The List

Apparently there is a pecking order of the best farters in my household. Personally I do not like the word fart. I prefer to call them puffs, but I am using my Brookie's terminology, so fart it is.

As you can tell she is a delicate flower full of gentility and grace (cough, cough).

Brookie (who takes after her father) told me all about this ranking last night. I was as shocked as you are. According to my seven year old fart analyst it goes something like this:

1. Madame (our Boston Terrier...she does let 'em rip. A lot. And they do stink. A lot.)

2. Brookie (I am sure it pained her to give the number one spot to the dog)

3. Dad (I am thinking he's been under-ranked about...oh...two spots)

4. Mighty Dog

5. Lauren

6. Mom

After sharing the list with me Brookie said, "Sorry Mom, but you just don't stink bad enough to make the top of the list. I hope I didn't hurt your feelings."

Don't worry honey, you didn't.

Warning: Mushy Post Ahead

We were going through a drawer of old photos and keepsakes at Dave's parent's house and found this letter that Dave wrote:

That little sweet talker had quite a way with words didn't he? I really loved finding this note. It made my heart go pitter-pat. He was in the second grade when he wrote this, that is the same grade Brookie is in now. It's hard to imagine the boy he was back then. Somewhere along the way he lost most of the sweet talk (and the legible handwriting), but I know that in the heart of my big, tough man still lives that loving little boy. I can see it in the way he takes care of our girls. I can see it in the way he worries over the troubled students on his campus. I can hear it in his voice when he talks to his dad. I can feel it when he puts his arms around me.

I took this picture yesterday on the way home from my parents. I had been sleeping for quite some time (hours actually) and when I woke up I didn't say anything. I just lay there looking at him, my eyes hidden behind my shades. He was unshaven and rugged looking. He was so calm and at ease driving his car full of sleeping girls safely home. That's when it occurred to me that I don't need the sweet talking little boy inside him to tell me how he feels. He shows me every day in so many ways. Like when he checks every lock in the house before bed to make sure we are safe or when he kisses each of us goodbye before leaving for work in the mornings.



We've been married sixteen and a half years and I love the big lug even more now than I did at eighteen when we first wed.



And I think he is very, very, very, very pretty.

Brookie hearts Build-a-Bear

Brooklyn and I ventured out yesterday with the bajillions of people who went shopping the day after Christmas (I kid you not, there really were bajillions...or maybe even trajillionbajillions). All the traffic made me long for home and it's population of 14 people. The reason we braved the masses in the metroplex was to visit the most glorious and wondrous place on the earth (according to Brookie), Build-a-Bear. Personally I find all the unstuffed animal skins lying about a bit too Silence of the Lambs for me (kidding Brookie, now stop reading my blog and go clean your room!!).

Mumsie gave Brooklyn a gift card for 100 dollars. That is mucho monieo (I speak fluent Pretendish...that means I pretend I can speak another language) for a little person such as herself to spend in one place. I didn't think she could actually spend that much in one shopping trip.

I was so wrong.

We walked out of that store with outfits and pajamas and shoes and panties and glasses and hats and purses and coats and....well, you get the picture. When all the glorious shopping was complete we headed back to my parents where the population was much smaller (and the people were way nuttier...too much pumpkin cheesecake appears to make people way too jovial).

I took the following picture exactly six minutes after we left Build-a-Bear.

She shopped til she dropped. The child has no shopping stamina. Clearly I have failed as a mother and a woman.

A Christmas Conspiracy

I think there is a conspiracy around here. I know it may sound hard to believe, but my students are trying to fatten me up. I'm not sure why. Maybe they think chubby teachers are jollier. Or cuddlier (it's my blog I can make up words if I want). Or slower and therefore easier to run
away from.

Or maybe they want to offer me up as a sacrifice to one of those Pokemon things. I don't know what those are exactly, but some of the kids seem to be in a cult that worships them.

By now you are rolling your eyes at my suspicions, but am I serious here people. My life may be at risk, or at least my dress size. If you don't believe me just check out the evidence:

Exhibit A:



This is a jar of Bar-B-Q Sauce that i received in a package of goodies. Now if someone gives you Bar-B-Q sauce they are pretty much expecting that you will eat meat with it and if you eat meat with it you'll need beans and potato salad and bread. See how they turned one little gift into a million calories?? Sneaky little people.


This jar of Cocoa was in the package as well. Hmmm...




It's chocolaty and I love chocolate. Plus it's warm right here in the winter when I need warm. Coincidence? I think not.


Exhibit B:



This is homemade jam from the fantabulous grandmother of one of my students. It is so yummy that i am forced to eat every last bite of it every year. Every bit people! That is VERY suspicious.


Exhibit C:




This is homemade banana nut bread. I love banana's. I love nuts. I love bread. See?? These kids are oh so clever. They have planned out this fattening uppening to the last detail.


Exhibit D:

They are busting out the big guns now. Coke AND chocolate...two of my biggest weaknesses.

So now I am sure you will have to agree with me that they are definitely trying to fatten me up. The only question now is why? I'll just hope that they want more of me to love, but if I suddenly disappear be sure and call in all Pokemon. I still say they are up to something.

However, while I am still alive and thin enough to type let me share with ya'll some of the other things the students brought in.

See that table full of goodies? I am a very blessed person to be teaching such a loving and giving group of children.

I got this from the sweetest little girl. She took the top off an ornament, glued it to a glass coaster and used it as a little vase. Isn't that the cutest idea??

And I LOVE this little pillow. It is so me. It's bright green and pink and it says, 'Life Is Good' and you know what? It is! It is very, very good.

Just in case I don't see you guys before Christmas (or before I am offered up to the Pokemon thingies) let me say...

Brooklyn's Good Hair Day

Brookie had her little Christmas program tonight. She looked so cute! I really feel like we reached a milestone tonight. She actually let Lauren and I curl her hair and she liked it! This is a big deal people. For the past seven hundred and ninety-two days she has worn her hair in a ponytail. No bows. No clips. No ribbons. Just a plain old rubber band and a plain old ponytail. My heart was breaking and my fashion sense was begging her for mercy. How could a child of mine care so little about her appearance? It just didn't make sense! She was worried about stuff like comfort. And warmth. What was that all about?

But tonight, finally, the Angel of Fashion and Style smiled upon my family and blessed us with the gift of big, beautiful hair. (Okay it didn't stay big, I tried like the true child of the eighties I am, but she told me to not get carried away. So, I had to tame it. Sniff. Sniff.). But it was still beautiful and best of all it was not in a ponytail. Praise be to God in the Heavens.

She did great in her little program. The only glitch was her shoes. She wore shoes that maybe didn't fit perfectly, but the LOOKED GOOD and really, that's what matters here (I am kidding, they were a little big, but didn't hurt). She was afraid they would fall off so she walked out onto the stage like some kind of Fashion Diva Nutcracker...all stiff legs and pointed toes. She was afraid her shoes would fall off so she didn't want to bend anything (not sure why that helped, but whatever keeps her happy). She was front row center and did great. Actually they ALL did great. I was very proud of all the children from every class. They were all adorable.

Now for the pictures. Let me apologize for the poor quality. I keep taking pictures with my phone and it doesn't really take good quality pictures, but I don't care because I love my phone. I mean love it, love it. The way I love chocolate and my kids (not necessarily in that order). Anyway here are the crummy pictures my beloved phone took of my lovely daughter (with her hair curled...yay!)

Please ignore the Playboy Bunny in the second picture. That was from my past life. Before I was a mom. Or a Baptist.

(that was a joke people)

Lauren's History and An Update

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with Lauren like it was yesterday. We lived in Boyd, Texas at the time. Dave was a history teacher and a coach and I was in college and a substitute teacher. On this particular day I didn't have classes and nobody had called me to sub. Dave had already left for work and I was making the bed when a wave of dizziness washed over me. Somehow I knew right then that I was pregnant. I got dressed, ran to the little grocery store there in town, bought a pregnancy test and was back home taking it within thirty minutes.

When I saw that it was positive I couldn't wait to get up to the school and tell Dave. We had lost a baby due to miscarriage and somehow things just felt empty after that. I knew this would make him as happy as it had already made me. When he walked into the office and saw me standing there holding a cute little pair of baby booties he picked me up in front of the entire office staff and swung me around and around. Then immediately pulled me into a little office used for meetings, put his arms around me and prayed for God's protection over me and our unborn child. Little did we know how very much she'd need those prayers.

Early in the pregnancy I started bleeding and was put on bed rest (much later...and after three more miscarriages we found out I have a Bicornuate Uterus). Then later I developed Preeclempsia and was put back on bed rest. Looking back I guess the Preeclempsia was pretty severe. I was so young though and so optimistic. I guess I really couldn't imagine anything bad happening to me or the baby. I managed to carry her to the 37th week and at that point a stress test was done and something was wrong (honestly I don't even know what it was) and they decided to induce labor. They started the drip at five p.m. on a Tuesday and I had her at two p.m. on a Thursday. She didn't open her eyes when she was born. I thought she was sleeping (again, I was so young). They took her away without her ever crying or 'waking up'. Still I thought everything was fine. Many hours later I heard the doctor calling for a care flight. When they said the baby's name I started screaming for someone to come and tell me what was going on (this was literally seven or eight hours after she was born and nobody had told me she was sick). I heard my mom out in the hall telling Dave that he had to tell me. I heard him crying (for the first time ever) and saying he didn't know how. Finally he came in and told me she was very sick and they didn't know what was wrong. Her Apgar had been a two. That's bad.

Long story short on her birth (well sorta short) she was care flighted to Oklahoma City where Dave was told she wouldn't make it through the night. She had Group B Strep. Her lungs were not working. Her collar bone was broken (and various other problems). They said if she somehow pulled through this she would probably be brain dead. God worked a miracle (the first of many) and she came through the illness seeming to be perfectly healthy.

At six weeks we went to her first visit with her new Pediatrician. That's when we were told something was wrong with her heart. She ended up needing open heart surgery. We had that done the week before Christmas when she was 13 months old. She slept the entire first year due to three holes in her heart.

Then the next four years were great. She seemed so healthy and everything was going fine. Then Lauren started to develop breast tissue. It really worried me so I took her to the pediatrician who said it was just baby fat. I had my doubts but tried to put my worries aside. When she started developing pubic hair later that year (in kindergarten) I knew something was wrong. I made an appointment with a pediatric endocrinologist myself and found out she was in precocious puberty. They did an MRI to look for tumors. When none were found it was determined that this was idiopathic and we needed to just treat the symptoms. They told us her growth plates were closing early and that it would take a few inches from her adult height. They predicted she'd be 5'7" even with the inches she lost. I'm only 5'4" so I thought that sounded great! The next visit they did another bone age and found she'd only be 5'4". I was still okay with that. The next visit they said she wouldn't even make five feet tall and that her bone age was that of a thirteen year old (she was six by now) and that her growth plates were closing already. Then she started her period. When she was SIX.

At this point we put her on Lupron (a truly awful drug and I still wonder if we made the right decision putting her on it). The Lupron put her in menopause and stopped the puberty process. She took it once a month in the leg and each shot cost us $1921.00. Our insurance did not cover it. It was not easy, but of course she was worth every penny.

Eventually we moved and her new Endocrinologist took her off the Lupron. She was nine at the time (I think). Almost immediately Lauren got very, very sick. She had so many symptoms that I didn't know what type of doctor to take her to. She had hot flashes, facial flushes, tachycardia, high blood pressure, major headaches, dizzy spells, gushing nose bleeds...I could go on and on, but you get the idea. We switched Endocrinologists again because I really felt like her problems were related to her endocrine system somehow. We found a fabulous new doctor (he didn't take insurance, but I stayed with him because he was the best around). Finally we got another brain scan done and they found a Pituitary Macroadenoma. It was so large that it had broken through her Sphenoid Sinus Cavity and filled it.

She needed brain surgery. Wow. That was a scary time. Our new endo ordered copies of the original brain scan that they took years before and on it they saw the tumor. Granted it was small at the time, but it was there. They had missed it. Anyway, we got the surgery set up at Presbyterian in Dallas with a Surgeon our endo really liked. We did the preop and filled out all the forms.

Then the night before the surgery we got a call from hospital administration. They canceled the surgery. We were in shock. They said she was too young for a surgery at their hospital and that we needed to go to Dallas Children's and have it done there. We had to start all over. We got everything set up at Dallas Children's and then THEY called right before the surgery and said the last MRI they ran showed the tumor was almost gone. PRAISE GOD. The doctors said that when they put her back on Lupron it must have starved the tumor of the hormones it needed to grow and it shrunk. We gave God the credit (as we should have).

Since then we've dealt with several health issues. Lauren has epilepsy. She has seizures every day of her life, but we have them under control now with several medications thanks to her great Neurologist. Her endo put her on a regimen of medication formulated to help her grow (and stop the growth plates from closing). It worked. She did make it to 5'2".

Fast forward to the present. Lauren has been having dizzy spells again and getting really sick to her stomach after every meal. We are not sure what that is about. She also has terrible back pain. We've tried buying new pillows and even a new bed. Nothing helps. She is to the point that she is asking to just sleep sitting up in the recliner to try and stop the pain. She also has awful pain in all her joints (especially in her knees). This is what led us to the doctor's office recently. She's been hurting like this for a really long time so I finally decided we need to figure out what is going on.

The rest you know about. He sent her for a MRI of her brain because some of her symptoms (sometimes her pupils don't match up, half her face droops and she loses feeling on the left side) sound like MS and she has some suspicious spots in her white matter. He also ran blood work for Rheumatoid Arthritis due to the genetic possibility that she has that and he sent her for a nuclear bone scan. Well the office called yesterday and said he really wants to see her again after Christmas, but didn't give any results. I couldn't wait another week. No way. So I went in and got copies of all the test results. I needed them anyway to send to all her specialists in Dallas.

This is what I found out. The spots are still on her brain, but they haven't changed. MS can't be ruled out, but the Radiologist doesn't really feel like that is the problem. Yay. There is also NO SIGN of the pituitary tumor. Praise God again! The blood work was normal. Another big thank you to God. The bone scan showed that vertebra L2, L3 and L4 were damaged somehow and an MRI was suggested. The report said it could be Degenerative Disc Disease. Hmmm. Not sure why she'd have that. She is 13. However it does explain the back pain. It also showed a problem with both ankles. No clue what that is about either. Her knees didn't show anything and they hurt way more than her ankles. Sooo...that's all I know until I talk to the doctor after Christmas. I am really afraid this is all just a bunch of complications from the Lupron. She is off it again, but it is some really harsh stuff. I just want whatever they find to be treatable so my baby will feel better. She is such a good girl and handles it all very well, but she shouldn't have to live in pain. I'd gladly take it on myself so she could be pain free for once in her life, but unfortunately it doesn't work that way.

Thanks for your prayers! I will keep you updated as I find out more.

Job Security

I took this picture at our last playoff game. I am a Reading Specialist so I couldn't help but smile to myself when I saw this scenario.

It feels good to be needed.

I Know What You Did Last Christmas (a.k.a. A Scary Story)

The following is a true account of something that happened in my very own house in the wee hours of the night. I saw something very scary. So scary, in fact, that the mere sight of it caused me to scream loudly enough to wake my family. (And the dogs). (And Fatty McFat Fish). (And the neighbors). If you do not like horror films or ghost stories or your hair turning white with fright, then I suggest you don't read any further.

Early, early this morning when the house was still and dark, I had one of those mommy feelings. No, not the feeling that says 'I need a vacation!', but the one that says, 'I need to go check on my babies.' As you know there is no rolling over and going back to sleep after that feeling grabs hold of you. So I very carefully and quietly crept from my bedroom, through the kitchen and rounded the corner of the living room. That's when I saw this...

Only it was dark. And I am night blind. And maybe it said, "mwaah haa haa haa, I am the headless shirt and I came to find my missing head." (I am not sure about that last one. It is all kinda fuzzy).

Okay, okay. It was just Dave's shirt. He got it out last night and for some reason decided to put it on an old plant hook in the living room instead instead of hanging it in the laundry room like he normally does. I know it's just a shirt, but for some reason it scared the daylights outta me! So I screamed like an eight year old girl and ran shamelessly for my life, never pausing to protect my children from it's evil, starched clutches.

Yes, I am a terrible person. Now if you will excuse me I have to go change my pants.

My Very Own Chia Pet

This is a Maltese.




This is a Maltese that's been snorting Miracle Grow.

or huffing fertilizer.

Yes, there really is a dog inside all that hair.

Just say no Mighty Dog, just say no.

Through Lauren's Eyes

I like looking through Lauren's photographs. It's like glimpsing the world through her eyes. If I am feeling sad and blue they are a sure way to lift my spirits. She sees the beauty around us and seeing her pictures reminds me to do the same.

We are blessed.

Brain Cramps, Zits and Depends

Dave loves the Bourne movies, but we never managed to make it out to the theaters to see the last one, Bourne Ultimatum. I surprised him by bringing home the DVD. We are watching it now.

Translation: He is watching it and I am sitting here really confused.

While I wait for the movie to end so Dave can explain it to me I thought I'd spend some quality babble time with my blog. Action packed spy movies may make my brain cramp, but I can babble with the best of 'em.

My first order of babble news is to tell you that my husband forgot to pick up our youngest child yesterday while I was gone to a UIL academic event. Yes, this is the same husband that is smart enough to comprehend the Bourne Triology without falling onto the floor with brain spasms and begging for a sedative or the NFL Network (oh wait, those are the same thing). Apparently remembering to pick up our seven year old daughter (after I called to remind him) (twice) was more than he could handle. She was there long after every teacher left. That is how long it took the man to remember his child.

I was not happy.

Thank God our janitor is such a wonderful man. He stayed with her and waited for someone to remember that they were a parent.

Another thing that happened while I was at the UIL meet was that I almost turned back into a teenager. At least I thought I was turning back into a teen because I went to the bathroom and noticed not one, but two zits on my chin. Teens get zits, so when I saw them I decided that must mean I was turning back into a teen. I was pumped at the thought of being a teen again.

Then I looked at my boobs for a quick does of reality (defiantly not teen boobs).

Then I looked at my butt for further proof that I was most certainly still OLD.

And finally I looked to see if the super hair was still growing on my chin. (I say super because that sucker gets plucked every day and by the next evening it is growing back. If I could harness the amazing growing powers in that one little hair I would sell them to Hair Club for Men, cure all the baldness in the world and make a fortune). It was still there. Sigh. Excuse me while I go soak my teeth and eat some prunes.

Okay I am back. Where was I? Oh yes, I was babbling. I would stay and babble some more but I am afraid those prunes will kick in soon and I am almost out of depends.

Plus I have zits to pop, even though I am clearly old and not a teen.

Life is so not fair.

My Daughter Is a Superhero

So yesterday was Lauren's nuclear bone scan. Yes, I said nuclear. As in they injected radioactive material into her vein. This is serious stuff ya'll. Nurse Button (I call her that because she really was cute as a button) made sure we understood just how serious it was by giving us a very strict set of rules to follow while we were out and about after the radioactive injection.

1. Do not hug anyone.

2. Do not stand near expectant mothers.

3. Do not leave tinkle on the toilet seat (she said urine, but for some reason I really dislike that word).

4. Do not spit on anyone.

5. Do not hold infants or small children.


By the time rule number three was recited Lauren was pretending to shoot Spidey webs at me when Nurse Button wasn't looking and I was giggling behind my hand like a school girl. Clearly we understood the gravity of the situation. In fact, our grasp of the serious nature of these rules was so apparent that Nurse Button felt it necessary to repeat the rules to us THREE TIMES before turning us loose on an unprotected and unsuspecting world.

Within minutes we realized the potential for greatness from this radioactivity. It was raining and sleeting out when we left the hospital the first time and Lauren climbed into the Suburban and put on her seat belt. Then she looked at me and said, "Mom, I think my super powers are already kicking in. I just got into the car without falling."

Ya'll don't know how amazing this is. What you have to understand is that she usually slips or stumbles even on a clear, rain-free day when climbing into the Suburban on account of something she inherited from me that I like to call shortness. Then we left Hobby Lobby and she got into the car AGAIN without falling and then AGAIN at On the Border (where she ate refried beans and then proceeded to produce radioactive farts).

That is THREE times that my daughter climbed into the Suburban with nary a stumble. This was huge. She was now able to enter vehicles in a single bound. Clearly she was a superhero with radioactive powers. Could a Mama be any prouder?? I felt it was my duty as a parent to a impart some superhero wisdom upon her. I explained that with power came responsibility. I also cautioned her to use her new powers for good instead of evil. She listened and nodded her head with understanding as I bestowed my wisdom upon her. She always has been a mature and responsible child. I knew I had nothing to worry about.

And then she told me that she couldn't wait to get home and tell her sister that she'd better stay out of her room or she'd spit on her with radioactive spit.

Okay, so maybe she isn't quite ready for the responsibilities of a superhero just yet. I guess my work as a parent is not yet done (and I have to say I am glad).

In all seriousness we should get the results for the MRI of her brain and the Bone Scan next week. I'll be sure and let ya'll know what we find out and in the meantime we continue to covet your prayers. She is actually in quite a bit of pain (popping advil like they are candy), but rarely complains (to anyone but her parents and Mumsie). She may not be a superhero to anyone else, but she is a superhero to me.

Stressings

It was one of those days. If you're a mom you know exactly the kind of day I am talking about. It's the kind of day where nothing seems to go right. It could be anything from the alarm not going off, to the oatmeal burning, to the school calling and saying your child isn't wearing panties and that they were learning somersaults in P.E. (of course that's never happened to me), to the dog eating your new shoes. My version of a bad mommy day went something like this...

My oldest had to have a brain MRI done in a town about an hour and a half away. Actually I could stop right there. That's is more than enough stress for me. I hate it when she has these MRI's done. She is very brave about it, but she absolutely hates having that little cage put around her head and she hates the loud banging sounds even more. Just knowing she is anxious is enough to make me anxious too. Add icy road conditions to this already stressful trip and things just weren't looking like much fun. Of course I forged ahead and got everyone ready this morning.

This is the part where my youngest started throwing up. It wasn't just little, lady like throwing up. If there was an Olympic event for blowing chunks she would totally have a gold medal right now. So there I was torn about what to do. Did I reschedule an MRI that had already taken a few weeks to schedule or did I drag my poor sick baby out into the icy day? I opted for the dragging and off we went. Did I mention she was throwing up A LOT?? Every time she got sick she ended up saying she was starving. So I would feed her and then she'd get sick again (duh, what did I expect?). Suffice it to say it was a really long trip. Then we finally get there and they won't let me go back with my oldest because I have my youngest with me. I know she's 13 already, but she's still my baby and I wanted to be with her! She went back on her own and she did great (we don't have any results yet). Then I rushed home to get my youngest into the doctor and found out she has strep throat (blek). So off to the pharmacy and back home to prepare dinner.

When I have days like this I have to remind myself that I have just as many things to be thankful for as I do to whine about. I thank the Lord we made it there and back in one piece with no trouble from icy road conditions. I am thankful that Ren handled getting an IV without me and going through the MRI without me. I am thankful that cookie is already on antibiotics and well on her way to recovery. There are millions of children out there without access to doctors or medication and we are incredibly blessed to live in a country with access to both.

So when you see me again and my hair has all fallen out from stress just remind me to be thankful for the blessing of wigs and tell me to stop whining! See? Each time there is stress in life, there is also hidden blessings....put them together and you have stressings.

Making A Joyful Noise

I love music. I just la-la-love it (I totally sang that part). I am one of those annoying people that sings all the time. I sing in the shower. I sing while I clean. I sing when I shop. I sing as I cook. I sing in the car (or I did before that doodiehead misguided soul broke out my window and stole my satellite radio system, may he get chiggers down his pants God bless his soul). I even catch myself singing in the halls at school. I just can't stop myself. I love to sing. If you don't believe me ask Drama Dad, as soon as he takes the cotton out of his ears he will definitely tell you that I do indeed sing ALL the time.

That wasn't always the case. For years and years I would not sing out loud at all. I mean none. Zero. Zippo (stop longing for those days Drama Dad cause they aren't coming back). There is one big, fat, mean and ugly reason that I wouldn't sing and that reason is called my elementary school principal. (I tell this story a lot so if you've heard it just skip to the next paragraph, I don't mind). You see once I was in the choir on angels at school. Oh I was sooo excited. I was going to be the bestest angel that ever had lived. I was going to have my curled (my mom was queen of the little pink sponge rollers back then). I was going to wear a beautiful white costume with sparkling silver wings. And I was going to sing (this is where my plan went awry). One day at rehearsal we were singing along and I guess I was stinking up the place with my bad self because the big, fat, mean and ugly principal suddenly stopped us mid song to say something like WHO IN THE WORLD IS SINGING LIKE THAT???? Well I just stood there and blinked at her because I had no idea what she was talking about, but apparently every other kid knew exactly what she was talking about because they all turned at pointed at me simultaneously.

Oh.

Big oh.

Big, BIG oh. That was the moment that I found out that I couldn't sing. I was stripped of my wings and banned from the choir of heavenly hosts. They made up another part for me, but that didn't matter to me because from that moment on I refused to sing. I wouldn't sing anywhere for any reason. I wouldn't sing when I was alone. I wouldn't sing at school when I was supposed to. I wouldn't sing in church. I just wouldn't sing period. Years went by and mom decided to make me join the choir at church in a brilliant scheme to try and trick me into singing again (I was totally on to you and your little plan mom). I proved to be the best lip syncing teen that choir has ever known. I never sang a note...not one single note.

Once again it was children that impacted my life and helped me to change for the better. I started out my teaching career in early childhood (kindergarten and then pre-k and then back to kindergarten). When you teach kindergarten you just have to sing. You have to. There is no way around it. But I soon found singing for children is nothing like singing for adults. Children are so amazing ya'll. I mean that. They are amazing. They give their love unconditionally and unashamedly. They don't judge. They don't condemn. They just love and it is a beautiful and healing kind of love. It wasn't long before I was singing without hesitation in front of my class and loving every minute of it.

Finally one day something profound occurred to me. God loves me with a child like love. By that I mean His love is unconditional and unending. He doesn't care what my voice sounds like either. In fact He thinks it's a beautiful sound when I sing praises to His name. So get used to it people. I'm gonna keep on singing and no amount of pointing, laughing or throwing of rotten tomatoes can stop me.

(and in case you didn't know...God loves YOU with that same kind of love. Exciting isn't it???)

No Time Like the Present

I've been tagged by a friend from the blog For the Love of Home (which is a GREAT blog by the way). The challenge was to name an age that I wish I could go back to. I've thought about this off and on all day and I have to say I don't want to go back to any age. The here and now is exactly where I want to be (good thing since that's where I am at, huh?).

At first I was tempted to say I would go back and redo my teenage years. Not because they were so great, but because they were so awful. I've often wished I could go back and redo those years with the knowledge I have now. It's not that I misbehaved or acted crazy. The opposite was actually true. I was darn near the perfect child. No, the problem was that I was painfully shy. Despite all the awards I received and things I was nominated for back then (homecoming queen, class favorite, most beautiful, most friendly, president of this and sweetheart of that) I never, ever felt like I fit in with my peers. I had horrible self esteem and it really did make those days miserable. Looking back I have no idea why I felt so bad about myself. There was absolutely no reason for it, but bad is exactly how I felt.

The early years of my marriage were spent with my husband refusing to let me put myself down and that helped some. Then I became a teacher and somehow the unconditional love of hundreds of children has helped me in ways nothing else ever did. God led me to the career path of my heart and I will forever be grateful for the lives that I've been allowed to touch and for the lives that touch mine daily.

My twenties were good I guess, but they were a little chaotic. I married at 18 (sixteen years ago...wow...still shocks me to think about how fast time has flown by) and the first decade of our marriage was filled with college (for me), moving often for coaching jobs, and then there was the doctors. Lots and lots of doctors (for 'Ren). It's all a blur really...the worries...the fears...the hospital stays and the medical bills (oh my the medical bills). Dave was coaching and never home and well, there is a lot I could say about my twentieth decade, but suffice it to say that I just like the present better.

We now end this unscheduled babble to return to the tag at hand.

So what age would I choose? 34. That's how old I am now. My life in the here and now is far from perfect, but I can't think of a time in my life that I have been happier. Even though 34 doesn't feel 'young', I really don't think I would go back to any other age. I'm too blessed in the present. I have two beautiful children. I am head over heels in love with David. I adore my job. The town I live in is really starting to feel like home. I have a wonderful church home and an amazing new church family. I am starting to make some friends here and they are truly good people. So yeah, I'd have to say that life is good.

I don't wanna go back and you can't make me (wow, I sounded like a teen there...that's almost like going back isn't it?).

Now for who I am going to tag. I am only going to tag two people...

My cousin Jax who is an amazing woman and one of my favorite people.

Tara, who is a wonderful teacher and friend (and she has a brand new blog that you need to check out).

Perspectives

I thought I'd post some pictures that were actually in focus to make up for the dreadful phone pictures I posted yesterday. My oldest daughter loves to go off into the wild blue and spend hours looking at the world through the lens of one of her cameras. When she returns from one of her little picture taking ventures I am always impressed and it's not with the pictures (though they are very good, especially considering she's had zero training). What impresses me is her perspective. She can find beauty in any setting and every time I look at a new crop of her photographs I am reminded of what an awesome God we serve.

The fact the Ren is the one that sees the beauty so clearly is a double blessing. Many people would have started viewing the world with cynicism after going through open heart surgery, a brain tumor, epilepsy and all the other things she has had to fight through in her young life. She is a remarkable and amazing young lady and I will stop being a sappy mom now and post the darn pictures. She took these when she was ten. She's even better now, but these are the only pictures of hers I have saved on this computer.

Surf's Up Santa!

This is Cookie and the Santa she had to decorate for class. Her sister talked her into going with the 'surfer dude' look, and we all know that old St. Nick is well known for slashing up the waves.

Not.

I thought it turned out cute anyway (the Santa, not the picture. I took the pic with my phone and well, ewww).


In more holiday news, here is a copy of Brookie's letter to Santa:

Dear Santa,

Please bring me a PINK electric guitar, a picture of you and your wife and something awesome. Thank you for working so hard to bring all us good kids toys. I looks really hard. I will leave more cookies for you this year and more food for your reindeer.

Love,
Cookie

If anybody has any ideas about what something 'awesome' is be sure and let me know. I asked and she said that Santa will know. And don't ask about the picture. I have no clue what that's about unless it's her way of proving to herself that Santa is real.

Lauren wants a guitar also (not electric and not pink) and a marshmallow gun. At least she was a little more specific. I can work with a list like that.

Drama Dad bought himself a new boat and that is all that boy is getting (yes, he bought it at Christmas time and yes, it caused me a mild heart attack, but I am feeling better now.)

As for me, I want earplugs (in case you didn't notice that was TWO guitars people...oh yes, I want really, really good earplugs).

The Kindness of Strangers

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers"


I love that quote from "A Streetcar Named Desire," because it reminds me to be kind to strangers. Tennessee Williams captured the idea of Southern hospitality...the feeling that we are all neighbors and can rely on one another when we find ourselves in need.

The thing is, while I am more than willing to give to others in need, I find it exceptionally hard to accept help from others, be them stranger or friend. I am not sure why that is. Probably something to do with the way I was raised. My parents were always, always helping other people, but I don't remember anyone ever really helping them.

What I do remember is trudging in the cold from the very back of the parking lot at a shopping center, trying to help carry my little sister in a body cast and wondering aloud why we didn't get a handicap sticker like the bone specialist had suggested (because this was like her sixth body cast). My mama looked at me and told me that there were people out there that needed the help more than we did. They never said it, but I know we had to have had all kinds of financial problems with all the medical bills. Yet they wouldn't apply for disability for my sister. She would have easily qualified for it. Her diseases are severe and debilitating, but they always thought there were others that needed the help more.

I went off one of my babbles there, but the point was that for whatever reason I don't easily accept kindness from others, yet I find great joy in the giving of kindness. Well, something very simple happened at our playoff game Saturday (which we totally won!!!! Yay!!!!) that really made an impact on my heart.

I was sitting in the stands early in the second half and my hands were getting a little cold. This wasn't a big deal (it was hardly what anyone else would call cold), but it was chilly enough that I had slipped my hands inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt. I barely noticed that I did this because I was too busy screaming like a loon and cheering for our boys.

I may not have noticed, but someone else did. Earlier in the game a couple of really sweet, older cowboys came up and sat beside me. They were very friendly and chatted with me off and on throughout the half. It was one of these gentlemen that noticed my hands inside my sweatshirt. When he did, he instantly pulled off his gloves handed them to me saying, "I know they aren't much and they look nasty, but they are okay. It's only dirt." I protested lightly for a moment because I did not feel comfortable taking his gloves from him, but I stopped because I feared hurting his feelings. I didn't want him to think it was the dirt that was making me refuse.

Those of you that know me what a girly girl I am (oh hush up family) and probably have never been seen in anything dirty (especially not in public). But let me tell you something. I was so proud to wear that man's old, soiled gloves. He was truly being kind. I found out that I don't always have to do the giving to feel the joy. Accepting the kindness of this stranger brought it's own kind of joy in and off itself.

It occurred to me as I stood there with my clapping hands encased in the toasty warm dirt covered gloves that if I had refused to use that man's gloves I would have been robbing HIM of his own joy...the kind of joy that I myself feel when I do a kindness for another. At that moment I was very glad that I had not robbed him of that joy.

When he left he refused to take his gloves back. I tried very hard to get him to take them and felt bad that he would not. Secretly though, I was glad to keep them. I've held them several times since then and smiled at the memory of his kindness. As a result my giving spirit has been challenged to bring to others that same warm feeling that was brought both to my hands and my heart that night.



For I do not mean that others should be eased and you burdened; but by an equality, that now at this time your abundance may supply their lack, that their abundance also may supply your lack - that there may be equality. -2 Corinthians 8:13,14.

Sharing the Joy

When I am feeling down this adorable little girl always brings a smile to my face and she's quoting the word of God, which brings joy to my heart. Just wanted to share the smile and the joy...

Tact and Opinion

It was early and the bell had not yet announced the beginning of another day of academic adventures. I was talking to Cookie (my youngest) and setting up for my first reading group when Mr. M walked into my classroom. Mr. M was there to spend the day observing me teach. Mr. M had on cologne.

Strong cologne.

A lot of strong cologne.

My eyes watered and my nose begged for permission to defend itself by a sneak sneeze attack. i held my nose at bay by shoving a white Kleenex of truce under it (thank goodness it took the hint) and then I greeted Mr. M.

A few moments later he wandered over to the other side of my classroom (my class is divided by a 3/4 wall...one half is mine and one is the speech therapist's). As soon as he was out of sight I made a face, held my nose, mimed that I was choking, and fake gagged...gaaaggaaaakkkk.

Cookie looks at me and LOUDLY says, "Mom, why are you going gaaaaggaaakkk?" She mimicked my gagging sounds perfectly, the only difference being that I was whispering and she wasn't. Of course I instantly wanted to jump out the window and hide myself in shame. Instead, I foolishly stayed in the room so that my child...the fruit of my loins (do girls have loins?) could continue to humiliate me. I tried in vain to shush her.

"What? I can't hear you! And why are you holding your nose? I don't stink. You made me take a bath." I quickly dropped my fingers from my nose and shushed her again, this time by making frantic motions that said, "shut up right now or I will sell you to the gypsies." Apparently she doesn't read frantic, retarded sign language...or maybe she just likes gypsies...I don't know, but for whatever reason she didn't hush. Oh no. She didn't hush.

"Ohhhh...you think that man stinks don't you? Well I don't. I think he smells GOOD (little suck up) and he made your whole room smell good too. I wish I could stay in here and smell him all day with you."

At this point I clamped my hand over her mouth and looked around for some duct tape. She was in luck, I was fresh out. I was still furiously whispering to just hush when the bell rang. I kissed her good-bye, wished her a good day and sat down at my table to blush, fret, contemplate my limited hiding places and then blush some more.

I know better than to act that way. I taught my daughter a horrible lesson by making fun of the strength of his cologne. Don't worry though. Mr. M paid me back by sitting right beside me while I taught and by putting on even more cologne each and every time he left my room...and he left a lot people. It's been eight hours since he left and my nose is still weeping and begging for therapy.


Moral of this story? Teach your children to shut up.

Okay, okay...that was a joke. The real moral is that if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. I mean that (preaching at myself here, not you). That was a rule my mom pounded into us and I tell my children the same thing. I am constantly amazed at how mean children can be to one another at school and often wonder if they realize the power of their words. Then I have to remind myself that they learn their behavior somewhere. Children are little sponges. Everything we do teaches them a lesson. Sometimes those lessons are good. Sometimes those lessons are bad. The choice of what we are teaching is really ours.

(Of course it wouldn't hurt Cookie to learn when to hush either! At what age do they develop tact?")



Side note: I am extremely sensitive to smells of all kinds and colognes/perfumes are the worst. They make me sick to my stomach and give me a headache. I am sure that Mr. M had on a normal amount of cologne, and I meant no disrespect to him. I have a feeling that he doesn't read Mommy blogs anyway, but knowing my luck he'll start today.

Where's The Beef?

Something amazing happened.

We were making the long trek home from our Thanksgiving travels. It was just me and my girls. I was tired. I had a headache. I am night blind and nightfall was quickly approaching. The rain was starting to freeze on the roads and brookie was snarting in the backseat (for those of you who do not know, a snart is a sneaky fart-you can't hear 'em, but holy cow with a bell on you can sure smell 'em-and yes, we made that word up). We stopped for a burger on the go and that's when the something amazing happened.

I asserted myself.

If you know me personally you may not believe that, but that's what makes it amazing, it really happened. Lauren's cheeseburger had no burger. It had the bread. It had the cheese. It even had the mayo, but it did not have the meat. My first instinct was to just give her my dinner and throw hers out. Normally I won't complain, no matter what the problem...

They gave you the wrong drink? Well this a wonderful opportunity to try something new.

What? They left out your fries? That's okay. I'm sure they are just busy. Take mine, I'm not hungry anyway.

What's this? Hair in my burger? How thoughtful, i'll braid it and save it. Who knows when rat tails will make a come back.


I do not like confrontation of any kind. Add to that the fact that I truly don't want to inconvenience anyone and you can see how this can be a big problem. So I was quite proud of myself when I actually took a deep breath and called the waitress/car hop and told her what had happened.

Of course she was very apologetic and replaced the burger right away. It was all very simple and I was immediately struck with how silly it is that I don't stand up for myself more often. I realize a burger is not a big deal, but it was something I normally would have let slide. I know that we are encouraged to be meek (the meek shall inherit the earth and all that good stuff), but I honestly do not think the Lord wants us to be doormats either.

So from now on I am making an effort to be more assertive. I am going to try saying no to others when I need to and yes to myself a little more too. So don't be alarmed if you hear someone asking, "where's the beef?" It's not an eighties rerun (whatchoo talkin' bout Willis?), it's just me learning to grab hold of life with both hands instead of being the wimp in the background without any meat.

(Someone might want to warn Dave.)

Dear My Uterus,

Stop bleeding already you untimely tramp. It's Thanksgiving Day. I'm fixin' to be surrounded by hoards of loving relatives. If I kill somebody it will be all your fault.

Signed,
Christy, her bloated stomach and her achy boobage

She Takes After Her Mom

After putting my youngest through a battery of tests, the school says qualifies for the Gifted and Talented program. They say she has a high IQ and is quite creative.

I guess they don't know that she sometimes eats like this:

Or that she can't tell the difference between a chicken and a rooster (she thinks she looks like an egg, but since roosters can't lay eggs she really looks like a big steaming pile of McPooh)...

and they must not have asked our dogs what they think of her creativity...

All kidding aside I totally agree with them. She is brilliant and creative and beautiful to boot. I am very proud of her.

Turducken

That's what we are having for thanksgiving. A turducken. I am eating something with the word turd in it.

TURD.

Can't tell you how excited I am.

Hookers and Hang Ups

I was totally absorbed with looking at pictures of Kenny Chesney's butt reading helpful parenting tips on my laptop when my youngest daughter walked into the room.

"Hey mom, I learned something. Wanna see?"

"Mmmhmm, sure baby, but wear a life jacket. It can be rough at sea." My eyes never left the screen (I'm sorry, but have you seen that man's butt?).

"Mommmm...you aren't listening to me!" Peeking over the top of the screen I can see her standing there with one hand on her hip and a look that she inherited from my mother on her face.

"Honey, I've told you a million times, if you want my attention when I am day dreaming you have to call me Heidi...or Ms. Klum." She did not look amused.

"MOM!" Now her tiny little foot was tapping (I swear she can channel her Mumsie).

"Okay, okay. What did you learn?"

"I learned how to use a hooker." Wow. Kids really do grow up fast these days.

"Umm, okay. How did you learn that?" She had my attention now.

"Daddy showed me." Oh he was in big trouble now. We were definitely not playing Heidi and Kenny later.

"And what exactly did Daddy tell you to do with a hooker?" My eyebrows were hovering somewhere up in my hairline .

"You have to come to my room. That's where the hooker is." I generally try to avoid going into her room because I am afraid of what might be hiding under the mess. Although I usually imagine a litter of homeless kittens or Grandma Lulu's missing dentures, not a hooker. Curiosity got the better of me this time and I followed her into her room with much trepidation.

When she picked up a hanger and started hanging up a dress I had to smile. "Baby that is a hanger not a hooker." She shrugged and said, "same thing." Ahh to be young again.

Thank goodness I don't have to teach her paying for sex is wrong (yet). Now we just have to work on that lying. Cause I know darn good and well her dad didn't show her how to hang something up. I'm pretty sure the man doesn't know how. I wonder if Heidi ever has days like this...

if she's lucky she does.