaxing and best of all .... I wasn't in a bad mood beforehand. Or during. Or after. I just enjoyed laughing and smiling at my sweet girl.
And just so you know that Hope had a great time .... here are a few pictures to prove it!
The $8 Wal-Mart cake
This is what she looked like when she saw daddy bringing her gifts!
Her new puzzles and puzzle rack...
The child has a fettish for picking her nose ...
She had just discovered her new Mega Blocks
Hmmm... what's in here?
Building, building, building...
And then there was cake ...
... and just so I don't forget her dimples and rolls...
She's a lot like her mother where the cake is concerned ...
Birthday celebrations just seem to get more and more difficult with each child I have. Somewhere in all the hubbub of vacations, broken water pipes, broken air conditioning, broken ankles (it was a month of brokenness apparently!), Hope's 2nd birthday party just didn't happen.
::slapping myself:: Bad momma.
So because of the current state of my ankle bone, we knew a bigger family birthday party just wasn't gonna happen. I can barely get to the bathroom, much less try and get things read for a birthday party. So we improvised.
We decided that we would have a mini, mini, mini, mini birthday party for her this past Sunday. There were no party plates or hats, no balloons, no special outfits and no guests other than me and Monk and her 4 sisters. The cake was and $8 chocolate cake from Wal-Mart and the two gifts she received from Monk and I weren't even wrapped.
This little party we had went against everything I have ever believed that a birthday party should be. I felt like we had somehow let Hope down and gypped her of her special day. (Because we all know that when you deny your 2 year old a birthday party she will most definitely need therapy as an adult, right?) I felt that having this sort of impromptu party was somehow a major fail on my part.
But you know what? I was wrong. Dead wrong.
This little mini family party turned out to be one of the single most enjoyable birthday parties I've ever had with one of my children. There was no frantic shopping, or cleaning, or decorating. It was just us and our sweet 2 year old girl.
SHE didn't care that there weren't party plates and hats. SHE didn't care that there weren't balloons. SHE didn't care that her gifts weren't wrapped or that she ate an $8 Wal-Mart cake. She just smiled and giggled and loved the fact that we sang Happy Birthday to her.
And that my friends, is not a fail. It's what celebrating is all about. As a matter of fact, after it was all over I began to ask myself why I hadn't done most of our previous birthday parties this way. It was fun, relaxing and best of all .... I wasn't in a bad mood beforehand. Or during. Or after. I just enjoyed laughing and smiling at my sweet girl.
And just so you know that Hope had a great time .... here are a few pictures to prove it!
The $8 Wal-Mart cake
This is what she looked like when she saw daddy bringing her gifts!
Her new puzzles and puzzle rack...
The child has a fettish for picking her nose ...
She had just discovered her new Mega Blocks
Hmmm... what's in here?
Building, building, building...
And then there was cake ...
... and just so I don't forget her dimples and rolls...
She's a lot like her mother where the cake is concerned ...
Friday, August 14, 2009
Couch Confessions
Tomorrow will be one week since the dreaded Flip Flop and Drop Debacle of 2009 began.
I have spent and entire week either on the couch or in the recliner. At first I thought this was going to be a really cool mini vacay where I watched nothing but Food Network and had people wait on me hand and foot. Where life was good and the living was easy.
Oh dear, friends. How wrong I was.
Never, ever, ever wish that you could have a break from things. You just might get one. Literally. I have never been so sore and bored in my entire life.
Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Food Network and can scarcely get bored with Paula making things like Peanut Butter Cups in a Blanket. Seriously. They exist. Or the lovely Giada whipping up something Italian-ish and making it look incredibly easy. And I can't forget Ina. Dear, dear Ina. So full of class and making simple yet delicious looking dishes like Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes or Apple Pear Crisp. She's delightful.
It's the sitting that's getting to me. The mindless sitting. After about 3 days of it I had determined I was done. My rest was over and I was ready to get moving again.
::insert raucous laughter here::
I went to my doctor's appointment yesterday. He re-took some x-rays and I was waiting for him to come in and tell me they were mistaken and they were all wrong and it was just a bad sprain. ::insert raucous laughter again:: A bone in my ankle is definitely broke. It broke because of SEVERE strain to my ligaments and I ALSO have a slight crack in my outer metatarsal on the outside of my foot. He then told me these things:
1. He was putting me in a boot up to my knee
2. I have to wear it for a minimum of 30 days.
3. I have to stay on the crutches for 2 more weeks ( Crutches are of the devil, my friends!)
4. I have to stay off of my foot as much as possible for the next TWO WEEKS!
5. I'm looking at 6-8 weeks for recovery.
This is the part where I go crazy. And I start to soul search.
I do believe that God is Sovereign. And for that reason alone I believe He allowed this to happen to force me into a season of rest and reflection. When I say force, I mean it in the best of ways y'all. You know that still small voice that we all (as Christians) can hear? I do believe the Bible calls him the Holy Spirit. Yea, Him. Well, He's been after me a while and I've been pretending not to notice, you know. I'm noticing now. Loud and clear. I've been doing some reflecting and frankly, I don't like my reflection too much at the moment.
So I'm purposing to read my Bible and pray every day (hey, I just remembered that's a song!). Praying that the Lord would create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit in me. Praying that even though I don't like my circumstances right now that I would take the focus off of me and onto Him. Giving Him the glory in all things. Even the Flip Flop and Drop Debacle of 2009.
And the rest? I haven't had rest since 1982, y'all. I need it. My body needs it. My spirit needs it. My house doesn't need it, but that's a whole 'nother subject. It's one of those areas that's going to be difficult for because of my natural Night Owlish tendencies, but it's something that's necessary I believe. I know the dark circles under my eyes will thank me.
And the complaining? Oh, I'll still complain ... that's just me. But I'll praise, too. I'll be praising a lot more than complaining. Or at least that's the plan. Y'all can call me out if I don't. Just be nice.
I'm a delicate flower. As evidenced by my beauty and grace at falling in flip flops.
Phil 4:8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
I have spent and entire week either on the couch or in the recliner. At first I thought this was going to be a really cool mini vacay where I watched nothing but Food Network and had people wait on me hand and foot. Where life was good and the living was easy.
Oh dear, friends. How wrong I was.
Never, ever, ever wish that you could have a break from things. You just might get one. Literally. I have never been so sore and bored in my entire life.
Now don't get me wrong, I love me some Food Network and can scarcely get bored with Paula making things like Peanut Butter Cups in a Blanket. Seriously. They exist. Or the lovely Giada whipping up something Italian-ish and making it look incredibly easy. And I can't forget Ina. Dear, dear Ina. So full of class and making simple yet delicious looking dishes like Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes or Apple Pear Crisp. She's delightful.
It's the sitting that's getting to me. The mindless sitting. After about 3 days of it I had determined I was done. My rest was over and I was ready to get moving again.
::insert raucous laughter here::
I went to my doctor's appointment yesterday. He re-took some x-rays and I was waiting for him to come in and tell me they were mistaken and they were all wrong and it was just a bad sprain. ::insert raucous laughter again:: A bone in my ankle is definitely broke. It broke because of SEVERE strain to my ligaments and I ALSO have a slight crack in my outer metatarsal on the outside of my foot. He then told me these things:
1. He was putting me in a boot up to my knee
2. I have to wear it for a minimum of 30 days.
3. I have to stay on the crutches for 2 more weeks ( Crutches are of the devil, my friends!)
4. I have to stay off of my foot as much as possible for the next TWO WEEKS!
5. I'm looking at 6-8 weeks for recovery.
This is the part where I go crazy. And I start to soul search.
I do believe that God is Sovereign. And for that reason alone I believe He allowed this to happen to force me into a season of rest and reflection. When I say force, I mean it in the best of ways y'all. You know that still small voice that we all (as Christians) can hear? I do believe the Bible calls him the Holy Spirit. Yea, Him. Well, He's been after me a while and I've been pretending not to notice, you know. I'm noticing now. Loud and clear. I've been doing some reflecting and frankly, I don't like my reflection too much at the moment.
So I'm purposing to read my Bible and pray every day (hey, I just remembered that's a song!). Praying that the Lord would create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit in me. Praying that even though I don't like my circumstances right now that I would take the focus off of me and onto Him. Giving Him the glory in all things. Even the Flip Flop and Drop Debacle of 2009.
And the rest? I haven't had rest since 1982, y'all. I need it. My body needs it. My spirit needs it. My house doesn't need it, but that's a whole 'nother subject. It's one of those areas that's going to be difficult for because of my natural Night Owlish tendencies, but it's something that's necessary I believe. I know the dark circles under my eyes will thank me.
And the complaining? Oh, I'll still complain ... that's just me. But I'll praise, too. I'll be praising a lot more than complaining. Or at least that's the plan. Y'all can call me out if I don't. Just be nice.
I'm a delicate flower. As evidenced by my beauty and grace at falling in flip flops.
Phil 4:8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
Monday, August 10, 2009
The Story of How I Broke My Ankle
Yes, you read that right. I broke my ankle this past Saturday. Let me tell y'all, I am a picture of grace and poise.
It all started like any other Saturday. Ijumped crawled out of bed, begging my eyelids to work with me and dragged sorry self to the kitchen. I threw down a bowl of cereal and proceeded to start getting ready for the day.
I was scheduled to take pictures of two little boys that morning who were one month and two years old. I'm usually on the floor or ground while shooting so I need comfy clothes. I pick some jean capris and layer a couple of shirts. My footwear of choice are some cute brown flip-flops that I had purchased on Thursday.
(Note: I rarely ever wear flip-flops, y'all. Ever since my experience with some unpleasant Plantar Fasciitis, I just don't wear them. Veeery unlike me to wear these to shoot pictures in.)
(Just in case you didn't catch it in the last parenthetical paragraph above .... there was some foreshadowing going on up there. Read it again if you must.)
I was already running behind and I knew it. I always run behind. I do believe it's a spiritual gift of mine. If not a gift, then a curse. All I know is that I'm proficient at it.
Anyway.
Because Charlotte is now crawling (NOW CRAWLING, Y'ALL!! OH, WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?!) I couldn't bring her with me. In hindsight, this was probably a very good thing. I had to nurse her right before I left so she wouldn't need to eat while I was away. Charlotte, who is a Power Nurser Extraordinaire, decided my breast milk was like a fine wine that morning and apparently needed to savor the moment, rolling the flavors around on her tongue a little. Or something like that.
By the time I got out the door I was running a good 15 minutes behind schedule. I was going to be late arriving and I was not happy about it. Even though I wasn't happy about it, I REALLY needed some caffeine and decided that a quick roll through a drive through for a Coke was not only permissible in this situation, but totally acceptable and necessary. I needed to be on my game and quick jolt of sugar and caffeine was going to do that for me. You go, girl.
I get to their house, 15 minutes late, grab my camera bag and one of my baskets and walk to the door. We get the usual greetings out of the way and then I proceed to make my way back out to Phil the Suburban to retrieve the other "props" I use in pictures. But before I walk out the door, the mom says to me, "do you need any help?".
Now y'all. These words will haunt me until my dying day. If I had just said yes (YES!), things could have turned out SO differently.
I walk out to Phil, open the back doors, grab my last basket that's filled with different fabrics, my lamb's skin, etc.., close the door and begin to step up onto the curb when Lo and Behold...
I got tangled up in them dang flip-flops!!
The next thing that happened plays out like some sort of slow motion scene from a movie. I knew what was coming. I knew it. I just couldn't do a single, cotton pickin' thing about it!! My ankle twisted, I felt excruciating pain and I started going down. My hands were full and I knew my fanny was gonna hit the pavement.
In my head I'm yelling (in that deep slow motion voice), "NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!". My rear hit the pavement (I'm fairly certain I may have bounced a little) and the basket, along with its contents went flying everywhere.
I laid there amidst the carnage of leaves, leftover lawnmower grass and various quality fabrics and thought to myself 3 things:
1. $#%@#, my ankle HURTS!! ( Just tryin' to keep it real.. I love Jesus, but sometimes I swear a little.)
2. Please Lord, don't let anybody have just seen that!
and
3. Wow! This one's goin' on the blog.
I sat up and began brushing the leaves and grass of off me and my fabrics. The searing pain in my ankle was unbelievable! But I thought to myself, "Girl, you gotta go take some pictures". I stood up, gathered up my basket and proceeded towalk limp into that house. I was not about to go in there and tell her, "I fell off your curb (because I'm a dork) and may have broken my ankle so I can't take your boy's pictures." Nope. Wasn't gonna do it.
Pride cometh before the fall, y'all. Except mine came after.
And with all the dignity I could muster, I took pictures of those boys for over an hour. Mind you, I didn't get up off of the floor one, single time. At one point though, I swallowed my pride and told her what happened. Mostly because I kept scooting all over the floor like some crazed dog with "itchy rear issues" and I didn't want her to think that I was lazy. Or weird. Or itchy. She brought me a bag of ice for my ankle and I was very thankful for the brief time it stayed there.
Then her two year old started eating it. And that was the end of the ice.
At the end of our time I was ever so thankful that her husband came and offered to carry some things out for me because when I stood on my foot I thought I would surely die. Very slowly I managed to limp out of that house and down the driveway. I felt certain that I didn't do a very good job on the pictures because of the pain I was in and I was just hoppin' mad that the whole unfortunate incident had even happened.
When I finally got in the truck and pulled away, I realized that I couldn't even hit the brake with my right foot. I called Monk, told him to get Charlie ready, I'd be there in 20 minutes so we could go to my doctor's after hours clinic. My foot, ankle, leg and pride were throbbing.
By the time we arrived at the doctor's office I couldn't walk at all. Monk had to go in and get me a wheelchair. Our time in there was rather uneventful except for me wanting to slap the x-ray technician senseless. The unnatural positions she wanted me to put my foot and ankle in were just plain uncalled for! Honestly, I was a little surprised when the doctor told me he thought it was fractured. I expected a bad sprain, but not a break.
He sent me home in an air cast, which frankly is nothing more than two pieces of plastic with velcro around them, and told me to stay off of it for several days and I would be contacted by my normal doctor on Monday. A husband and five children at home and I'm told to stay off of my foot for several days. Nice.
Well. I was contacted today and it is definitely broken. I have an appointment on Thursday (THURSDAY!!!) to see how it looks and if they're going to give me a boot or a cast. They told me to stay off of it until then. Do these people not realize I have a family?? And I honestly believe my butt will be petrified by then! In the meantime, I'm being waited on hand and foot. Sort of. I'm mostly sitting and complaining that my hiney hurts. And my ankle.
Out of utter depression, I ate an entire IKEA chocolate bar by myself yesterday. I figure by Thursday I'll either be the size of Shamu or in a diabetic coma. Forget the pain meds, I self-medicate with chocolate. And Fritos. And Salt 'n Vinegar Almonds (my new favorite). You know....all those low fat food items.
And since a post is rarely ever complete without a picture .... here is a peek at the pics I took on Saturday. With a broken ankle. In case you forgot.
It all started like any other Saturday. I
I was scheduled to take pictures of two little boys that morning who were one month and two years old. I'm usually on the floor or ground while shooting so I need comfy clothes. I pick some jean capris and layer a couple of shirts. My footwear of choice are some cute brown flip-flops that I had purchased on Thursday.
(Note: I rarely ever wear flip-flops, y'all. Ever since my experience with some unpleasant Plantar Fasciitis, I just don't wear them. Veeery unlike me to wear these to shoot pictures in.)
(Just in case you didn't catch it in the last parenthetical paragraph above .... there was some foreshadowing going on up there. Read it again if you must.)
I was already running behind and I knew it. I always run behind. I do believe it's a spiritual gift of mine. If not a gift, then a curse. All I know is that I'm proficient at it.
Anyway.
Because Charlotte is now crawling (NOW CRAWLING, Y'ALL!! OH, WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?!) I couldn't bring her with me. In hindsight, this was probably a very good thing. I had to nurse her right before I left so she wouldn't need to eat while I was away. Charlotte, who is a Power Nurser Extraordinaire, decided my breast milk was like a fine wine that morning and apparently needed to savor the moment, rolling the flavors around on her tongue a little. Or something like that.
By the time I got out the door I was running a good 15 minutes behind schedule. I was going to be late arriving and I was not happy about it. Even though I wasn't happy about it, I REALLY needed some caffeine and decided that a quick roll through a drive through for a Coke was not only permissible in this situation, but totally acceptable and necessary. I needed to be on my game and quick jolt of sugar and caffeine was going to do that for me. You go, girl.
I get to their house, 15 minutes late, grab my camera bag and one of my baskets and walk to the door. We get the usual greetings out of the way and then I proceed to make my way back out to Phil the Suburban to retrieve the other "props" I use in pictures. But before I walk out the door, the mom says to me, "do you need any help?".
Now y'all. These words will haunt me until my dying day. If I had just said yes (YES!), things could have turned out SO differently.
I walk out to Phil, open the back doors, grab my last basket that's filled with different fabrics, my lamb's skin, etc.., close the door and begin to step up onto the curb when Lo and Behold...
I got tangled up in them dang flip-flops!!
The next thing that happened plays out like some sort of slow motion scene from a movie. I knew what was coming. I knew it. I just couldn't do a single, cotton pickin' thing about it!! My ankle twisted, I felt excruciating pain and I started going down. My hands were full and I knew my fanny was gonna hit the pavement.
In my head I'm yelling (in that deep slow motion voice), "NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!". My rear hit the pavement (I'm fairly certain I may have bounced a little) and the basket, along with its contents went flying everywhere.
I laid there amidst the carnage of leaves, leftover lawnmower grass and various quality fabrics and thought to myself 3 things:
1. $#%@#, my ankle HURTS!! ( Just tryin' to keep it real.. I love Jesus, but sometimes I swear a little.)
2. Please Lord, don't let anybody have just seen that!
and
3. Wow! This one's goin' on the blog.
I sat up and began brushing the leaves and grass of off me and my fabrics. The searing pain in my ankle was unbelievable! But I thought to myself, "Girl, you gotta go take some pictures". I stood up, gathered up my basket and proceeded to
Pride cometh before the fall, y'all. Except mine came after.
And with all the dignity I could muster, I took pictures of those boys for over an hour. Mind you, I didn't get up off of the floor one, single time. At one point though, I swallowed my pride and told her what happened. Mostly because I kept scooting all over the floor like some crazed dog with "itchy rear issues" and I didn't want her to think that I was lazy. Or weird. Or itchy. She brought me a bag of ice for my ankle and I was very thankful for the brief time it stayed there.
Then her two year old started eating it. And that was the end of the ice.
At the end of our time I was ever so thankful that her husband came and offered to carry some things out for me because when I stood on my foot I thought I would surely die. Very slowly I managed to limp out of that house and down the driveway. I felt certain that I didn't do a very good job on the pictures because of the pain I was in and I was just hoppin' mad that the whole unfortunate incident had even happened.
When I finally got in the truck and pulled away, I realized that I couldn't even hit the brake with my right foot. I called Monk, told him to get Charlie ready, I'd be there in 20 minutes so we could go to my doctor's after hours clinic. My foot, ankle, leg and pride were throbbing.
By the time we arrived at the doctor's office I couldn't walk at all. Monk had to go in and get me a wheelchair. Our time in there was rather uneventful except for me wanting to slap the x-ray technician senseless. The unnatural positions she wanted me to put my foot and ankle in were just plain uncalled for! Honestly, I was a little surprised when the doctor told me he thought it was fractured. I expected a bad sprain, but not a break.
He sent me home in an air cast, which frankly is nothing more than two pieces of plastic with velcro around them, and told me to stay off of it for several days and I would be contacted by my normal doctor on Monday. A husband and five children at home and I'm told to stay off of my foot for several days. Nice.
Well. I was contacted today and it is definitely broken. I have an appointment on Thursday (THURSDAY!!!) to see how it looks and if they're going to give me a boot or a cast. They told me to stay off of it until then. Do these people not realize I have a family?? And I honestly believe my butt will be petrified by then! In the meantime, I'm being waited on hand and foot. Sort of. I'm mostly sitting and complaining that my hiney hurts. And my ankle.
Out of utter depression, I ate an entire IKEA chocolate bar by myself yesterday. I figure by Thursday I'll either be the size of Shamu or in a diabetic coma. Forget the pain meds, I self-medicate with chocolate. And Fritos. And Salt 'n Vinegar Almonds (my new favorite). You know....all those low fat food items.
And since a post is rarely ever complete without a picture .... here is a peek at the pics I took on Saturday. With a broken ankle. In case you forgot.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Harley. The Dog with a Purpose
Most of you may remember that fateful day last summer, almost exactly a year ago, when I announced to all of blogdom that we acquired a Harley.
Little did you all know that it was a 100 pound, brown, slobbery beast of a Chocolate Lab!
For the last year Harley has been the source of many emotions in our family. Many of them un-Christian like on my behalf. He chewed my new-to-me love seat, broke our back window, pulled out trash, slept on furniture, contributed about a 1000 pounds of dog poop to our back yard, shed about 2000 pounds of hair through my house, got me in trouble with neighbors for his barking, took food from the table and most recently managed to pull down the sheers on my windows in my family room. To say the dog caused me great deals of stress is a severe understatement.
On the other hand, he has the most amazing, pitiful brown eyes I have ever seen on a dog, he turned into a wonderful playmate for the girls (aside from knocking Hope and Charlotte over on a regular basis), he was voted top of his class in his obedience training and turned out to be a decent guard dog.
But he was just too much.
Our 1950 square foot house just wasn't big enough for 2 adults, 5 kids, 2 dogs and 2 cats. Especially when one of the dog weighed more than 3 of my children put together!
Needless to say, I have been on a quest for some time to find Harley a more suitable home. Some people told me to take him to the shelter ~ that somebody would surely take him. Even though I didn't feel right about it, I let Monk take him to the shelter one time and they told him they didn't have room and they would take Harley straight to the back and euthanize him!!! Monk brought him back home.
I finally decided to put Harley on Craig's List. Surely somebody would want this dog. I put my first ad out a few weeks ago and I received 3 emails, ALL of which were families desperate to have him as their pet! The first family sounded WONDERFUL! They had 4 children, all 5 and older, 10 acres of land for him to run on, a pond for him to swim in... and then they fell through. The second and third people fell through as well.
So this past week I put him back on Craig's List. Two days of nothin'. At one point I questioned as to whether God was testing me in my patience through Harley. I figured that somehow this dog was going to be used to begin a good work in me. Or kill me. Then it came.
The email.
Not just any email though. It was someone interested in Harley, but not just as a pet. This person had a 12 year old son who had gone through a kidney transplant at 4 years old and had Asperger's Syndrome. They were looking for a dog that could be trained to be a service dog for him. The mother had been told that Labs were highly trainable and very good service dogs and then proceeded to ask me what Harley's rehoming fee was. They were trying to save money to be able to afford the training once they had found a dog.
I was floored. I read the email to Monk and after a very brief discussion we decided that there was no way we could sell Harley to these people. We were going to give him to them. I contacted the mom via email and prayed she hadn't already found another dog. The next morning (this past Saturday) she called me.
She was overwhelmed that we would give Harley to them and said she had been praying for a dog for her son Tyler for 2 months. She had planned on spending that Saturday going to shelters trying to find a dog that would work for them. But on Friday evening she happened to get on Craig's List. Coincidence? I think not. She told me that before they could consider him they needed to let the trainer work with him to see if he was a good fit. I agreed to meet them at a local park so their trainer could look Harley over, work with him and see if he could indeed be trained.
So, I loaded Harley into Phil the Suburban and off we went. We had a short meet and greet before I handed Harley over and assumed my position in the truck (I couldn't let him see me otherwise I would be a distraction). I watched the trainer tug at his hears, his tail, generally mess with him to see if he was aggressive. He wasn't, of course.
He's a lover not a fighter, you know.
Anyway, they needed some treats for him to see if they could get him to obey some simple commands so I volunteered to run and grab some. When I returned, the trainer's husband had been playing fetch with Harley while he was on a 25 foot leash. Harley was LOVING it! I handed over the treats and reassumed my position in Phil (the air conditioning was much better than the sweltering heat). I watched as Harley did all sorts of stuff for treats. That dog will do anything for food. He and Monk are a lot alike in that regard.
Then I watched as he laid down in the shade; happy, exhausted and full of liver treats. The next thing that happened took me totally by surprise though. I watched this little 12 year old boy lay down on the cement next to my dog. I watched him lay there and pet Harley and talk to him and then I watched him lay his head on Harley. And Harley let him.
And then I did what I'm doing now. I cried.
After a few more minutes they motioned for me to get out of the truck to come and talk to them. When I walked over, the exact words that were used were, "you have an amazing dog". All the stupid things Harley had done over the past year just melted away and all of a sudden I was proud of that great, big, slobbery beast. Then that sweet little boy came over to me, hugged me tight around my waist and said,
"Thank you for giving me your dog."
(If you didn't cry before I do believe you are crying right about now, right?)
I wanted to bust into the Ugly Cry right then and there, y'all. That little boy needed our dog. Our Harley was really smart and he held a greater purpose to his life other than sneaking pizza crusts off of our table and sleeping on the furniture at night. We tolerated his shenanigans for a whole year so he could move onto greater things. A service dog.
We turned Harley over to this lovely family later that evening. Grace and Liv seemed at peace with all of it and even went with us to drop Harley off. Maddie, on the other hand, wouldn't speak to me.
Tyler was SO excited! Harley galloped all over their yard, was terrorized by their other dog ~ a little "snack-size" dog as we like to call them ~ and then he christened their yard with his first of many poops. Good times, y'all. We left knowing that somehow, our dog was going to help this little boy's life. That was a good feeling.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I sat on our love seat and cried. Not just cried ~ I sobbed great big heaving sobs. Over a dog that had tormented me for almost a year. I questioned as to whether we had done the right thing, had I given away my children's pet for my own selfish reasons, was Harley truly going to be happy as a service dog ~ oh y'all... I was a Perfect. Mess.
Through the wisdom and encouragement of some very sweet friends, I realized that yes, we had done the right thing. Dogs like Harley needed a purpose. They are working dogs. Natural protectors. Harley, who has ALWAYS needed a lot of attention, will eventually be going to school with Tyler, into restaurants with him (now THAT I have to see!), to the mall with him ~ he will, in fact, be the center of attention. Saturday I learned that Harley was not just smart, but really smart. And with the proper training, which Monk and I could never provide, he's going to be an amazing dog some day.
But essentially, it goes beyond that. It goes back to that little boy. That little boy Tyler, will have a companion in Harley. Something a lot of children with Asperger's don't often have. He will have a friend 24/7 that will look out for him and never treat him poorly. He will have someone to sleep with him and to play with him and to always keep him company. Amazing.
Who knew.
Harley. The Dog with a Purpose.
We're gonna miss you, buddy. But we know you're moving on to do greater things.
Little did you all know that it was a 100 pound, brown, slobbery beast of a Chocolate Lab!
For the last year Harley has been the source of many emotions in our family. Many of them un-Christian like on my behalf. He chewed my new-to-me love seat, broke our back window, pulled out trash, slept on furniture, contributed about a 1000 pounds of dog poop to our back yard, shed about 2000 pounds of hair through my house, got me in trouble with neighbors for his barking, took food from the table and most recently managed to pull down the sheers on my windows in my family room. To say the dog caused me great deals of stress is a severe understatement.
On the other hand, he has the most amazing, pitiful brown eyes I have ever seen on a dog, he turned into a wonderful playmate for the girls (aside from knocking Hope and Charlotte over on a regular basis), he was voted top of his class in his obedience training and turned out to be a decent guard dog.
But he was just too much.
Our 1950 square foot house just wasn't big enough for 2 adults, 5 kids, 2 dogs and 2 cats. Especially when one of the dog weighed more than 3 of my children put together!
Needless to say, I have been on a quest for some time to find Harley a more suitable home. Some people told me to take him to the shelter ~ that somebody would surely take him. Even though I didn't feel right about it, I let Monk take him to the shelter one time and they told him they didn't have room and they would take Harley straight to the back and euthanize him!!! Monk brought him back home.
I finally decided to put Harley on Craig's List. Surely somebody would want this dog. I put my first ad out a few weeks ago and I received 3 emails, ALL of which were families desperate to have him as their pet! The first family sounded WONDERFUL! They had 4 children, all 5 and older, 10 acres of land for him to run on, a pond for him to swim in... and then they fell through. The second and third people fell through as well.
So this past week I put him back on Craig's List. Two days of nothin'. At one point I questioned as to whether God was testing me in my patience through Harley. I figured that somehow this dog was going to be used to begin a good work in me. Or kill me. Then it came.
The email.
Not just any email though. It was someone interested in Harley, but not just as a pet. This person had a 12 year old son who had gone through a kidney transplant at 4 years old and had Asperger's Syndrome. They were looking for a dog that could be trained to be a service dog for him. The mother had been told that Labs were highly trainable and very good service dogs and then proceeded to ask me what Harley's rehoming fee was. They were trying to save money to be able to afford the training once they had found a dog.
I was floored. I read the email to Monk and after a very brief discussion we decided that there was no way we could sell Harley to these people. We were going to give him to them. I contacted the mom via email and prayed she hadn't already found another dog. The next morning (this past Saturday) she called me.
She was overwhelmed that we would give Harley to them and said she had been praying for a dog for her son Tyler for 2 months. She had planned on spending that Saturday going to shelters trying to find a dog that would work for them. But on Friday evening she happened to get on Craig's List. Coincidence? I think not. She told me that before they could consider him they needed to let the trainer work with him to see if he was a good fit. I agreed to meet them at a local park so their trainer could look Harley over, work with him and see if he could indeed be trained.
So, I loaded Harley into Phil the Suburban and off we went. We had a short meet and greet before I handed Harley over and assumed my position in the truck (I couldn't let him see me otherwise I would be a distraction). I watched the trainer tug at his hears, his tail, generally mess with him to see if he was aggressive. He wasn't, of course.
He's a lover not a fighter, you know.
Anyway, they needed some treats for him to see if they could get him to obey some simple commands so I volunteered to run and grab some. When I returned, the trainer's husband had been playing fetch with Harley while he was on a 25 foot leash. Harley was LOVING it! I handed over the treats and reassumed my position in Phil (the air conditioning was much better than the sweltering heat). I watched as Harley did all sorts of stuff for treats. That dog will do anything for food. He and Monk are a lot alike in that regard.
Then I watched as he laid down in the shade; happy, exhausted and full of liver treats. The next thing that happened took me totally by surprise though. I watched this little 12 year old boy lay down on the cement next to my dog. I watched him lay there and pet Harley and talk to him and then I watched him lay his head on Harley. And Harley let him.
And then I did what I'm doing now. I cried.
After a few more minutes they motioned for me to get out of the truck to come and talk to them. When I walked over, the exact words that were used were, "you have an amazing dog". All the stupid things Harley had done over the past year just melted away and all of a sudden I was proud of that great, big, slobbery beast. Then that sweet little boy came over to me, hugged me tight around my waist and said,
"Thank you for giving me your dog."
(If you didn't cry before I do believe you are crying right about now, right?)
I wanted to bust into the Ugly Cry right then and there, y'all. That little boy needed our dog. Our Harley was really smart and he held a greater purpose to his life other than sneaking pizza crusts off of our table and sleeping on the furniture at night. We tolerated his shenanigans for a whole year so he could move onto greater things. A service dog.
We turned Harley over to this lovely family later that evening. Grace and Liv seemed at peace with all of it and even went with us to drop Harley off. Maddie, on the other hand, wouldn't speak to me.
Tyler was SO excited! Harley galloped all over their yard, was terrorized by their other dog ~ a little "snack-size" dog as we like to call them ~ and then he christened their yard with his first of many poops. Good times, y'all. We left knowing that somehow, our dog was going to help this little boy's life. That was a good feeling.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I sat on our love seat and cried. Not just cried ~ I sobbed great big heaving sobs. Over a dog that had tormented me for almost a year. I questioned as to whether we had done the right thing, had I given away my children's pet for my own selfish reasons, was Harley truly going to be happy as a service dog ~ oh y'all... I was a Perfect. Mess.
Through the wisdom and encouragement of some very sweet friends, I realized that yes, we had done the right thing. Dogs like Harley needed a purpose. They are working dogs. Natural protectors. Harley, who has ALWAYS needed a lot of attention, will eventually be going to school with Tyler, into restaurants with him (now THAT I have to see!), to the mall with him ~ he will, in fact, be the center of attention. Saturday I learned that Harley was not just smart, but really smart. And with the proper training, which Monk and I could never provide, he's going to be an amazing dog some day.
But essentially, it goes beyond that. It goes back to that little boy. That little boy Tyler, will have a companion in Harley. Something a lot of children with Asperger's don't often have. He will have a friend 24/7 that will look out for him and never treat him poorly. He will have someone to sleep with him and to play with him and to always keep him company. Amazing.
Who knew.
Harley. The Dog with a Purpose.
We're gonna miss you, buddy. But we know you're moving on to do greater things.
Monday, August 03, 2009
The Youngest Old Couple I Ever Did See..
So last Friday I took pictures of my two great newphews, Elijah and Austin. You can see some of their pictures here.
Austin and Charlotte are only about 4 weeks apart. He was born October 31st and she was born December 3rd. We always enjoy watching how they are going to react to each other when they get together, seeing that they are almost the same age.
Friday was pretty funny. We sat them next to each other and once Austin stopped giving these "who ARE you?" looks to Charlotte and she quit trying to bite his face, I managed to get the funniest picture of them.
They look like a little old couple. Seriously.
Notice his hand gently on the back of her neck and her arm laying gingerly on his lap?? And their expressions!!
I think from now on I'll call them George and Edna. The youngest old couple I ever did see...
Austin and Charlotte are only about 4 weeks apart. He was born October 31st and she was born December 3rd. We always enjoy watching how they are going to react to each other when they get together, seeing that they are almost the same age.
Friday was pretty funny. We sat them next to each other and once Austin stopped giving these "who ARE you?" looks to Charlotte and she quit trying to bite his face, I managed to get the funniest picture of them.
They look like a little old couple. Seriously.
Notice his hand gently on the back of her neck and her arm laying gingerly on his lap?? And their expressions!!
I think from now on I'll call them George and Edna. The youngest old couple I ever did see...
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tender Moments ~ Monk Style
Yesterday afternoon was a bad day for me. I'll admit...I was a grouch. I was irritated over lots of things and I just didn't want to deal with anyone.
So. I went into my bedroom with Charlotte and locked the door. Oh yes, I did. I needed to think quietly and I also didn't want to spew my venom on anyone else. In other words, I gave myself a timeout.
I knew Hope was having a hard time as it grew closer to bed time. Madgirl bathed her for me and put jammies on her. I heard her get upset over something random and Maddie finally brought her to my door. I relenquished my solitude and let her bring Hope into me.
Maddie left and I held Hope, laying across my lap. I looked down at her and smiled. She smiled back through that silly pacifier. I leaned forward, close to her face and I looked deep into those hazel green, tear stained eyes and my heart just burst with love for this child! And so I started this conversation:
Me: Hope?
Her: Hmm?
Me: Mommy loves you so much.
Her: (something muffled from underneath her pacifier)
I thought I heard what she said, but wasn't sure. So I said,
Me: What?
Her: Booger.
Me: What?
Her: Booger.
Me: Mommy has a booger?
Her: Mmm hmmm.
Me: Thank you, Hope.
Her: Welcome.
And there you have it friends. Another conclusion to .... Tender Moments ~ Monk Style.
So. I went into my bedroom with Charlotte and locked the door. Oh yes, I did. I needed to think quietly and I also didn't want to spew my venom on anyone else. In other words, I gave myself a timeout.
I knew Hope was having a hard time as it grew closer to bed time. Madgirl bathed her for me and put jammies on her. I heard her get upset over something random and Maddie finally brought her to my door. I relenquished my solitude and let her bring Hope into me.
Maddie left and I held Hope, laying across my lap. I looked down at her and smiled. She smiled back through that silly pacifier. I leaned forward, close to her face and I looked deep into those hazel green, tear stained eyes and my heart just burst with love for this child! And so I started this conversation:
Me: Hope?
Her: Hmm?
Me: Mommy loves you so much.
Her: (something muffled from underneath her pacifier)
I thought I heard what she said, but wasn't sure. So I said,
Me: What?
Her: Booger.
Me: What?
Her: Booger.
Me: Mommy has a booger?
Her: Mmm hmmm.
Me: Thank you, Hope.
Her: Welcome.
And there you have it friends. Another conclusion to .... Tender Moments ~ Monk Style.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Because Sharing is Nice
You all should know by now that I luuuurrrrvve to bake! I heart baking. Well, except when it's stinkin' 253 degrees here ~ which it has been for the last month! I haven't had the time or the air conditioning to handle one of my favorite pastimes lately. And honestly, I do believe I audibly heard my bee-hind thank me the other day!
(Okay, maybe not audibly. That may not have been the best choice of words when speaking about my bee-hind.)
Anyway, I'm always looking for new baking resources, ya know....cause I like to mix things up a little. Get it? Mix things up a little? Mixing = Baking?! I'm so punny ~ I really do crack myself up sometimes! ::deep sigh::
Annnyway...
I stumbled upon this REALLY awesome baking blog the other day on total accident because I was doing a search on Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies. Oh dear friends, the gold mine I stumbled upon! It's called Joy the Baker and this girl is F-U-N-N-Y! And she has some crazy mad baking skillz AND she's self taught! I wanna marry her. Okay, that's just weird and a little sick, so I'll say I want to be BFF's with her. Go check her out ~ well not like check HER out, but you know....her BLOG!!
And just because I love to share and you all are always so nice to me... here's the recipe for:
Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies
-1 egg
-1 c. sugar
-1 c. smooth peanut butter
-1 tsp baking soda (optional, but I'd recommend it)
Mix together, roll into balls (about 1 tsp size), do that fancy little crisscross design on top with a fork and bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Cool on wire racks and then enjoy delicious peanut buttery goodness. It makes approximately 2 dozen.
And for good measure (Get it? A baking pun again? I'm just full of zingers today!) I put 3 little milk chocolate chips on top while they are cooling because nothing in the history of the world beats the marriage of peanut butter AND chocolate! Deeeee-lish, my friends!
And no. There is no picture. Why? We manage to eat them faster than I can photograph them.
Maybe next time.
Go see Joy. It's worth it.
(Okay, maybe not audibly. That may not have been the best choice of words when speaking about my bee-hind.)
Anyway, I'm always looking for new baking resources, ya know....cause I like to mix things up a little. Get it? Mix things up a little? Mixing = Baking?! I'm so punny ~ I really do crack myself up sometimes! ::deep sigh::
Annnyway...
I stumbled upon this REALLY awesome baking blog the other day on total accident because I was doing a search on Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies. Oh dear friends, the gold mine I stumbled upon! It's called Joy the Baker and this girl is F-U-N-N-Y! And she has some crazy mad baking skillz AND she's self taught! I wanna marry her. Okay, that's just weird and a little sick, so I'll say I want to be BFF's with her. Go check her out ~ well not like check HER out, but you know....her BLOG!!
And just because I love to share and you all are always so nice to me... here's the recipe for:
Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies
-1 egg
-1 c. sugar
-1 c. smooth peanut butter
-1 tsp baking soda (optional, but I'd recommend it)
Mix together, roll into balls (about 1 tsp size), do that fancy little crisscross design on top with a fork and bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Cool on wire racks and then enjoy delicious peanut buttery goodness. It makes approximately 2 dozen.
And for good measure (Get it? A baking pun again? I'm just full of zingers today!) I put 3 little milk chocolate chips on top while they are cooling because nothing in the history of the world beats the marriage of peanut butter AND chocolate! Deeeee-lish, my friends!
And no. There is no picture. Why? We manage to eat them faster than I can photograph them.
Maybe next time.
Go see Joy. It's worth it.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Pretty in Pink (Eye)
So, I've been a mother for going on 18 years now. In all those 18 years we've had various disease and illness of the garden variety around here. You know, things like stomach flu, Chicken Pox, Roseola, Selective Hearing...oh wait...that last one probably doesn't technically qualify as a disease.
But it is, my friends. Oh, yes. It is.
Anyway.
This morning sweet Charlotte woke up her usual happy self. It didn't take me long, however, to realize that her eye was not it's usual happy self. Crusty, red and watery, it was. I immediately had that sinking feeling in my gut. Could it really be pink eye? None, and I do mean NONE, of my children have ever had pink eye! How on earth did my almost 8 month old get it?
(It's those nasty shopping carts that are dirtier than toilet seats, I bet!! But I use this kind of cart cover, so I don't really think it was that.)
Now Pink Eye is not to be confused with Stink Eye. Stink Eye would be the look I give my children when they are irritating me. Or Monk gets it when he tells bad jokes. Monk gets the Stink Eye a lot. The Stink Eye has been caught on camera, but the guilty photographer, whoever they are, is forced to erase the picture lest they get the dreaded Stink Eye of Death. You do NOT want me to give you the Stink Eye of Death. It's not pretty, my friends.
Anyway. One trip to the doctor confirmed my suspicions and my sweet Charlie is now a confirmed Contagious Germ Carrying Nemesis. Or at least that's what the other girl's think. We now have Pink Eye to add to the list of disease and illness my children have had over the years. But this one, not unlike the stomach flu, is one infection I do NOT want to get!
Not necessarily because of the crusty, itchy, watery eye aspect of it either. If I get it that means I have to throw out ALL of my eye make-up and start completely over!!!
Wait a minute... ::thinking:: ::conniving:: ::evil smiling:: :: light bulb shining brightly::
That would mean I would have to buy ALL! NEW! EYE! MAKE-UP! Aw, darn! I would haaate to have to buy all new eye make-up!! ::double crossing fingers behind back:: Maybe this means that I'm just gonna hafta take one for the team, ya know?!
Wow. I digressed so badly on this one....
Anyway, here's my sweet baby with her weepy little eye, that actually doesn't look that bad in these pictures. But it gives me an excuse to show my little weepy eyed cutie, so why not!
(note to self: when letting the baby play with your lens cap as a bribe to look at the camera, chances are, after they've pounded it on the cement 852 times, you're gonna need a new lens cap)
But it is, my friends. Oh, yes. It is.
Anyway.
This morning sweet Charlotte woke up her usual happy self. It didn't take me long, however, to realize that her eye was not it's usual happy self. Crusty, red and watery, it was. I immediately had that sinking feeling in my gut. Could it really be pink eye? None, and I do mean NONE, of my children have ever had pink eye! How on earth did my almost 8 month old get it?
(It's those nasty shopping carts that are dirtier than toilet seats, I bet!! But I use this kind of cart cover, so I don't really think it was that.)
Now Pink Eye is not to be confused with Stink Eye. Stink Eye would be the look I give my children when they are irritating me. Or Monk gets it when he tells bad jokes. Monk gets the Stink Eye a lot. The Stink Eye has been caught on camera, but the guilty photographer, whoever they are, is forced to erase the picture lest they get the dreaded Stink Eye of Death. You do NOT want me to give you the Stink Eye of Death. It's not pretty, my friends.
Anyway. One trip to the doctor confirmed my suspicions and my sweet Charlie is now a confirmed Contagious Germ Carrying Nemesis. Or at least that's what the other girl's think. We now have Pink Eye to add to the list of disease and illness my children have had over the years. But this one, not unlike the stomach flu, is one infection I do NOT want to get!
Not necessarily because of the crusty, itchy, watery eye aspect of it either. If I get it that means I have to throw out ALL of my eye make-up and start completely over!!!
Wait a minute... ::thinking:: ::conniving:: ::evil smiling:: :: light bulb shining brightly::
That would mean I would have to buy ALL! NEW! EYE! MAKE-UP! Aw, darn! I would haaate to have to buy all new eye make-up!! ::double crossing fingers behind back:: Maybe this means that I'm just gonna hafta take one for the team, ya know?!
Wow. I digressed so badly on this one....
Anyway, here's my sweet baby with her weepy little eye, that actually doesn't look that bad in these pictures. But it gives me an excuse to show my little weepy eyed cutie, so why not!
(note to self: when letting the baby play with your lens cap as a bribe to look at the camera, chances are, after they've pounded it on the cement 852 times, you're gonna need a new lens cap)
Friday, July 24, 2009
No Excuses
That would be for not posting anything all week! OY! And I call myself a blogger!
Honestly, not too much blog-worthy news has been happening in these here parts lately. Unless, of course, y'all would really like a whole post devoted to Charlotte's new habit of biting me while she nurses. I think it's fair to say that I might title it something like:
YEEEOOUUCH!!!! or #%&*#*$@*!!!
Oh, I kid on that last one. Mostly.
Anyway, I'll tell you a little bit of what's been going on in my little pea brain and that might explain why I've been a little Out 'o The Loop lately. In bullet fashion, of course!
Honestly, not too much blog-worthy news has been happening in these here parts lately. Unless, of course, y'all would really like a whole post devoted to Charlotte's new habit of biting me while she nurses. I think it's fair to say that I might title it something like:
YEEEOOUUCH!!!! or #%&*#*$@*!!!
Oh, I kid on that last one. Mostly.
Anyway, I'll tell you a little bit of what's been going on in my little pea brain and that might explain why I've been a little Out 'o The Loop lately. In bullet fashion, of course!
- Schooling decisions have weighed heavily on me lately and have consumed my emotional tank for the better part of 3 weeks. I'm just not sure that in this juncture in my life that I am best suited for homeschooling. In other words ~ my nerves are shot! So. The decision has been made for Olivia to homeschool (1st grade work is not that difficult) and Grace will go to a local private school. Maddie will be homeschooling, but most of it will be through a homeschool enrichment program and independent studies. I may devote an entire post to this later, but for now I simply don't have the emotional energy to do so.
- My photography business is not very busy at the moment...as in...almost nothing. And I think I'm okay with that at the moment. BUT there are lots of decisions to be made concerning that as well. I'm not the most technologically advanced person on the block and some of the computer related stuff involved just frustrates the living daylights out of me. It has been very hard to find learning resources for me ~ as in, actual physical human beings~ that would actually teach me some things. This frustrates me to no end.
- Along those same lines, I've been debating about hiring someone to design a photography blog (mostly so I can quit fighting with blogger myself!!) for me and closing up Monk'swife altogether. I would still be here, but everything would be on the photography blog. I would still tell stories and updates, etc (oh wait, that would be if I ever, you know, actually wrote on the blog!)..., but there would also be photography related stuff on there as well. Because y'all, I really hate having two blogs. It's not fun. AT. ALL.
- My roots are showing and this makes me especially grouchy. I need a color and highlights in the most awful of ways, but there's this little thing called....M-O-N-E-Y that has been rather scarce around here lately. That would be because of broken water pipes, birthdays, broken air conditioners and the impending tuition that is coming upon us. I have come to realize that my hair related issues may be on the brink of total disaster. It's a sad, sad day in Monkville.
- Harley the Beast will be finding a new home shortly. I think. I put him on Craig's List and had several people interested in him. The first family, who would have been perfect, fell through. I'm still waiting to hear from the second guy. The emotional toll this dog alone has taken on my life has been just short of mind bending. He's not a bad dog per se, just high maintenance. And OH. THE. HAIR. this dog produces!!! I absolutely cannot wait to be free of this hair producing machine!
- And lastly, I've just been in a funk. A depressing funk. When I'm in these sorts of funks I either write a LOT or I don't write at all. I bet y'all can guess which one I'm in, huh?
So, anybody have any opinions about any of this? Anybody totally ticked that I want to shut down this blog and combine it into one big one? Anybody want a post on the Booby Biting Baby?
Anyone? Anyone?
Bueller? Bueller?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Two
It's here. The big 2. Her 2nd birthday.
And I don't know quite how to feel about it.
Her birth story is here, here and here, so you can read of her amazing beginning to see how it all began. But today? While I'm rejoicing in my sweet little girl, I'm a little sad as well. How come, why for?
Well. She's not 1 anymore. I'll never, ever, ever, ever get to have a 1 year old Hope ever again. That year is gone. And while I'm happy and thankful for every day with Hope (as with all my children) it just seems to get harder, as I get older, to watch them grow up. My Boy will be 18 in two short months, so I know all about this whole time fleeting thing.
It's a bummer.
I wanted to get some pictures of her last night so I would have official documentation of exactly how she looked the day before her 2nd birthday. It didn't go as planned. She was grouchy and whiny and just wanting her daddy.
I pulled out the Birthday Tutu thinking I could coax out her inner girly girl and hoping for an attitude adjustment. She wasn't buying it. I moped. I then put the tutu on Charlotte and tried to play the jealousy card. Nope ~ she wasn't born yesterday and I should have known better than to encourage jealousy. Bad Momma.
Then all of sudden...::blink of an eye::...she decided she wanted to wear it. On her terms. As usual. Oh I fretted here and there and all about, y'all. She simply couldn't look like that for her 2 year old birthday photo that was going on the blog! I couldn't have it! No shirt, birthday tutu pulled up under her armpits, hair hanging in her eyeballs and that blasted pacifier stuffed firmly in her mouth.
Then I smiled. It was her. That's her. That's my Hopey. Day in and day out. She's not prissy, she's not super girly... shoot, she's downright crabby most days, so this mood fit her perfectly.
And here she is...MY perfectly disheveled, lovable Hope... wearing the birthday tutu on her terms...
This little girl is a smart one. And she gets the best of this Momma sometimes. God gave me Hope to teach me more patience. I'm failing miserably.
Last evenings events reminded me of her birth.
When I look back at her birth, the first word that comes to mind is intense. Her birth was very intense. My water was broke for 38 hours before I actually went into labor with her. Again, her terms. Then, when I did go into labor we found out a few hours in that she was posterior. Difficult and intense.
(When I think of a good word to describe Hope ~ intense comes to mind!)
Then God's grace abounded and she was born! Oh! The joy in that single moment! And the pain and intensity and difficulty passed away and I forgot.
(Well, not completely. Posterior babies are not something you totally forget. But I mostly forgot. :) )
That's how most days are with Hope. She can be difficult and taxing and more than likely on my very last nerve, then all of sudden, something will happen and God's grace will abound. She will smile, giggle or do one of her crazy antics ~ even just watching her sleep ~ all of these things make me forget.
I forget all of her irritations and I'm just thankful. Thankful that I have her here with me, healthy and whole. Thankful that God chose me to be her mother. Just thankful that I have her.
When I was putting this post together she wascrying screaming while walking through the house. Monk was trying to settle her and take her to bed away from me so I could finish typing. She came crying into the living room and just kept saying, "Momma". I'll admit, I was irritated with her crying and the whining she had been doing earlier and I really just wanted her to go to bed. Monk came and got her and took her into the bedroom where she really began to do some lung exercises.
Then it hit me. She was crying because she was tired...stumbling tired....BUT...she needed ME. Plain and simple. Just me. I went and got her and she snuggled up next to me, with her hiney in the air, and fell asleep. Just. Like. That.
I looked at her long and hard and then you know what I did?
I forgot.
Happy Birthday my precious Hope. July 15, 2007 will always be one of the best days of my life! I love you.
And I don't know quite how to feel about it.
Her birth story is here, here and here, so you can read of her amazing beginning to see how it all began. But today? While I'm rejoicing in my sweet little girl, I'm a little sad as well. How come, why for?
Well. She's not 1 anymore. I'll never, ever, ever, ever get to have a 1 year old Hope ever again. That year is gone. And while I'm happy and thankful for every day with Hope (as with all my children) it just seems to get harder, as I get older, to watch them grow up. My Boy will be 18 in two short months, so I know all about this whole time fleeting thing.
It's a bummer.
I wanted to get some pictures of her last night so I would have official documentation of exactly how she looked the day before her 2nd birthday. It didn't go as planned. She was grouchy and whiny and just wanting her daddy.
I pulled out the Birthday Tutu thinking I could coax out her inner girly girl and hoping for an attitude adjustment. She wasn't buying it. I moped. I then put the tutu on Charlotte and tried to play the jealousy card. Nope ~ she wasn't born yesterday and I should have known better than to encourage jealousy. Bad Momma.
Then all of sudden...::blink of an eye::...she decided she wanted to wear it. On her terms. As usual. Oh I fretted here and there and all about, y'all. She simply couldn't look like that for her 2 year old birthday photo that was going on the blog! I couldn't have it! No shirt, birthday tutu pulled up under her armpits, hair hanging in her eyeballs and that blasted pacifier stuffed firmly in her mouth.
Then I smiled. It was her. That's her. That's my Hopey. Day in and day out. She's not prissy, she's not super girly... shoot, she's downright crabby most days, so this mood fit her perfectly.
And here she is...MY perfectly disheveled, lovable Hope... wearing the birthday tutu on her terms...
This little girl is a smart one. And she gets the best of this Momma sometimes. God gave me Hope to teach me more patience. I'm failing miserably.
Last evenings events reminded me of her birth.
When I look back at her birth, the first word that comes to mind is intense. Her birth was very intense. My water was broke for 38 hours before I actually went into labor with her. Again, her terms. Then, when I did go into labor we found out a few hours in that she was posterior. Difficult and intense.
(When I think of a good word to describe Hope ~ intense comes to mind!)
Then God's grace abounded and she was born! Oh! The joy in that single moment! And the pain and intensity and difficulty passed away and I forgot.
(Well, not completely. Posterior babies are not something you totally forget. But I mostly forgot. :) )
That's how most days are with Hope. She can be difficult and taxing and more than likely on my very last nerve, then all of sudden, something will happen and God's grace will abound. She will smile, giggle or do one of her crazy antics ~ even just watching her sleep ~ all of these things make me forget.
I forget all of her irritations and I'm just thankful. Thankful that I have her here with me, healthy and whole. Thankful that God chose me to be her mother. Just thankful that I have her.
When I was putting this post together she was
Then it hit me. She was crying because she was tired...stumbling tired....BUT...she needed ME. Plain and simple. Just me. I went and got her and she snuggled up next to me, with her hiney in the air, and fell asleep. Just. Like. That.
I looked at her long and hard and then you know what I did?
I forgot.
Happy Birthday my precious Hope. July 15, 2007 will always be one of the best days of my life! I love you.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Blessed and Bouncy
I SO love Facebook.
I know there's a lot of people who think it's a waste of time and trust me, it can be a BIG time waster. BUT...
(Everything before the BUT[t] is bologna!!)
... the fact that I have reconnected with SO many old friends has just made it priceless! It has opened up a whole new world for me and I LOVE that about it. I also love that I'm friends with some of you! How cool is it that I'm friends with people I've never met in Real Life! Love. It.
Anyway, a few weeks ago I reconnected with a good friend of mine from years ago. Her son and My Boy were great friends and we lived around the corner from each other. They moved and as circumstances would have it, we lost touch. Facebook reconnected us. How cool is that?
Anyway, one of my friend's Facebook updates mentioned her giving away their trampoline for FREE to anyone that wanted to come pick it up.
Hello?
I was ALL over that one my friends! You have no idea how long and how badly my girls have been wanting a trampoline! F-O-R-E-V-E-R, if that gives you any idea. So, Monk and I headed over to my friend's house (which was only 15 minutes away - pathetic, huh?) to pack up the FREE trampoline. It was SO MUCH FUN to see my friend again!
After loading it up we came home and put the thing together at 8 o'clock at night. We were still sweating bullets if that gives you any idea of how hot it was! Unfortunately, it was too late to jump by the time we got it together. SO. They had to wait until the next evening. (It's too hot during the day and the black bouncing area will literally sear the bottoms of your feet!)
Apparently I should have washed it off before letting the girls bounce! They were filthy! But had SO much fun!
..and a different perspective...
You would have never known that this dirty little thing had never been on a trampoline. She owned it.
And if there were ever a picture that could sum Liv up in one shot ~ this one's it...
And Sis? Well. This was about as wild as she got...
Well, that is until I asked her to smile. Then she did this...
Oh, yes. Blessed and bouncy. That's us.
Now let's see how long before I have a post titled Our Trip to the Emergency Room.
I know there's a lot of people who think it's a waste of time and trust me, it can be a BIG time waster. BUT...
(Everything before the BUT[t] is bologna!!)
... the fact that I have reconnected with SO many old friends has just made it priceless! It has opened up a whole new world for me and I LOVE that about it. I also love that I'm friends with some of you! How cool is it that I'm friends with people I've never met in Real Life! Love. It.
Anyway, a few weeks ago I reconnected with a good friend of mine from years ago. Her son and My Boy were great friends and we lived around the corner from each other. They moved and as circumstances would have it, we lost touch. Facebook reconnected us. How cool is that?
Anyway, one of my friend's Facebook updates mentioned her giving away their trampoline for FREE to anyone that wanted to come pick it up.
Hello?
I was ALL over that one my friends! You have no idea how long and how badly my girls have been wanting a trampoline! F-O-R-E-V-E-R, if that gives you any idea. So, Monk and I headed over to my friend's house (which was only 15 minutes away - pathetic, huh?) to pack up the FREE trampoline. It was SO MUCH FUN to see my friend again!
After loading it up we came home and put the thing together at 8 o'clock at night. We were still sweating bullets if that gives you any idea of how hot it was! Unfortunately, it was too late to jump by the time we got it together. SO. They had to wait until the next evening. (It's too hot during the day and the black bouncing area will literally sear the bottoms of your feet!)
Apparently I should have washed it off before letting the girls bounce! They were filthy! But had SO much fun!
..and a different perspective...
You would have never known that this dirty little thing had never been on a trampoline. She owned it.
And if there were ever a picture that could sum Liv up in one shot ~ this one's it...
And Sis? Well. This was about as wild as she got...
Well, that is until I asked her to smile. Then she did this...
Oh, yes. Blessed and bouncy. That's us.
Now let's see how long before I have a post titled Our Trip to the Emergency Room.
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