Finding the joy

Here lately, I've felt a stirring in my heart, in my gut. The same question kept running through my mind.  It troubled me, burdened me, but finally inspired me.

"Where is the joy?"

In the day-to-day things?  In the big stuff?  In the small stuff?  Where did it go?  Why did it leave? Who can tell it's not here anymore?

So, I started to examine myself.  Habits.  Attitudes.  Motivations.

I quickly decided to claim grace and not even let my old friend guilt creep in.  He's just not welcome anymore.  He's taken up enough space in my head for long enough.  After I decided to approach things as opportunities for change, for renewal, God began to open my eyes, and I slowly felt the cogs in my brain start to turn.  It felt good.  Since I've been called home with the kiddos, I often feel like I just don't "think" as much as I used to.  It's truly a struggle to read through a book these days...no matter how amazing it is.  I've been an extremely part-time photographer over the years to try and keep my skills sharp, taken up sewing so I can play with color/pattern/design without having to keep out tempting and toxic art supplies, and tried lots of random things to help with the inevitable void lots of moms feel when they step away from a career for a bit.  These things have made me happy and have been great outlets, but there was just something...you know...

It was the "why?" 

Why was I doing these things?  It's awesome to examine things.  To examine them to their very core...to their origination.

One "why?" I was confronted with was "Why am I putting so much time and effort into my kids' clothes?"  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoy dressing them.  I mean, I'm an artist.  However, I'd gotten more into the "art" of buying and selling clothes than recognizing them for what they are.  Ultimately, they are coverings for our bodies; pieces of fabric that are susceptible to stains, holes, and being outgrown in the blink of an eye.  I'd gotten into the habit of going to thrift stores, not out of need, but just to scour them for brands they were practically giving away.  It didn't even matter if they were two sizes too big.  Next year, Eve would be wearing Persnickety under my watchful eye and only in controlled situations to avoid excessive wear and stainage,  which I could then resell or consign.  Now, before you get offended, it wasn't just about the brand.  I like nice, colorful, original clothes, and these tend to cost a little more.  This was about the habit of spending time and money on clothes just to do it.  I would spend days washing, sorting, sizing, tagging, hanging, and dropping off clothes for consignment sales.  It was so stinkin' stressful sometimes.  My attitude and motivations were jacked up.

I had to break the cycle.  I wasn't trusting God to provide.  I wasn't ok with wearing whatever was provided...whatever was affordable whenever the need arose.  I  needed to have clothes put away to sell.  I mean, we would be naked otherwise.  Duh.

There was no joy.  I was always setting things aside to sell, just so I could get what I wanted.  And when I came to the realization that this was my motivation, I knew it was time for a change.

This is around the time I'd finished reading "7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess".  I found an idea in the clothing chapter of the book especially intriguing.  There was a big clothing exchange which was held annually, and there was no money or tagging involved.  So, I just threw the idea out there to some gals on Facebook, and it took.  Nearly a dozen ladies purged some of the excess from their closets, walked away with a few things they could use, and sent a whopping van-load of super nice clothes to a local ministry for women starting over from scratch after incarceration.

I'm not gonna lie.  It felt good.  I didn't feel pride in the execution.  I felt joy from the generosity of so many women who loosened their grip on excess and were ok even if they left empty-handed.  The second exchange will be for kids' clothing, and if you're in the Jackson, MS area, you can join the group here to be a part of discussions and planning.

This was also something my kids so desperately needed to see.  Cade, my 5 year old, had come to me several times asking if he could sell something in order to buy a new toy.  I realized he needed to see me holding things loosely, without all the conditions and criteria.  He needs to see me give till it hurts, which I've found is a super hard point to come to when I have so much extra.  A few weeks later, we were at our local park, and of course he had one of his original Lego masterpieces in tow.  By the time we left, his creation had changed hands half a dozen time and many pieces were scattered and trampled in the mulch.  But instead of fretting over his losses, he expressed that next time he'd like to take a huge bucket of Legos to the park so all the other boys could play, too.  Now, I have no problem with shedding some excess in the Lego department...one block to the foot is one too many, but I knew the potential for an epic meltdown when some of his treasured pieces were inevitably lost or taken.  Therefore, I felt it was my mom duty to warn him of this and save myself from 30 minutes of tears and snot because his Woody figure was missing his head and he'll never, ever be able to build his super special, totally original Woody speedboat again.   His response, well it sure as heck humbled and challenged me, "It's really not a big deal, mom.  I have more than I need, and I know some of them don't have any.  Like, not even 16 Legos."  Ok.  Ummm, sure you can take your Legos.

Disclaimer: I am not anti-designer/boutique.  I am not anti-consignment.  I am not anti-resell.  These are simply things I was allowing to rob me of my time, money and joy.  I do not judge Persnickety buyers or wearers.  Promise.

Gosh, this entry has gone really long, but I do want to throw one more area of "stirring".

The "why" of which church we'd chosen.

About a month ago, after an extremely God-ordained, just...ugh...this sounds super cheese-fest'ish of me, almost magical moment and conversation between my husband and I, we decided it was time to move on and move closer.  We realized our motivation for going to the church we were at was all wrong.  Why were were there?  Because it is an extension of the church we were previously at, and we already knew what to expect.  It was within a "doable" distance.  When we moved to Jackson, we already knew it's where we would go.  And as a result, we both felt lonely, without purpose, and just kind of jaded.  It completely clashed with the whole reason we moved to Jackson in the first place.  We wanted diversity.  We wanted to see, touch, and as much as possible, meet real, raw needs.  We wanted our kids to see darkness so they could understand just how important it is to be light.

Here I was, kinda/sorta in a body where I would never invite a neighbor to join me.  Where I never saw anyone outside of church unless I was 20 minutes away from home.  Since, I'm home with the kiddos, with church and small group as pretty much my main/only time for meeting new people and forming relationships in this season of life, I just wasn't sharing life with anyone there.  I was so incredibly lonely.

So, we are now in the process of visiting churches closer to home.  This is not our first church move.  There's no illusion we will find a perfect place.  We desperately want to find a place to be used.  I'd love to run into someone I know at Kroger or a park that's around the corner and not miles away.  We have seats for 8 at our table, but we rarely fill them.  We want to share our lives with people here because we moved here intentionally.  Though we're leasing, and quite honestly we don't know what the next year holds for us house/location-wise, we are here right now, and that's all that matters.  Basically, we're trying really hard to go "all in" right here.  Right now.  We're seeking, accepting and embracing the joy that comes from relationships and community within our zip code.

Cade will start kindergarten in just a few weeks at a local, public school, and I am beyond excited for him and our family.  Racially, he will be the minority.  He will learn that not everyone lives with or even knows their dad.  My hope is that he will learn to give grace more than ever, continue to give thanks to God for the crazy amount of blessings he receives daily, and challenge the heck out of me as he forms relationships with the innocence of a child, without hangups and mis/preconceptions.

I guess this is where I'll stop tonight.  If you were looking for entertainment, I'm sorry this entry was completely devoid of it, but there it is...my heart.  It's been pierced and stirred a lot lately, and for that I'm so incredibly thankful.

FYI- I published a draft earlier.  It's all about an encounter with prescription meds.  It's a whole lot lighter.

Hugs not Drugs

Things I should never do while under the influence of drugs...

• Select movies on Netflix.  Like Crazy?!?  Y'all, by the end of it I felt like I  was crazy.  I mean, how many times can these two people possibly be separated and then passionately reunited?  I lost count.  About 30 minutes in, my percocet (which I had to chase with a phenergan to combat the pukiness) started kicking in, and this absurd story had me sucked in.  Balling like a baby for these people, and I didn't even like them.  If I'm gonna cry for you in a movie, I have to like you. From now on, if I must watch something while on drugs,  it needs to be something happy and with an ending that doesn't make me feel suicidal. 
• Pay bills.  Yes, I did pay a handful of bills while intoxicated and watching the most depressing movie known to man.  I was so glad to find an inbox full of payment confirmations this morning because I sure as heck couldn't remember which ones I'd paid.  Luckily, there were no duplicates.
• Be required to move myself from one room to another.  Pain meds make me nauseous. Not mild morning sickness or a little stomach bug nauseous.  Like, "can't open my eyes or lift my head without having the intense feeling about about to lose it all" nauseous.  This doesn't pair well with a bladder that look a pretty hard hit after birthing a toddler and now seemingly has the capacity of a toddler's.  Next time, I'll just bed down in the tub.  
• Rely on medical equipment to move myself from one room to another.  Right now I'm in an air boot on my left ankle.  I'm 7 weeks post op and in enough pain to wish I'd never had the surgery.  Of course, I know that's not logical or how I really feel, but still.  I also have my roll-a-bout still hanging around since by dinner time my ankle is DONE.  So, just picture me...trying to decide if I have time to put my boot on before wetting myself or if I'd rather get motion sickness (yep) from riding on the scooter from the living room to my bathroom.  I think I sided with the boot, but to be honest, I'm not totally sure.  You'll be glad to know I remained accident free.  

*Pretty sure I still had lots of drugs in my system when I wrote this bc I totally didn't even remember writing it.  It was just hanging out in my drafts.  Ha.

The summer of the scooter

Yeah, so I'm gonna spare you from guilt tripping with me over how much I've neglected my blog and wish I prioritized it more and yada, yada, yada.  We're just jumping right on in to the here and now...you dig?

I have four days left in this stinkin' (literally) cast.  What cast?  The third one I've been in since my ankle surgery a little over five weeks ago.  So, you are feeling my joy now that I'm down to a handful of days in this thing.  Here's the rundown:

• I hurt my ankle 30 minutes post workout while pushing a loaded triple seater buggy at Target.  I felt a "pop", and suddenly I could barely bear weight.  Don't think for a minute I abandoned the mission, though.  I was NOT leaving that place without bananas and Diet Dr. Pepper.  
• After a few days of babying it, I went to see a general doc about it.  After a clear X-Ray, over-priced ankle brace (as in $100 outside of my insurance's allowable limits), and totally depressing talk with a PT about how crappy my almost new, scrimped and saved for Nikes were, I hobbled on home and went about my business.  Brandon and I even went to Cleveland, OH a couple of weeks later for his annual check up.
• A month later, even with my brace of platinum, pricey orthotics, and icing I'm barely making it.  
• Insert Dr. Burrow from MS Sports Med, a couple of weeks, and a hot date with a scalpel.  Oh, and drugs and puke.  There was plenty of that, too. 
• Bam.  My completely shredded, detached posterior tibial tendon (the one that holds your arch up)  is fixed, and I'm on the mend.  Apparently, I'm a bit of a medical mystery.  No one at the office had ever seen a 29 year old female tear that tendon before.  Folks, I'm just that good.  

Actually, I'll tell you the truth and mix in a bit of free advice here because this injury is far from cheap.  The doc thinks most of the damage was done in the younger years while playing sports and such, and it has just been a time bomb.  I'm leaning more towards the ridiculous (-ly cute $4 ballet flats scored at Target or rockin' 4-inch heel Nine West pumps) shoes I wore while traversing the MC campus and teaching on hard, cement floors for 3 years...two of which I was pregnant.  Dumb.  Workin' gals, suck it up and get some good, supportive, comfortable shoes.  I'm not saying ditch style, but use your brain.  I'd much rather have my maimed foot in a Birkenstock right now instead of a 10 lb, 250 degree cast.

Stepping off now.

Oh, and what's up with the title?  I've actually been scooting and not crutching during my recovery.  Whoever invented the roll-a-bout should receive the Nobel Peace Prize because I can't imagine the amount of crazy I'd have in this house if I were on crutches.  I just can't even go there.  Here I am all psyched because I can actually function pretty well; I go to stores and church, I've taken the kids to the park and children's museum, etc.  It ain't pretty, and I roll up to the door a sweaty, bug-eyed mess of a mama, but I get it done.  As I was saying, I've been pretty impressed with what I've been able to do on this thing.  Apparently, my kids, not so much.

This morning Cade told me I was ruining his summer.  I'm a summer ruiner.  A ruiner of summers.

Not that I pride myself in being the entertainment goddess or that I think for a minute that it's my job to keep these little darlings engaged and content every moment of the freakin' day, but man.  That stung.

Oh, I'm over it now.  Don't worry.

On a different, non-ankle surgery sucky note.  I actually like Trek now.  I've always loved him, but I won't lie.  It took 13 months to get to the "like" stage in our relationship.  And if you talk to any of my friends or relatives and they say "Oh, that baby hasn't been that bad.  She outta be ashamed of herself for talking about that baby like that," you just give me names.  They are dead to me.

He has screamed, cried, not slept, clung to momma for dear life, you name it since day one.  Not colic.  Not separation anxiety.  Just pure, unadulterated misery for everyone involved.  I don't for one second advocate it, but I now see how desperate, uneducated, or just plain negligent/selfish mommas and daddies slip a lil' booze into their baby's bottle.  And yes, joking about giving him/her a Benadryl or a dose of Nyquil counts as being right there with me on this... oh high and mighty (likely self-appointed) parent of the year who is scoffing at that last sentence.

Noooo, my life since my last post has not been all gloom and doom.  These rough times have just been the black olives in my life lately.  I hate black olives by themselves or in excess.  When the pizza companies started allowing the customer to remove toppings from a pizza online, I loved de-selecting the olives and watching them magically disappear from the supreme pizza. Yes, I know I could've always opted to not have them, but there was just something about seeing them removed from the pizza that made my non-olive loving heart leap.  "Now that's a perfect pizza," I told myself.  You know what, though?  It wasn't perfect.  I tried ordering supremes without them from different places, but the fact remained.  A supreme just isn't a supreme without black olives.  I mean, it's ok, and heck yeah I'll eat it.  I still would never pop a lone black olive into my mouth, but there's something about those three or four slices of olive that balance the flavor of each piece, and after much contemplation, I always default back to the standard supreme.  It's da best. (FYI-that last phrase was in my best/worst Italian accent)

And life just isn't as much fun without a few black olives here and there.  Some days my kids say and do so many random, funny, ridiculously entertaining things I can't even recall them all at the end of the day.  I need those days to remind me that I live an incredibly blessed, full life.  Some days my kids drive me within an inch of the bottle and I don't even want to be bothered with bathing them at the end of the day.  I'm just so over them.  I need those days to remind me that I live an incredibly blessed, full life with real, live human beings who mess up and need Jesus and grace.  That usually compels me to default back to Him, which I've finally accepted as not being weakness.  It's simply what's best.

I'm not gonna lie, though.  It doesn't always compel me to bathe them.

Weathering the storm

Well, so far, we have survived Isaac.  I'm not sure what/if other significant weather is coming our way. This is partially because I've never been one to keep up with the weather very well.  This is also because my 4 year-old is a little freaked out by the hurricane images he's seen on TV, so I've done my best to steer clear of the weather.  We've probably watched a lil more Phineas and Ferb than we should, but I believe that's better than having him anxious about the weather.  

It's been approximately 60 hours since my kids last left the house.  So, to say they have cabin fever is a bit of an understatement.  Our homebodieness hasn't just been due to the weather.  No ma'am.  We would've been living it up at the children's museum today if I was just trying to avoid being caught in rough weather.  We've been the poster children for Benadryl and Robitussin, so we are staying put until we know our funk is gone.  We sure don't want to spread the funk.  Well, not that kind anyway.

So, how have I stayed sane?  Honestly, I don't remember much about yesterday.  I felt pretty cruddy, and the hours just kinda ran together.  I DO remember what I cooked last night, but only because I feel like I'm wearing it in an inflatable innertube around my waist today.  It was some serious fat girl food...chicken and rice casserole, butter beans, fried okra, buttermilk biscuits, and ooey gooey chocolate butter cookies.  Paula Deen and my granny would've been proud.  The arc trainer is going to whip my tail whenever I can scrape up enough energy to visit him (yes, it's a him).

Today, I've stayed sane by sewing, taking pics, and wearing scrub bottoms.  I have showered today, and I did initially start the day off wearing blue jeans, but they got wet while taking pics.  So, I changed into my scrub pants.  Darn : )  I finally started quilting Cade's quilt today, but my upper thread was breaking every 30 seconds.  I just had to back away from the machine...slowly and without scissors in hand.  Otherwise, it may have gotten shanked.  After a Tervis tumbler of coffee and some snuggles with my Trek man, I revisited the machine.  I decided to check out what was going on in the bobbin casing.  Holy moly.  Lint central.  After cleaning out what amounted to a small rodent's worth of lint and dust, I tightened a couple of screws and put it all back together.  Now it purrs like a kitten instead of making a chomping noise as it severs the thread and builds a bird's nest in my bobbin casing.  Whew.  I really didn't want to kill my machine.  Now, if I could just get someone to deliver new needles for my serger and my machine, I'd be great.  Maybe that'll be my sanity trip tonight after my hubs gets home.  Everyone needs to make a sanity needle run every now and then.  

No, really, today has been pretty chill.  I pulled out the camera, threw the ole plastic fantastic on (don't hate), and sat on the back steps with my favorite girl.  We had a good time catching rain drops, making silly faces,  and giving/receiving hugs.  She brought me to tears when she wrapped her little body around my legs and told me "I love you mommy."  It's not that she never says she loves me, or that she never hugs me. It's the fact that she did it without any prompting or ulterior motives (that I know of yet).  She likes to play hard to get most of the time, so moments like these are priceless.  I'm just so happy to have these sweet images to re-visit when she's being a tough little fireball.

One of my favs...I'm thinking enlargement fa sho.

This begins the "many faces of Eve series"...Ha

As I was looking through these images, I had a flash...way-back...flashback.  I started singing an old hymn in my head..."Count your many blessings name them one by one, count your many blessings see what God hath done...."  I think looking through all these different "faces" triggered this feeling of being blessed.  I know I've said it before, but this little girl challenges me like no one else.  God gave her all these different facets and faces, and today I felt truly blessed and honored to be the person who gets to see them each and every day.

Speaking of faces, here's one you haven't seen much of, but it will melt you.  This little chunk may leave a lot to be desired in the sleep department, but he has stolen our hearts with his smile and blue eyes.

And Cade, who has had a love/hate relationship with the camera lately, snuck in for a few with his brother. 

There were very few clear ones with the two of them because when Cade's around, Trek just can't contain himself.  Arms and legs start flying.  They LOVE each other.  So much so, we decided to bunk them in a room together and let Miss Priss have a girl room.  Well, that wasn't the only reason for the move, but they do love each other, and I think Cade takes a lot of pride in having a "boy's only" room now.  Eve loves to talk.  It doesn't matter who or what you are.  She's going to talk your ears off.  This wasn't working out so well and nap and bedtime.  Cade was getting frustrated, and they were both getting in lots of trouble.  This was frustrating everyone.  It was an all-around sucky situation.  Trek is still waking up quite a bit, so we have a pack-n-play that we can re-locate him to at night when he fusses, but he usually spends at least half the night in his crib in the boy room : )  I think Cade is ready for him to jump on the bed with him and build cool Lego creations, but I also think he thoroughly enjoys having his baby brother.  He has such a sense of ownership and responsibility when it comes to Trek...it's really hard to fully explain just how special their relationship is.  

Now, I'll leave you with some of the random, funny stuff I've overheard here lately.

*Eve-"Pfft....oooooh Cade, I just pooted." (this was actually stated with an apologetic tone...not her norm)

Cade- (with sympathy) "Eve, it's ok.  I do it sometimes.  So does mommy."

*Yesterday, I made them go outside to play before the weather started acting a fool.  I knew it was gonna be a long few days ahead, and it felt amazing outside.  After being out there a few minutes, I hear them both start to shriek.

Cade- "The wind is blowing!  That bi-bi-big circle thing..uh...hurricane daddy showed me on the computer radar is going to get us!  He said it's coming right for us!"...

After reassuring them that the hurricane was not about to blow them away, they played for a few more minutes as I attempted to get the house clean and quiet for Trek to nap.  Suddenly, I hear more shouting, and I see them running up to the back door.

Cade-"I heard a tornado!  I sounded like one of those big trucks on the innastate!"

Great, I thought.  It sounds like he's auditioning for the redneck slot on the post-tornado newscast.  All we were missing was a leveled trailer park in the background.  

*After the kid room swap was complete, I heard Cade explaining the purpose of the swap to Eve.

"Now that we have a boy room, and you have a girl room, the baby girl can go in your room when mommy has her."

Ummm.  Nooo.  I am not pregnant, no matter what my kids may tell you.  Let me repeat...they do NOT know anything you don't!  There is no bun in this oven.  No ma'am.

And the last one for now...

*As I was preparing a cheesecake one evening, Eve asked if this dessert was for her.  I told her it was for the next night, when Brandon's parents would be coming over for dinner.  Her voice rose several octaves and went syrupy southern, she started stroking and twisting her hair, and she said, "Oh, I am sooooo ready for papa and nana to come over to my house and say '"Oh my!  You are so beautiful Eve."'

Unfortunately, that is an extremely accurate portrayal of that scene.  No elaboration.  I'm telling you, she's trouble. Brandon says she's either going to be extremely savvy and successful, or she'll end up in jail.  With Eve, he's right.  There's no in between!

Until next time....whenever that may be : )

Rebel Child

When people see me out and about with one child, they often feel the need to tell me that I better enjoy having just one for a while.  After I inform them that I actually have three, they usually ask about ages, their genders, yada, yada, yada...  Inevitably, after learning that Eve is sandwiched in between two boys, they say "Oh, she's going to be a tough one with two boys around."  To which I reply "No, they're going to be tough ones with her around."  They chuckle like I'm being funny or making a little joke.

People.  I'm not joking.  You'd think this girl has been training to be a cage fighter.  

She.  Is.  Tough.  Stubborn.  Strategic.  You name it.

Here lately, I'm sure my friends on Facebook and family members feel like maybe I'm "picking" on her or exaggerating her less than desirable behavior.  Well, ladies and gents, I've been taking it easy on her. I'm not sure how she functions throughout the day because she has apparently straight up lost her mind.

I'm sure you remember from the previous post that she pooped on the bathroom floor a couple weeks back.  The thought of it still makes me gag.  I mean, she was 2 feet from the toilet.  She's been fully potty trained for 9 months.  What gives?!?

So, here we are a couple of weeks later, and the girl hasn't lost steam.  If anything, she's gaining it.  

Yesterday, while loading the dishwasher, I detected a "minty" odor in the air.  I ignored it.  Big mistake.  About 20 minutes later I heard a noise from the older two kids' room.  Perched at the end of her bed, Eve is scooping out and slathering Vicks Vapo rub all over her body...clothes and all.  I wiped her up, changed her clothes, and ordered her back to bed.  Goodness.

Now here we are, 24 hours, 15 growls and "I fustated wif you"s, 30 screams, 2 pull-your-hair-out bedtimes, 3 pull-your-hair-out meals, 3 spankings, and 2 snuggle sessions later.  

Oh, I forgot to include the "I colored all over my parents' 2-day-old 750TC sheet set and 1 of their 3-day-old pillow shams which belongs to a discontinued, super rare organic line which my mom scored at Hudson's for 17% of its original retail" part of that time period.  Ooops.  How did I forget that detail?

I'll tell you how.  I'm still on the verge of tears.  My hands are about to crack from being exposed to so much rubbing alcohol, hairspray, and ink remover.  In my washing machine, sits my set of still ink-stained sheets which we scrimped and saved for.  That's how I forgot...I want to pretend it never happened. We recently wore holes all the way through both fitted sheets from sets we were given at wedding showers.  They were that bad.  We've been sleeping on top of and under flat sheets.  Needless to say, I was a little upset today when Brandon sent the text that "Eve has taken a pen to our sheets."  Here I was, grande caramel frappe in hand, cruising Target, kid-free...living it up.  The next second, I'm struggling not to cry on the curtain rod aisle.  It wasn't until I got home and saw the actual extent of the damage that the bile began to rise up in my throat.  I've used every trick I can find on the web to remove these black, gel-ink pen marks.  I've given up on the sheets.  Those marks can be hidden.  The sham is a different story.  It fell victim to the most damage.  I'm going to cross my fingers and take it to the cleaners tomorrow.  

Now get this.  After a daddy spanking...the girl was still tear and remorse-free.  

I just about cry when I witness a daddy spanking.  

Occasionally, she softens up, says kind things, obeys, and melts my heart.  But right now, she apparently has ice water flowing through her veins, and she's breaking my heart in two.  

Ehhh.  Tomorrow is another day.  Let's just hope she doesn't take my pair of Gingher scissors to her new patchwork quilt I just completed last night.  

To lighten things up a bit, here are a few pics from this morning...before it all went soooo far south.

After the kids knocked and whined at the back door constantly for 30 minutes to come back inside (I know I'm not the only one who banishes the kids to the back yard every now and then), I got the bright idea to drag the plastic kiddie pool to the foot of their playset slide.  Did I mention I'm a genius?  They played virtually whine and altercation-free for almost an hour.  We cooled off with a fruit bar and some intense rolly polly hunting.  

Wounded

Speedy recovery : )

Well, I guess I'm off to throw my one-of-a-kind pieces of artwork sheets into the dryer now.  Gag.

An update...if you can call it that

After sitting here with a major case of writer's block for 17 minutes, I realized I now have some of my pics moved over to the new computer.  I also realized I still haven't showered after my trip to the gym.   So, this is gonna be a quick one.  I've decided to make this my most random blog update of all time.  Here's a bunch of grainy, blurry iPhone photos and the stories behind them.

This is Eve's idea of a cute outfit.  It's also her idea of a smile.

This is a pic from our "big kid" ice cream date.  This was not long after we experienced the worst customer service EVER at a nearby ice cream parlor.  Thankfully, we came to our senses and went to Bops...a place where we've always had stellar service.

We sold the Jeep (sniff) and bought an Element.  It's not like we'd been able to take the top off this summer anyway.  It's too stinkin' hot.  Brandon's much happier with his new ride.

I've licked way too much of this peanut butter straight off a spoon.  It's got crack in it.  I'm convinced.

We dressed up like cows.  All of us. We ate full combos for free.  Take that, you haters.

Fanciest cow ever.

Trek got the short end of the deal.  He had to dress up, and he can't even eat chicken yet.

We baked an Oreo inside of a chocolate chip cookie.  Oh yes, we did.

I went to Easely Amused for the first time.  I also kicked my leg up for a pic for the first time.  This was our attempt to be "different and cute" to win free sessions.  Right after this, the instructor told us girls had done splits and pyramids.  We felt lame.

Umm...yeah.

Trek can finally sit in the Bumbo for a decent amount of time, so he took his first trip to the fountains.

I shoved all my kids into a double stroller and shopped at Kroger like this.  You can read about it here.

Trek tried out the swing for the first time.  Not really sure how he felt about it.

Eve had her first super girly playdate.  

A few more updates...no pics for these.

It's July 30th, and I finally got a swimsuit today.

My daughter pooped on her bathroom floor last night.  Late last night.  I threw up in my mouth about 20 times while cleaning it up, and my throat is sore today as a result of it.  

FYI-I actually DO have a picture for this one, but I'll spare you.  You're welcome.  

I ate my feelings tonight. Apparently, in the food world, extreme exhaustion and kid-related frustration equal two scoops of vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, and sprinkles.  Pretty sure it totally canceled out my workout today, but it was good.  It was either that or walking out back and yelling at the top of my lungs.  I didn't really think the neighbors would respond very well to that.  Which makes me wonder if all of those ladies who talk about going outside and yelling to the top of their lungs have actually ever done it.  I mean, I'm pretty crazy, and I couldn't get up the nerve to do it.  I just don't think these other women have actually done it.  Lies...all lies.  

Done.  Bam.

some rambling, potty talk, and some seriously therapeutic reflection

"I'm peeeeeing in my bed. Ohhhhohhh yeayahhhh. Pee pee in my beeeeed. I'm shaking my boooootayyy and pooping and peeeiingg in my beeed."

 Yeah. That's what my 2 year old, tutu-wearing "princess" is singing at the top of her lungs right now. At 9:18 p.m. In the room next door to her 3 month old brother who spent the better part of the evening screaming like a banshee, but is now sleeping peacefully, but not for long if his sister doesn't stop singing about excrement.

 Gross.

 Another thing that's gross is the fact that I just put my kids in the bed without a bath even though we just left the "splash pad" at Renaissance. I'm sure there's a fair amount of urine flowing through that thing, but things were going south FAST, and sanity trumped being sanitary. They'll live.

 I'm going to go ahead and warn you. If you're not okay with reading about gross kid talk and genitalia (which I've learned are one in the same), you may want to leave now. For those of you who want to read about my potty mouthed, crazy kids...stay with me. This is going to be a good one. I guess I'm going to have to back track to early June. We'd just heard an awesome sermon on sex and marriage (click it...it's good stuff), which among many other things, pointed out the importance of teaching our little ones the correct terminology for their body parts. Well, we taught Cade "penis" when he was super young because little boys just love to tug and shake it just as soon as they discover it. We figured he may as well know what it is. Brandon and I pretty much detest baby talk and all these little made up names people come up with for things, so we shot straight with him, and "penis" it was from day one. I'm not sure why we hadn't had this discussion with Eve yet, but that night at bath time, Eve and I had a little talk about her parts and how she differed from her brothers.

 The girl was fascinated. She probably said "bagina" 50 times that night. She named all the females she could think of...stating that each and every one of them also had one. She would ask any and everyone she came in contact with if they knew she had one, and then she'd ask if they had one too. You get the picture. This was a week or so before Sports Camp (our VBS), and I just knew she was going to take it upon herself to educate her entire class of 2 year olds about their sexual organs. Great. We'd only been to this new campus a handful of times, and I could just see all of these parents giving me the stank eye because their little one learned the "v" word from my fireball.

 Fast forward a week later. Eve and I were butting heads BIG TIME, so I thought maybe we just needed a little mommy/daughter outing. Since we'd just joined a gym with a pool (insert hallelujah chorus), I figured I could use this outing to search for a swimsuit. Gag. I decided it was a necessary evil, though, so we hit up the Target swimsuit section. Immediately, Eve starts oohing and aaahing over the ruffles adorning the microscopic triangles that were obviously designed to adorn parts of a female who had never breastfed 3 kids. She picks up one of these tops and yells "Look mom! This is to go over your nickels (nipples)." A chorus of laughter from several ladies erupts. Great. This is just like pouring gasoline on a fire. Then, she picks up some bottoms and asks (loudly, of course) if these "cover up a penis or a bagina?" Swimsuit shopping immediately ended.

 All this talk about body parts has piqued Cade's interest in the subject, and he also feels the need to discuss and display his parts often. Both of my kids think "I'm Sexy and I know it" is the greatest song ever. Shake your head, wag your finger, tsssk tsssk all you want to. They hear it EVERYWHERE and think it's hilarious to dance to it. In a month or so, this song will be a faint memory, but for now it is nothing for me to hear that phrase a few dozen times a day. Really.

 Sooo, a few days ago my granny brought the kids a few dollar store toys. Eve's toy was a pack of elastic rings that had a different colored light on each one. Of course, the kids fought over them, and at one point I stashed them on top of the microwave and forgot about them. Well, after a morning "swim" in the kiddie pool, Cade was supposed to be changing into dry clothes. I heard him making some noise in the kitchen, and then I heard him quietly giggling in his bathroom. Since I was feeding Trek, I called him into the living room to see if he was getting dressed. This kid walks to the doorway, butt naked...except for two of these ring lights which are wrapped around...you guessed it...his penis. He stops in the doorways, starts shaking his hips, and sings "Girl, look at that penis" (as in "girl, look at that body" from the song I just mentioned...if you're clueless, count yourself lucky). I wasn't sure whether to freak out about the possibility of him cutting off circulation and ruining my chances of being a grandmother, or to be impressed with his impromptu lyrics. So, I did what anyone else would have done. I laughed so hard I almost cried and ordered that crazy kid to remove the disco from down below and get some clothes on. Craziness. Pure craziness.

There's probably 50 other stories I could tell...if I remembered them...about their sudden fascination with these words. Once upon a pre-Trek time, I had an on-going sticky note or word document on the computer with this stuff so I could remember it. Now, my brain is mush...along with my tummy and thighs, but that is going to change. Not the mushy brain. That's probably going to be the state of my brain for the rest of my life, or until all the kids are out of the house. No, the tummy and thighs are about the change. We joined the Y, and this girl is about to bust it to get these pounds off. I've been really enjoying going to work out. It's a win, win, win, win situation. #1, I get some time to myself because the kids go to child watch. #2, the kids get some non-mommy time, and usually have a few kids to play with. #3, I feel better and have more energy. #4, Brandon gets a hot wife and a cleaner house since I have more energy. Best money ever spent. I'm not gonna go all crazy and post a before pic along with my weight. I'm crazy, but not that kind of crazy. But, I will keep you posted on how much I've lost and such. You know, every few months when I actually sit down and write a post. 

You've probably noted that there still has not been a "Trek" post. Penises and vaginas were just more fun to talk about for now. After this evening I needed to laugh, not re-live a 10 pound baby exiting my body. If I get around to that post before his first birthday, I'll consider it a success.

 Speaking of success, I finagled a quick run in Kroger with no infant carrier or sling tonight. Trek ditched the carrier a couple of weeks ago. The boy couldn't stand it. So, tonight, on the way home I remembered I needed some things from Kroger. Since Brandon has worked nearly 9 days in a row, and I'm operating on borderline single parent status, I knew I just needed to suck it up and go in with all 3, even though Trek had been screaming since we left the fountains. So, I lugged the ginormous double jogging stroller out of the back of the van, and proceeded to position the kids strategically so that everyone is perched in a somewhat stable fashion, but not crushing one another. This, in an of itself, is a feat. But, oh. I didn't stop there. I actually got Cade and Eve positioned so they weren't even touching each other because you know that irritable siblings touching each other is like pouring acid into a paper cut. It's ugly.

 Despite the craziness of the riding situation, it was an overall, somewhat enjoyable experience. I mean, I was even nice to the guy in line who read Trek's bib (which had his name monogrammed on it) and asked "What's his name? Shrek?" Well, I guess I was a little edgy with my answer of "Yeah, it's like Shrek, except it starts with a "Tr" instead of "Sh" and he's not green, so noooo...not really. It's not like Shrek at all." He gave a little laugh like he couldn't really tell what just happened in the interaction, and before he could figure it out, I swerved my loaded down stroller around to the next self check register; at which we completed a transaction without a kid putting his/her hand on the scanner, which usually throws off the weight and alerts the cashier, who is trying to monitor 8 self check stations which are being used by people who really should have used the 15 items or less cash register manned by an honest to goodness human. In short, it was a miracle. We made it through the store without any tears, touching, or toppling out of a stroller built for 2 kids which for 23 minutes moonlighted as a triple stroller and shopping cart all in one.

 Now, I guess I'll include some random photos that are grainy and not in focus since I rarely have the brain cells to use an honest to goodness camera, and my phone is always an arms length away. *(insert 5 minutes of searching for photos on my hard drive) Oh wait. Psych. We just got a new computer and my pictures are on an external, which we've yet to import. Sorry if you got your hopes up. If you're "friends" with me on Facebook, you've probably seen them anyway. Speaking of friends, I hope we're still friends now that you know that my kids talk constantly about genitalia and sing highly inappropriate songs.

 Now, you may think that I'm just throwing some "token" spirituality in at the end of a post full silliness and vulgarity, but here goes. These kids are constant reminders of the broken world we live in. It's not because they are "bad" kids. They're so young, but they've already picked up so much junk that's out there. They aren't even in school yet, and they are bombarded with so much "stuff" just in the small (well, most of the time it's small) amount of time they watch TV. If it's not sexual things or language, it's commercial after commercial showing them what they "need" and what will make them "happy." Sometimes I find myself wishing they were better behaved and didn't say inappropriate things that make people question our parenting, but then I realize how crazy I am, and I snap out of it. They are His creation...made in His image. They are rude, and then they are gracious. They are loud, and then they are meek and obedient. They are selfish and loud, and then they are brokenhearted over the homeless and hungry. I LOVE how human they are. Kids are like the ultimate accountability partners. They are precious gifts entrusted to me and Brandon, and they are so multi-faceted because it's good for us as parents to be stretched and challenged beyond our comforts.

 This season of being home with them has caused me to grow sooo much, whether I wanted to or not. Sometimes I feel like I'm sitting at a potter's wheel (I wish!) and the "pot" that I'm throwing is my family. Every time there's a little wobble in the pot, I have to hunker down and steady my hands and arms; re-centering it. When there's a small rock, it has to be removed, and there are often thin spots or tears to repair. And sometimes, when I've over-worked the pot because I can't get it to look the way I wanted it to look, I have start over fresh and try a new shape...maybe one I've never thrown before and I'm not familiar with, but the artist inside of me knows it's the direction I need to take. I'm so thankful that my potter has the patience to steady and repair me and to take me in new directions that challenge and stretch me. I pray that He continues to use the joy and heartbreak these kids bring me to break my heart for what breaks His and take me to new places physically and spiritually that I never would have imagined.

 Wow folks. That was a long one. It was good, though. I needed to sit and reflect. It doesn't happen enough...thanks for joining me.