What Was I Thinking?

Exercise and I are not on good terms. We have a mutual understanding....we ignore each other and we are both happy.

This relationship was working just fine and dandy for the two of us....until....

A deal was cut. A slimy, sneaky, make-me-crazy deal.

And I blame it all on this:

Have you ever heard of this madness? It is an insane, pathetically hard workout program that is supposed to rip you into beach body perfection in 90 days. It is a psychotic mix of cardio, weight training, and yoga. Insanity, I tell ya, pure insanity.

Kirk decided to jump on the P90X train when some friends at work did. (I gave him my speech about jumping off bridges just because his friends do, but he didn't listen). He asked me nicely to do the program with him, and I chuckled rather loudly in his face, then gently reminded him of the fact that exercise and I are not on speaking terms.

Then it happened. He pulled the card that makes me turn to mush. He busted out a vacation to the sunny beaches of Mexico.

He said that if I finish this program with him, then my ticket to Mexico will be ready and waiting. And the icing on the cake is that apparently I'll also look good in a bathing suit if I do the program. Yah....we'll see about that last part, but just the thought of Mexico was enough to make my eyes swim.

So we shook on it, and for the past 4 nights I have subjected my body to the most horrendous display of muscle torture known to man. And I hurt. Everywhere.

I can't even sit down without grimacing.

But I just keep thinking...Mexico, Mexico, Mexico.

Kirk seems to think that once I go through the whole 90 days that I will be addicted to exercise and want to keep going.

I think I chuckled louder at that comment than the first one.


I Got Skillz

I did math today y'all. I mean real math.

Well...no...it was more like 5th grade math, but still a ginormous accomplishment in my book.

I'm swimming in Prom preparations, and today I had to figure out how many rolls of this fabric stuff to order. In order to figure that out I had to do all these room measurement calculations, yada, yada, yada. It took me a whole class period at school today, but I did it! Real math! Woo Hoo! When I got home this afternoon I had Kirk figure it up for me to check my rockin' skills, and I was totally right! So what if it only took him 2 minutes....whatever.

If you know me....you are proud of me! *wink*

(Apologies to all my smart friends....please don't fire me as one of your peeps.)


Stingy...But Totally Warrented

Not much thrills my heart like Girl Scout cookies.

It probably is a good thing that those sweet little temptations only come once a year...or my pant size would be larger and my bank balance smaller.

I've even learned to share the wealth around. I hit up all my little girl buddies and order from all of them. It makes it look like I'm trying to support them all. Yah...truth is that way none of their mamas have to know how many boxes I really order. Pathetic, really.

A good mother would share these morsels of heaven with her babies. But, not me. Oh no. Mine are stashed here:

That's right. Next to the crockpot and the mixer. A place my men never venture.

Just to make myself feel better about all my hiding and stockpiling, I bought my children a special bag of $.97 SamsChoice cookies.

They told me that I was the best mom ever.

You betcha.

Book Review -- Rachel's Tears

The story of the school shootings at Columbine has always haunted me. I can remember watching the news horrified at the tragedy that happened within the walls and halls of that high school. I remember hearing about the bravery of many of the students that were killed or injured that fateful day and being especially intrigued with a young lady named Rachel Scott. Her devotion and dedication to the Lord was evident to her friends, family, classmates, and to her attackers. Rachel’s parents open up about their courageous daughter in Rachel’s Tears.

Rachel’s parents each detail out the events of their daughter’s life and the months and days leading up to the tragedy. Their viewpoints are different on a variety of the subjects, which is interesting. The book is also made up largely of excerpts from Rachel’s private journals and diaries, found after the shooting. Many of her entries are prophetic in nature, which is fascinating. Her poetry, thoughts, and letters to God are also included.

Rachel’s Tears is not a newsreel of the events of that day. Though some details are shared, the focus is on Rachel and her story. Her relationship with God is inspiring, and her dedication remarkable.


I Just Killed My Future Jonas Brother

Let me start by telling you how grateful I am for all your sweet supportive comments on my less than perky post yesterday. I cannot tell you the amazing feeling it is to realize that you really are not alone. So many of you have the same story. Thank you for being my friends.


Now. My dilemma for the day.

To pick a battle or to not pick a battle.

Keaton, my 3rd grader, has been hiding behind mounds of hair for the past few months. He thinks it's cool. Let me tell ya....what he had going was far from cool. He thought that since he had avoided the barber for the past half-year that he had pulled off the long, trendy, shaggy style of every male (it seems like) between the ages of 8 and 23. Not even close. His hair is so thick that it just kind of poofed on the top of his head, like a bomb mushroom. That is not cool.

Lucky for him, my schedule has been packed lately and I haven't found time to squeeze in the hour or so it takes us to spend at the barber. So day by day, his mushroom has been, well, mushrooming. Still not cool.

Until today. Today, I found time.

And with it came the most ridiculous display of bargaining, crying, and whining. You would have thought I was asking the kid to give up a kidney, not a couple of inches of hair. Geez.

My only saving grace in getting the monkey off my back was in blaming it all on the dad. Kirk had had just about enough of the long locks on the boys and had been bugging me to take them to the barber for weeks. And he put his foot down that Keaton needed to get his cut...short.

Keaton cried the whole way home. I'm not so sure that they weren't just a big pile of crocodile tears for my benefit, but still. I started second guessing myself. It was just hair, after all. We probably could have compromised. What if I've crushed his spirit and turned him into a rebel?

I've heard all the talk about picking battles (some about hair styles, in fact), but just never thought I'd have to be picking so soon. FYI...parenting stinks.

I finally got out of him what had bothered him so badly about having his hair cut. It wasn't about his friends at school, and it wasn't about all the teenagers that he is always around. Nope. It was that I destroyed his dream of being a Jonas Brother. He is convinced that they are going to ask him to be in their band, and I was informed today that they won't ask him now that he has short hair.

Great. Now I'm not only dashing my kid's dream to pieces, but I have just sabotaged it as well.

Mother of the Year Award, right here folks.


This Blog Post Is Not So Pretty....

I took the day for myself. I needed it.

I've not been myself lately, and I made a deal with myself last night, while the rest of my house was sleeping, that I can't fix it on my own.

I've cried way too many tears and lost way too many hours of sleep. I've had mood swings that are painful for not only me, but the precious men in my family. I've said things I don't mean, and acted in ways that are totally out of character for me. I've been ridden with guilt over things that I can't even pinpoint and have lived with a racing pulse for longer than I can remember.

I went to work and talked to my trusted friend about taking the day off to get some help. I really was at the point this morning that I felt like I couldn't go another day. I dropped the boys off at their classes and called for an appointment with my doctor. The appointment wasn't for a couple of hours, but I decided to do something that I've never done before.

I went to the park.

I decided that going home to laundry and scattered toys would make me all the more exhausted, so I chose to spend the few hours before my appointment just doing something for myself. In my past life (read: yesterday), I would have gone shopping and spent money that I don't have. Today I decided to go sit at the park and read my book. It was too cold to sit on a bench a read, so I stayed in the car, but still....it was the most peaceful that I have been in a long time.

When it was time for my appointment, I made the short trip to the clinic from my haven at the park. It wasn't that long of a wait, and my doctor was in the room. I struggle with admitting inadequacy, and the actual conversation with her about what was going was much harder than the one I had had with myself last night and this morning in the shower. But, I couldn't have asked for a better support system at that second. I don't really know her personally, but we know the same people, but sitting there talking to her....I felt like I was talking to my best friend. She looked me in the eye. She listened until I was finished. And she never once made me feel like I was crazy or a bad mom. Then she offered me help.

And I took it.

I left her office and headed to the pharmacy to have my prescription filled. I've been on anti-depressants/anti-anxiety meds before, when I suffered from a short-term bout of postpartum after I had Tate. The meds made a world of difference, and I have been an advocate for them since then....if you are in real need of them. There are people out there (and I totally get that some of you may not be in agreement with me here, and I'm okay with that) who believe that they can get through it on their own. I've tried that route.....and I easily admit that I'm not strong enough for it. I end up compounding my depression issues by heaping on failure.

When I got back to my car with that bottle of little pills inside, I lost it. I cried because I felt relief. Like I held my lifeline in my hand. I had been told that it would take a few weeks for the meds to take total effect, but just knowing that help had arrived relieved so many emotions that I'd been clinging to. My prayers had been answered, and I knew that God had sent the help that I needed.

I called and asked Kirk if he wanted to take me lunch, and he agreed. But, it would be about an hour before he could get away from work....so I went back to my haven to wait. I snuggled back up and read at the park. I think it is my new favorite place to go when I'm alone....it truly was excellent therapy for me.

I ate a great lunch and shared the events of the day with my sweetie. He is so super supportive and was glad that I had found some help. He probably is grateful that my crazy mood swings are about to be taken care of! *wink*

After lunch, I had a few hours before I needed to wait in the carpool line at school. I was so very tempted to go back to the park and hang out with Edward and Bella (just typing that makes me smile!), but I was drained. So I headed to the house and took the best nap I've had in a very long time. Talk about great medicine!

This evening has been okay. I'm frustrated with all the housework I need to do, but I'm trying really hard to keep myself in check. I want so badly to give my kids their mom back and be the wife to Kirk that he deserves. I'm tired of pretending that I have it all together when I don't, and I'm ready to just be me again.

I'm on my way back.


I Totally Caved

So I did it. Even after I said that I wouldn't....I did it.

Today, I bought....

And I've only read 10 pages and am already hooked.

Oh no.


I'm Old and Apparantly Addicted to Alfredo

6:00, y'all. 6:00.

Please tell me what it is about the ability to sleep-in that makes it completely impossible to sleep-in. Grouchy does not even begin to describe it.

So I grabbed the remote and tried to find something to watch. Because although I may have been up at 6:00 on a Saturday morning, getting out of the bed and starting on laundry would have just been w.r.o.n.g. Yah, so there isn't anything on on a Saturday morning...unless you are into zit-fighting infomercials or freaky Japanimation.

So I've been catching up on my music videos. I haven't watched music videos since I was in high school, so "catching up" is probably not the optimum phrase. Really, I've been staring at the tv in complete confusement (is that even a word?!). Pretty much anything goes these days. And I mean anything. Like clothing, for starters. So much for me thinking that I was still young and cool. Nope. I'm so close to wearing full polyester pantsuits and embroidered sweatshirts that I can taste it. Although I will say that the boy in Taylor Swift's "Love Story" video is D.R.E.A.M.Y.

On a totally different note....I had to respond to some comments I got yesterday about the abundance of alfredo sauce on my receipt. If I had planned my blog post better, I would have arranged my items on the check-out belt in a more strategic manner! Those are my absolute favorite microwavable dinners that I eat for lunch everyday at school. So yummy. Variety is a word that is not in my vocabulary at all.

Also...some of you commented about splitting up the budget into grocery/non-grocery. That doesn't work for me, because (1) I'm not organized enough to keep up with separating it out, and (2) the only place I shop is WalMart, and it is a one-stop shop for me. So the $200 I spend each week includes all groceries and household stuff that we need, plus stuff like new socks or undies if someone needs 'em. So....$133.24....quite a feat for me!

So, now it is 10:00 and I'm still here....still watching music videos. Like a train wreck, I tell ya. But the men (who amazingly found the ability to sleep-in this morning) are beginning to growl for their breakfast.

Time to start the day.

Happy Saturday.



Do you see that receipt? That's right, baby. $133.24. On a week's worth of groceries for my healthy contribution to any ball team in the area. My men eat like horses, so keeping it under $200 is R.A.R.E. Mac-n-cheese and chicken nuggets are pricey, y'all.

I have a question (okay, really 2) for you....so you HAVE to answer. How much is your weekly grocery bill? And what is the one thing that you buy EVERY week, no matter what (mine is the stuff in the blue box)?

And...on a totally unrelated note and just because I think they're cute:

Sawyer and our I-hate-cats-but-think-this-cat-is-great cat, Indiana Jones.


Can't Write With Purple Ink Without Thinking About It

I was just telling someone this story today, and because I'm a glutton for punishment (and at a lack of anything else to write about)....here goes.

I'm still haunted by this day. I can remember what I was wearing. I can remember what he was wearing. I can remember the color of marker that was used. I can remember the face of my best friend with her mouth hanging open, completely mortified on my behalf.

It was a Spring day in 6th grade. I was in school in Thailand, at the International school there, where all the missionary kids attended. The school was an eclectic mix of nationalities and cultures, but for the most part....it was like any other school. Full of drama....at least the middle school and high school were.

I had a tremendous crush on the cutest boy in 6th grade. I can still hear his deep Georgian accent. He was dreamy. And he was the first kid in our class to have an Apple computer (remember those?!) at his house. Big stuff. Not only was he cute-as-a-bug, but he was also genuinely nice. I don't remember him ever being mean to anyone. He held doors open for all the girls and said, "Yes, Sir," to our crazy, whacked-out Buddhist teacher (that's a whole other story!). This kid was a great catch.

And I finally worked up my nerve to tell him that I thought so. My best friend and I carefully drafted note after note which detailed my love for him. We worked for days on the perfect words and the perfectly shaped hearts that would dot all the i's. And finally we had it. It was a beautiful note.....even written in purple ink.

My best friend sneaked into our room during lunch recess that Spring day. She slipped the note into his desk and crept back out to the playground where I was waiting. I remember he was playing tether ball with his friends, and my heart was beating out of my chest knowing what he would find when we all headed back inside.

The bell rang and we made our way up the steps. My best friend and I giggled all the way up to our room. But then it was over. Because when we walked in the room, all we heard was the horrid sound of snickering and laughing. He was standing in the middle of the room, red-faced and shaking his head. And then I saw it.

There. On the board. Written in bright red marker were my words. All my words. Even my hearts over my i's.

And then I saw him. The meanest, most cruel boy in our grade, if not our whole school. He had his arms crossed, face stuck up in the air, laughing....and holding a red marker and my carefully folded piece of notebook paper with the purple ink. I would have known it was him even without the red marker.

He had done it. He had followed my friend in at lunch and watched her. Then he nabbed my heart-felt letter and did the most horrid thing ever. He rewrote it on the board and displayed it for everyone to see. Awful. Pure awful.

I could do nothing but cry. He, that sweet boy, just stood there shaking his head. Then he did the sweetest thing ever. He walked over and grabbed the note and shoved it in his pocket. He took the red marker, recapped it, and placed it in the basket. Then he grabbed an eraser and calmly erased the words. He then walked to the tissue box, grabbed a tissue and brought it to me. Then he walked back to his seat, took out his math book, and got to work. The room fell silent and everyone else started working on their math, too.

We never talked about that day again. He never became my boyfriend, but we stayed friends until I moved.

I will never forget how horrifying that day was....but will always remember that little Southern gentleman. He brought me a Kleenex, y'all!

And that other boy.....ugh. He continued terrorizing me right through 8th grade. Only to "ask me out" the last year I was at that school.

Uh...the answer was a big, fat "NO!"


No Twirling Ballerina In This Jewelry Box....But Still Lots of Old Memories

I rearranged the furniture in my bedroom the other night. And, boy, did it need it.

Because what you find when you move furniture are all the dust bunnies and just-plain-nasty that have been living behind the chests and dressers. Ew. Gross.

What I also discovered while I was moving everything around was that my jewelry boxes were in desperate need of attention. I made a mental note on cleaning/moving day to take care of the jewelry situation when I got a chance.

This afternoon was my chance. And look what I found....

This is my mom's high school ring. Sweet, huh? I never had my own class ring (not sure why), but loved wearing my mom's. Love that I have it.

Aren't these cute? A few years ago, my mom ran across all of my old jewelry from when I was a little girl and gave them to me. I want to wear the Strawberry Shortcake pendant, but Kirk won't let me. *wink*

This was my grandmother's (my mom's mom). A couple of Christmases ago, my mom gave my sister and I each a piece of her jewelry. Very special.

This pretty cameo was my other grandmother's (my dad's mom). She loved her jewelry!!
My daddy picked this necklace out for me and gave it to me for Christmas. Mom said he picked it out all by himself. Isn't that sweet?

And I found the little pill box that I keep all the boys' teeth in....shhhhh....the boys would be highly irritated if they knew their teeth didn't fly off with the Tooth Fairy but rather lived in their mom's bedroom. The box is one that Kirk brought me home from Denmark.

Now this is a little awkward. This is my promise ring. Only it's not from Kirk. See, I told you it was awkward. I had a very long relationship my freshman and sophomore year of high school, and received a promise ring. He didn't want it back when we broke up....so it still sits in my jewelry box. Kinda weird, huh?

And then I found 3 of the exact same tie tack from Kirk's company. He has never worn any of them and probably never will.

And then I found this ONE earring. Kirk bought me this pair of diamond studs several, several years ago. I lost one...I'm thinking it was the vacuum cleaner's lunch...but, I still have the other one. It seems so lonely....maybe I should just wear one. Nah.

And I found my precious necklace that is one-of-a-kind. My parents had it made for me in Thailand, and it is "Amber" written in Thai. I haven't worn it in forever...but, I think I'm going to. One of my favorite things about the necklace are all the people that stop to tell me that I have it on backwards! Hee hee! It's cute, huh?

What I didn't take pictures of are all my bazillion bracelets and necklaces that came from a couple of shopping trips to Sam Moon in Dallas. That place is wild! I also didn't include the gobs of beads, beads, and more beads.

It was kind of fun to dig through my jewelry box and find the items that I don't take out regularly enough. Made me super nostalgic.



Genius. I tell ya. Pure genius.

These jeans that I'm wearing.....get this....SIZE 6! And just in case you don't believe me....here's the tag.

Here's the best part. I'm not a size 6. Nowhere near a size 6. I have hips and thighs that were built on Reece's peanut butter cups not celery sticks and saltine crackers.

What an amazing piece of marketing magic to label a line of jeans WRONG. Genius. Because now, these are my all time favorite jeans. Ever. And I want to buy zillions of them. Genius. I now own 4 pair.

Did I mention that they are a 6?! I tight-rolled my last pair of size 6 jeans.....it has been that long ago!

Okay....and just because I think it is funny.....check this out....

See all that fuzz? That is my jeans shedding. Seriously. They are "organic" jeans (whatever that means), and I have had cotton fuzz rolling off these britches all day. Crazy.

Wait....did I mention that I'm wearing a size 6? :)


My Heart Hurts

For a precious daughter of Jesus that I have never met. It hurts for her and her family.

My sweet friends, Lisa and Wes, have a beautiful niece who is battling for her life. I have prayed for this sweet girl for a year now. My heart has smiled when the good news came and my heart has cried when the news was bad.

Her family is hurting. Because they are watching their sweet angel prepare herself to meet her Jesus.

And my heart hurts. It hurts for Hannah. And it hurts for her family.

Please pray. Please pray.

(Hannah's Aunt Lisa detailed her story here. And you can read here what Lisa had to say today.)

In Honor of Our Presidents...

I have carefully researched our nation's history and gathered fabulously illustrated children's books on Lincoln, Jefferson, and Roosevelt to read to my children as they are dressed as the respective Presidents. I have searched for elaborate arts-n-crafts projects that celebrate the lives of Washington and Reagan. My kitchen table is set-n-ready with googly eyes, construction paper, glue sticks, and fake fur. After these fabulous creations are hung to dry, my children and I will be moving into the kitchen to whip up an amazing theme dinner: a scrumptious Taft and Tyler tomato basil soup, a tasty Polk salad, a hearty dish of Nixon noodles with an Arthur alfredo sauce and Cleveland chicken, and finishing off with Kennedy kiwi and Ike ice cream for dessert. Sounds delicious, huh? We will be eating this dinner on a table decorated with a cloth emblazoned with the Presidential seal. And after dinner, we will all take our turns performing the Presidential monologues that we've prepared.

Isn't that what everyone does on President's Day when they get a day off of school?

Yah. Us neither.

We're actually spending our President's Day cleaning house and chunking old toys. My house is so gross that I am actually going to have to make a list of what to clean and when to clean it just to keep myself on track. I'm even taking a cue from Meredith and unplugging today, just so that I can get EVERYTHING done and am not tempted to hang out with you people all day.

And for dinner? No Nixon noodles for us. Kirk is gone tonight for a business dinner, so the boys and I are going to honor our Presidents with a yummy meal of Coolidge chicken nuggets and some McKinley mac-n-cheese (out of the blue box, thank you very much!).

Happy President's Day everyone.....it's cleaning day for me!

(Please don't leave me comments about being unpatriotic and callous towards our nation's leaders. I'm incredibly patriotic. I'm just also a mom....with a gross house and no time to spend the day making edible Lincoln log cabins.)


It All Started In Spanish Class

Kirk and I were best buddies in high school. Back when he had a Mexican Mafia goatee, and I had bleach blonde hair that I didn't dye. I dreamed about dating him, but never thought it would happen. We were just friends. Just really good friends.

But something happened around graduation time. I can't even really remember how it happened now. We didn't go out on a date and he didn't formally "ask me out." We just ended up together. We somehow progressed from good buddies to an inseparable couple.

Been together ever since.

When people say things like, "I married my best friend," it always makes me smile.

Because I really did.

Happy Valentine's Day, Honey!

Love you to pieces.


More Realness

Remember what I said about being a real person in a real marriage?

Real marriage happened to Kirk and I this week. Last night, in fact.

It was one of those long nights that included lots of words and a few tears. We hashed some stuff out. He talked and I let him.

We went to bed last night rather silent, but we were okay. We woke up this morning the same way.

Tonight was better. We ate dinner and smiled at each other. We watched American Idol and laughed together. Every once in awhile he winked at me. Every once in awhile I winked back.

Real marriage happens. It isn't always pretty. But it is always beautiful. Because we promised to love each other through the good and the bad.

That's beautiful.

Blog Review -- This Is Your Brain On Joy

Skeptical cannot even begin to describe my feeling about This Is Your Brain On Joy. When I first picked up this book by Dr. Earl Henslin, I was almost dreading the read. I had flipped through the pages and saw a lot of lists and a lot of pictures of brain scans. Boring. Or so I thought. And then I began to read.

This book completely captivated me. Dr. Henslin writes with a humor and down-to-earth style that, not only is interesting to read, but made a very difficult subject matter (with a lot of technical terms) very easy to understand. What I enjoyed most about the book was his VERY practical listing of steps and advice to improve brain health. He details in length various mental disorders and brain problems, but (unlike many books) gives solutions and ways to reverse some of the negative attributes. He gives suggestions for medications and diet, but what struck me as even more useful were his suggestions for Scriptures to read, prayers to pray, music to listen to , movies to watch, exercises to practice, and a host of other suggestions.

This book was incredibly insightful for me. It gave me a new view on different disorders that people may have, and it was interesting to evaluate my own brain health.


Are There Frat Parties In 1st Grade That I Don't Know About?

Bless my sweet Sawyer's heart.

He is by the far the most affectionate and most outgoing of all my boys. Very charming. Very athletic. Very freckled faced and red headed, and all the things that go with those traits. Stubborn? Yep. Hot tempered? Yep. Cute as a bug? Yep.

He is also the one of my boys that I most worry about as he gets older. He is terrifyingly concerned with what others think of him and always seems to be on a quest for coolness. He wants to dress like his friends, walk like his friends, talk like his friends, and hit a baseball like his friends. Individuality is not at the top of his list of priorities at all.

I foresee peer pressure being a major issue with him in the future, and pray constantly for him in those areas.

Kirk and I have joked (to keep us from going crazy with worry!) about Sawyer in high school and college. We already receive enough flack about our last name (think it through...it'll come to you!), and we can only imagine a big, beefy people-person like Sawyer with our last name being the life of many a party. Scary, I know. Hence the prayer.

So, you can imagine our faces when we see THIS the other night come out of the bathroom:

Yes. That is Sawyer. In a toga. That he tied himself. I promise that we have never showed the boy how to tie a toga, nor have any idea as to where he discovered this very frightening talent.

Oh, we're in trouble.


Hard to Admit Realness

I'm debating on how honest to be right now. I feel a lot of pressure to keep this blog upbeat and fun, but I'm not feeling really upbeat and fun right now. But, I feel a real need to be authentic and genuine.

So I've started this post 14 and 1 times. I've tried to blog about something cute my kids did and deleted it. I tried blogging about me buying green M&Ms yesterday and deleted it. I tried blogging about all my dirty laundry and the monster that lives in my dryer but deleted it. I have even shut my computer and said, "Not today."

But, I'm back. Because I've decided that not all blogs have to be happy all the time. That being real people in real marriages with real jobs with real kids is, well, real. And real isn't happy all the time.

I'm a mom. A really real mom. I love my kids from the stars and back, and find myself in awe that God would find me worthy enough to entrust these angels to me. I love tickle parties, bedtime prayers, and snuggling. But I yell, I scream, and I lose my temper more than I should. In fact, I made Keaton cry night before last. Talk about a knife to the heart. I went to bed that night praying that I hadn't crushed his spirit. I woke him up to ask his forgiveness. I held him while we both cried some more.

I'm a wife. A really real wife. I love to be romanced and get aggravated when I'm not. I say things I don't mean and can make myself crazy by letting thoughts run wild in my head. I've imagined my life without my husband, but can't imagine my life without him in the very same moment. I've cried myself to sleep many a night for him, and laughed till I've cried with him.
At the end of the day, I can't believe how lucky I am. I'm certainly undeserving.

I'm a child of God. I've run and hid from my Father more times than I've run to Him. I have a strong desire to be in step with the Word, but am okay with admitting that I don't get it right most of the time. I rest easy in the knowledge that He loves me anyway. His love is the most perfect love that I've ever known.

I'm a friend. I don't return phone calls like I should and am a terrible hostess. In fact, I'm not a hostess. Hostessing makes me break out in a cold sweat. I love that I have friends that fill that role for me, but have left feeling like scum because I don't ever reciprocate. I love to laugh and love to cry with my friends. I like to know their secrets and like them to know mine. I'm so blessed to have real friends with real problems and real hurts. Because we're real....we work.

I'm guilty of being lazy. I watch way too much tv and spend way too much time on the computer. I have walked past a sticky koolaide spot on the kitchen floor to watch The Bachelor, and I have left clothes in the washer until they stink because I was busy on FaceBook. I've also rewashed that same load of clothes 2 or 3 times for that same reason. I've turned cartoons on in one room for my kids and watched my shows in another room, And then have cried myself to sleep for not spending enough time with my boys.

I'm an approval seeker. I've shopped for certain clothes with others' reactions in mind. I've bought shoes because someone else said I should. I've cut my hair to be like someone else, and I've recut my hair to be like someone else. I've said things and held my tongue all with others in mind. I've succumbed to peer pressure more times than I can count, and have made decisions in my life for people that now I can't even remember their names. I have a terrible time saying "No," but a remarkably easy time being a doormat. I've wondered what it would be like to be one who didn't care what other people think. Don't ever see myself there.

I could sit here all day. I could tell you about how I'm a non-decision maker, a hypochondriac, and a girl who lets fear rule a huge chunk of her life. But not today. This was enough soul-searching for one day.

I'm real. Very real. Pathetically real. Amazingly real.

With that off my chest, I'm ready to go start my very real day. Hoping for happy.


You're Invited....To A Pity Party

Can I tell you how tired I am?

Sawyer started throwing up last night right as I was getting the boys ready for bed. I knew something was up when he didn't want to eat anything for dinner...and it was mac-n-cheese (our favorite food!). He's been going strong every 15 or 20 minutes since about 10:30 last night. Still going this morning. Poor guy. He is by far the best one of my kids when it comes to being sick. No crying. No whining. Just puppydog eyes staring at me. So pitiful. Bless his heart. I hope he is all better soon.

Because I'm so exhausted from zero sleep, my mind is a little crazy this morning. I have also found time to throw myself a little pity party throughout the night and morning. And I thought I would invite you. Feeling lucky, aren't ya?

I had to call into work sick again. Again. I hate missing work so much. I hate it. I hate leaving people in a lurch, and I hate knowing that I'm the cause of someone else's inconvenience or stress. But, I have no idea what to do about it.

Because I'm it. I'm the only one here to stay home with the kids if they get sick. Kirk's job requires him to travel so much, and when he is in town he is tied up with meetings and phone conferences all the time. His position doesn't allow him to take off at the drop of the hat. He just can't. I came to that realization a long time ago. It isn't like it is easy to take off from my job either, but I'm a mom. I think it boils down to just that.

We also have ZERO family here to help us. None. Not even a great aunt hiding in a little house somewhere who could take a turn watching a sick baby in a pinch. Nothing. All of our parents are hours and hours away from us....way too far to drive a sick little person to and then still make it to work by 8. Not going to happen. I get so tired of people complaining about their family members that live in the same town as them. They have no idea how good they have it. I have nobody. Nobody. Let me repeat. Nobody. I would gladly put up with a nosey mother-in-law to have some help. Any day.

We have great friends. We really do. But I would NEVER ask my friends to take on another kid for the day, especially one who is throwing up or running fever. No way. Even if they told me I could....I wouldn't.

So....here I sit. Waiting on Sawyer to throw up again. Bless his heart. I know he is exhausted.
And while I'm waiting....I'm pouting. And worrying. And feeling lousy for once again feeling like I'm letting everyone else down.

I know that my kids and my family are my first priority. I do. But, it doesn't make it easier to know the headache I'm giving everyone else when I'm gone.

Now I feel bad for inviting you to my pity party. So sorry. But sometimes it is just easier to vent and talk it through.


More Therapy

I took Tate in to see the Good Doctor today, and as usual, he was suddenly healed as soon as we walked in the door. What is up with that? He kept me up all night hacking and sneezing; was completely listless yesterday; and has refused to eat anything for the past 24 hours...but, miracles of miracles, we walked in the door of the Good Doctor's office AND he was instantly healed. I don't know why we even bother with meds....just enter the threshold of the clinic. Seems to work everytime.

In addition to being wiped out from the long night, I am dealing with a frustrating situation with someone that I used to call my friend. Hurt feelings is an understatement. I'm so tired of being a doormat.

While I was trying to stay awake and wipe the shoeprints off my face, I ran across a couple of cute YouTube videos. I don't know what struck me about this one in particular, but I laughed out loud when I saw it. In fact, I'm still giggling. I love the little British accent of the oldest brother, and I love that the baby snickers at the sight of his brother's red finger.

Humor me by watching what made me giggle today. Maybe you'll laugh, too.

Still giggling. Love the way that kid says, "Cha-lie bit mae." Wonder what I can do to get Tate to start talking like that.

(Go here if you want to see what parents do when they have TOO much time on their hands!)


Uncrazy-ing Me

Confirmed. I have the best kids ever. Don't even try to argue your case that yours are better than mine....it's not even worth the effort! I have proof!

Exhibit A -- When Tate did this.

Exhibit B -- Happened today. Here's how it all went down...

It all started with my van being TRASHED out. I mean nasty gross. Just ask Lisa, Stephanie, and Melissa....they had to sit on the funky french fries last night. Talk about embarrassing. I don't care how many times someone tells you that their car is gross, too....it just doesn't take the horror out of giving your friends a ride in filth. Ew. (So sorry, girls....really.)

Anyway...so the car was N.A.S.T.Y. I have been complaining about it for several days now, but haven't found the time to go and clean it out. I'm weird about cleaning out the car at home. I'd much rather take it to the carwash and clean out all the trash there and then use their super duper vacuums to suck up all the stray M&Ms and forgotten Happy Meal parts (shhhh...don't tell my kids!).

So, detouring by the carwash hasn't made it into our schedule these past few days (okay....weeks), so the Great Red Bomb has continually grown grosser and funkier. And my whining and griping about it has grown louder and longer.

This afternoon after school, Keaton asked if he could play outside when we got home. I was exhausted after dealing with Tate all day (he was sick on his field trip....can you believe it? Sick. Ugh.....so like us.), and I really didn't care what the kids did, as long as my afternoon involved the recliner. So I sent him outside.

I noticed that he came in the house several times, and I heard the kitchen cabinets slam shut a couple of times. Really didn't think too much of it behind my dozey eyelids.

Before too long, I was being shaken awake by Keaton who was grinning from ear to ear. He was yanking my arm to get out of the chair and come with him outside. Now usually this means that I'm going to witness a new tree climbing strategy or some fortress that has been erected in my yard made out of trash and splintery planks of scrap wood (hello, tetanus!)....and I was fulling expecting a similar scenario this afternoon.

But, oh...I was in for a treat!

This precious little angel boy led me straight to the Great Red Bomb and proudly opened the doors. HE HAD CLEANED MY CAR!

Oh, yes, he did. He had cleared it of all the funky french fries, old Sunday School papers, and even the extra articles of clothing that had found their way into the car. There were no more Sonic straw wrappers or half-eaten honeybuns. He even vacuumed. Like really vacuumed....not just the rush job either. He even sprayed some of my body spray in there....he said he didn't know what else to use to make it smell good (is that not the sweetest?!).

I asked Keaton what made him think to do that, and he said, "You've been talking about how the the dirty car makes you crazy, so I thought I'd surprise you by uncrazy-ing you." I heart that boy.

What in the world did I do to deserve such pampering by my fellas?! They are the best. They are going to make fabulous husbands....

See....I told you I had the best kids ever! Talk about feeling loved and appreciated.

***After I already had this post written, Exhibit C happened. Sawyer brought me a love note tonight. Complete with a piece of gum (new!) wrapped inside. Then he serenaded me on his guitar with "Frosty the Snowman." I treasure these days....so much.***

You think they will still brush my hair, clean my car, and write me love notes when they are teenagers? Gosh, I hope so.


My IF Would Involve Peanuts and Seatbelts

I'm a reality tv junkie.

This afternoon my remote landed me watching this funky little show about people who are getting a chance to be "remade." It is a makeover show of sorts, but the people are also being coached by experts in their field of choice, so that they can reinvent themselves. Right now, there is a punk rocker girl who is going through the training to be a pageant queen.

As quirky and funky as the show is, it got me thinking about the concept behind it all. What would I want to become if I could totally reinvent myself? To become someone else.

I can think of a million things that seem lots of fun. An actress. A singer. A professional dancer. A contestant on Survivor. An NFL cheerleader. Jennifer Aniston.

But, those are totally unrealistic for me. I like to eat carbs way too much to be any of those things. And the one that is the most realistic for me, Survivor, is a no go....because I hate snakes and rats, can't eat fish, and can't stand to be hot and sweaty.

So, I decided that if I could be totally reinvented....I would be a flight attendant! This has been a secret little dream of mine for a long time. I think that seems like the best job ever! You get to be all cute and perky; travel the world; and eat those yummy Biscoff cookies all day long. Sounds fabulous to me!

Confession: I have privately practiced my hand gestures for the job. I can signal Exit doors like nobody's business!

I also think I would do a fabulous job pushing the snack/drink cart. Not to mention those preppy little outfits that they wear. Ah...bliss. And the speech about returning your seat to an upright position and properly stowing your carry-on luggage....totally think I could handle that!

So...what about you? If you could reinvent yourself, who would you be? C'mon....this is fun!!

Peanuts? Coffee? And don't forget to fasten your seatbelt.