TGIM

Surely I'm not the only mom that actually looks forward to Mondays? And it's not because the kids head back to school or anything, since only one of my three goes to public school (and that's mostly because you're not allowed to homeschool foster children in our state.)

Weekends just throw our routine all out of whack. And for a person who doesn't really have/want/thrive on routines...I sure do like my version of normal.

Last week was crazy busy. Here's a recap.

Monday - accidental audition (see previous posts.)

Tuesday - early celebration of the hubby's birthday. He is now 42 and I have no idea how I came to be married to such an old man.

Wednesday - hubby's actual birthday, which meant that I bought him lunch. Headed to church to teach my class of wild and crazy first graders, but sneaked out early for callbacks (see Monday.) Came home, sat down, and clicked "refresh" on the Theatre Guild website until the cast listed was posted. Panicked.

Thursday - company meeting for the show, which basically consists of giving them money (for t-shirts, scripts, etc) and reading through the script. Y'all. This show is hilarious. I am not exaggerating one bit when I tell you that I had tears rolling down my face while I was trying to read, I was laughing so hard. I don't know how in the world I'll ever memorize all of these lines, and especially how I'll do this show without laughing all the way through!

Friday - what did I even do on Friday? Oh my gosh, now I'm losing days. Oh yes, I went to the grocery store, because Friday was pay day and we were out of absolutely everything. Note to self: clean out the back of my van. It was like grocery Jenga trying to cram everything back there, and crackers fell out on my foot when I got home and opened it back up.

Saturday - first real rehearsal - just me and the other half of the Odd Couple, Olive. I love that the director sat us down first thing and talked us through really examining our characters' thoughts, frames of mind, and motives. Then we got to work...flopping across chairs, chasing each other around the stage, and yelling a lot. It was fabulous.

On Saturday night, we went to a party (at "Olive's" home, which is gorgeous and made me want to come home and clean...I didn't do it, but I did think about it) for the cast of the last show that we did, The Homecoming. It was great seeing everyone again...I think this should be a thing after every show. If you've never been part of a community theatre group, I highly recommend it. Even if you're not a singer/dancer/actor, there are so many other ways to be involved - selling tickets, working backstage, etc - and it really does become a second family. That, as much as the shows themselves, keeps us going back for more!

Side note: I tried a new Pinterest recipe for this party, and I'm so glad I did. It's always a little scary trying a new recipe when you're taking it to a social gathering to share before you've even taste tested, but this one worked out great:

These were sooooo good. Moist and chewy and fudgy and ohmigosh, I'm going to go finish off the few that were left as soon as I'm done with this post. Milly helped me make them, and they didn't take long at all. I did have to bake them for an extra five minutes to get the top layer nice and browned, but then they were absolute perfection. You can find the recipe on this blog: Living Beyond Measure

Sunday - technically the first day of this week, but I'm going to call it the last day of last week, because this is my blog and I can do that.

We woke up to SNOW! Now, I spend 364 days a year wishing for snow (365 days on leap years), and very rarely get it. On the one morning that I didn't want snow...snow. Thankfully, it was warm enough that it didn't stick to the roads, and church proceeded as usual. Because...

...my Milly was baptized this morning! I am so proud of my girl, and so happy that she made this decision. She looked fearless in that baptismal in front of hundreds of people, and came bouncing back to our seat afterward in her poofy white dress, white sweater...and black combat boots. Because, you know, that's my kid. Bless her, she's going to be the rebel in any situation.

Gene also did a great job baptizing her. I would give any amount of money if I had a blooper reel to show you of him rehearsing his 'lines' in the days prior to the baptism. In our church, it goes like this:

Baptizer: (Name), have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?

Baptizee: (affirmative response)

Baptizer: Based on your profession of faith, I baptize you my (brother/sister/daughter/whatever) in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

*splash*

I've heard this enough times that I knew it ver batim...so I texted it to him early in the week, giving him plenty of time to read and re-read in preparation. And he practiced...and practiced...and practiced...and still didn't *quite* have it down on Saturday night. He was terrified. Shaking and stammering and it was so, so funny. (This is why he leaves the whole theatre thing to us girls.) But he absolutely nailed it on Sunday morning. I was very proud.

And now it's Monday. I've cleaned my bathroom and done very little else. The girls begged for a day off from school, which is only fair since the public schooled one (whom I still have not given a blog nickname) didn't have school today either. Maybe I'll hit another productive spurt later on this evening...but if not, that's okay too. Days that we get to stay at home without a laundry list of errands and things to do...well, they don't roll around very often. So we are being bums and enjoying it to the fullest.

30 Days of Thankfulness, Days Seven and Eight

Because I was all slacker-y yesterday, and because these two things go together, and because it's my blog and I can combine days if I want to.

I am so, so thankful for these little girls.

There were several things that I wanted to be when I was younger - an archaeologist, a lawyer, a librarian, a speech/language pathologist. I changed my mind over and over again, but completely aside from the career choices, I always knew that I wanted to be a mommy.

You've heard it said that sometimes God answers prayers with a "yes," sometimes with a "no," and sometimes with "wait." NO and WAIT can feel very much like the same answer sometimes, as I well learned when Gene and I decided that we were ready to become parents. We waited and waited, and I cried and cried, sure that our answer was NO. Clearly, it was not.

Rachael was worth the wait. From the moment she was born, she was a sweet, cuddly little girl. A little hard-headed sometimes, but loving and thoughtful and always smiling. She spoke like a miniature adult and entertained and astonished us, and we were sure that we could never love another person nearly as much.

But, we were willing to try. And again, we were made to WAIT. And wait, and wait, even longer than we waited for Rachael. Again, I cried and prayed and begged, and just when I decided that my emotions weren't up to the wait any longer and was ready to throw in the towel, there she was.

We had already decided on the name Amelia, if we ever had another daughter, and Amelia became real in my mind long before there was another tiny person to name. Gene had hoped for a boy, but there was no question that I wanted another sweet girl. And she was perfection.

Milly was never as easy as her sister. She's demanding and whiny when she doesn't get her way, she's shy when we don't want her to be, and she terrorizes her big sister (who, in turn, allows herself to be terrorized.) In short, Rachael made us feel like wonderful parents. Milly taught us how very little we really knew. We needed the balance. And yet, she is as loving as her sister (when no one else is around), just as cuddly (when she's in the mood), and amazing in her intensity. I don't love her nearly as much as I love Rachael. I love her just as much, only differently.

They fight. They whine. They're messy and loud. They drive me absolutely nuts most some days. I run out of patience and yell at them and feel like a rotten mom sometimes. I dole out punishments when I don't really want to, because they need it, or withhold punishment because I am Mommy and I can, and that's what grace is all about. They don't get everything they want, because I won't have them feeling entitled. And yet, I want to give them the world. They are a constant source of inner-mommy conflict.

But when they're playing so sweetly together, when little arms reach for a hug, when one of them says, "I love you, Mommy" ...well, all is right in my world, and all the waiting and conflict is worth it. I am not deserving of blessings such as these.

Pee Sign

Kids behave in a wide variety of ways in the confines of a moving vehicle. Some cry, some kick, some throw things, some play video games, some torment siblings, some ask "are we there yet" every three seconds. My oldest is a self-entertainer - she has a whole library stashed away in the third row of my van, and most of her travel time is spent with her nose stuck in a book. Sometimes she plays her DS. Sometimes she sings along with the radio, and sometimes she asks rapid-fire questions. But she's entertained.

My youngest, however, does...absolutely nothing. And I mean nothing. She sits in the middle row in her carseat, her little hands folded primly in her lap, and just IS. She doesn't talk, or sing, or play, or sleep, or even look around much. Sometimes I'm so startled by the quiet (even though it's routine) that I have to check to be sure she hasn't simply vanished. When Milly rides, she rides with every fiber of her being. It's very zen, really.

But once in a while - usually when it's only the two of us - she'll talk to me in the van. Today was one such occasion, when we left her sister at home with Daddy while we took an oh-so-fun excursion to Office Max for CDs. (She doesn't mind mundane errands, either.) We rode in silence for a while. I tried to talk to her, but it didn't work. Nor did I expect it to. And then I heard...

"Pee sign."

(pause)

"Pee sign."

(pause)

"Pee sign."

What the heck?! PEE sign? Or was she saying PEACE sign? Personally, I hadn't noticed either - and those are the sort of signs that, appearing on the side of the road, would tend to draw attention.

So I asked her what on earth she was talking about and she pointed out the window to show me...the P SIGN.

Okay. P sign. I get it. It was a silly little game, but we kept spotting P signs all the way to the mall, and they were plentiful.

As we waited at an intersection, I spotted another sign and decided to ask her what that one meant.

"STOP ARROW."

Okay.  :)

The game resumed on the way home, with her pointing out various signs as we drove. (This child is going to be a stellar driver someday due to her keen powers of observation. She already knows that in order to make the van go, you first buckle up, then put the key in the ignition, put your right foot on the brake, and move "the handle" down, then move your right foot to the other pedal. It amazes me and scares me too - I try not to leave my keys within reach, lest the temptation to try it on her own becomes too much for her.)

Anyway.

"Stupid sign."

Stupid sign? Stupid isn't a word that we throw around a lot in our house, so I knew that Milly must have felt very strongly about whatever sign we were passing at the moment. Unfortunately, I didn't see it, so I had to rely on her description.

"What was a stupid sign? What did it look like?"

"It was a white triangle with a black upside-down hump on it and two circles."

Oooookay. That described...absolutely nothing that I could think of. Back at home, I pulled up a website of commonly used traffic signs and went through all of them with her, but none of them were the "stupid sign." As a last resort, I asked her draw it for me.

What she drew was no triangle. It was loosely X-shaped, with rounded edges, two black circles floating near the top, and an upside-down U near the bottom.

Stupid sign, indeed.

And tomorrow, we'll have to take a little trip so I can see it for myself.

Slacky the Slacker

Story of my life...blog, blog, blog, stop blogging for a little while, mentally compose posts but never find time to post them, get overwhelmed with all of the mentally composed posts that I haven't posted yet, continue to procrastinate. And then it ends up being a month between posts, and I feel like the worst blogger ever.


Anywho, let's see if we can get this ship back on course, shall we? Beginning with what's been going on here for the past couple of weeks. I'll just run straight through the family...


~* GENE *~


It's hard to believe that it's been nearly a month since he started his new job at Goodyear! The first two weeks were just classroom training. This week began the 12-hour days of hands-on training. I'm very grateful that he's on day shift for training. I'm pretty sure that he'll be moved to a night shift at some point - and it could be just any minute - so I'm enjoying the heck out of day shift while it lasts. For the time being, he leaves before the girls and I wake up in the morning and gets home around 8 p.m. That part stinks...but he works a swing shift, which means he works for three days and gets two off, then works two days and gets three off. Every other week, he has Friday, Saturday, and Sunday OFF. That is lovely. It'll take more adjusting to having him home during the week, though - the man really wrecks my routine when he's here. It's hard to impress upon Rachael that she must still sit at the kitchen table and do her schoolwork when Daddy is sitting on the couch watching TV. At any rate, he seems to enjoy his new job (for the most part) and it was definitely a good move for our family. The girls are already pointing out Goodyear things wherever they see them (today it was a Goodyear blimp balloon and a sample Goodyear tire in Walmart) although they still notice and point out Utz trucks too.


On his last Sunday off, he came with me to church. I was thrilled to have him there for the first Sunday in a series called MAN UP! All about being a godly husband and father...and I'm not implying that he isn't, just that we all have room for improvement. The church had rented out a local theater for the weekend showings of the new movie Courageous, and Gene went with me to that too. Talk about a powerful movie...I've never cried so much at a movie in my life. (Even at Toy Story 3, although it was probably close. DETEST that movie.) Anyway, we were both a little apprehensive about Courageous, which was made by the folks that brought us Fireproof. Fireproof having had a great message, but truly baaaaaaad acting. Courageous was so, so, so much better in every aspect - there were rough spots, but the acting was better, there were truly funny moments ("not just church-funny," said Gene), and it was touching in so many ways. Best of all, it sent a clear message to the husbands and fathers: be the man that God called you to be. Accept responsibility for your families. Do not let them down. Just my personal opinion here, but this one should be required viewing for any man that answers to "dad."


~* ME *~


I am, as usual, the least interesting member of this family. In the past two weeks, I've homeschooled, cooked, washed dishes, done laundry, attended no fewer than 68 Girl Scout functions, chauffeured Rachael back and forth to the ranch a bajillion times, swept, vacuumed, sold some Scentsy, read a lot, ate, slept, bathed, and a partridge in a pear tree. (Just seeing if you were paying attention.)

Two minor accomplishments: I started the Couch to 5K running program. I know, ME, running - it's absurd. Definitely not a pretty sight, which is why I do it on the treadmill, in the privacy of my own home.


I also sat down with a crochet hook and YouTube and started learning to crochet. Friends have attempted to teach me before, but I just didn't practice enough to let it sink in...I could make a chain from here to Tuesday, but had no idea what to do after that. I still don't, really, but I'm decent with at least three crochet stitches now. I have lots more videos to go before I'm proficient enough to read a pattern or anything, but at least I've started. It still feels so wrong to have just one hook instead of two knitting needles, and my left thumb hurts a lot (must be holding something wrong), but I'm kind of enjoying the challenge.


That's really it. I clearly need to do something exciting.


~* RACHAEL *~


The most exciting thing that happened to Rachael in the past two weeks was undoubtedly the night she got her pinky finger caught in a metal folding chair, and ripped the entire fingernail off. It was not a pretty sight. Well, I guess it wasn't - I couldn't look at it. Thank God that it happened on a night Gene was here to take care of it. (Blood usually doesn't make me terribly squeamish, by the way - but when it's one of my babies bleeding, I just can't handle it. Cut me instead, thanks.) It bled a lot, and I know it hurt...but she was far more concerned about what it looked like, and refused to be without a Band-Aid covering it for several days. Silly girl. It's now a free-range injury and healing nicely (according to a nurse friend), although it's still a vibrant shade of purple around the tiny stub of regrown fingernail.


She's spent a lot of time at the ranch doing the 4-H thing, and is super excited for the show coming up in November. It's about time to start incorporating the 4-H handbook into our school day, actually, so she'll be well-versed when it's time to be quizzed by the judges. There have been two brand new baby alpacas (a baby alpaca is called a cria - see, I'm learning things too!) in the past few weeks, and she's gotten to love on them both - as well as baby sugar gliders (soooo precious!) The ranch has lost a few more animals, though - something (presumably a coyote or similar) attacked their poultry last weekend. One rooster and several chickens were killed, along with everyone's favorite duck, Noel. Noel was a duck with personality - he'd follow people around and if you stopped, he'd peck at your shoes. We loved him, but (thankfully) she didn't take it as hard as she did Bluebell's departure. RIP, Noel, I'll miss the little guy.


It's just amazing to me to watch her at the ranch - handling the alpacas and llamas so comfortably, teaching me how to do "critter care," even shoveling poop - which they call "poop-lates" (think "pilates.") She's always been a princess that didn't mind getting a little dirty, but I just couldn't have imagined her being a little farm girl. (Note to self: get picture of her in the barn in her boots and braids!)


She's doing so well in school...she's memorized the first 18 books of the Old Testament and most of the New Testament books, and she can rattle off the names of Jacob's twelve sons like they were personal friends. English, spelling, vocabulary...well, we're very much alike in that she doesn't struggle with those. She's loving her new math curriculum and thinks that multiplication is FUN (!!!), knows the sound that each Latin letter makes (with and without macrons), and still adores history more than just about anything. I am a lucky, lucky homeschooling mama to have such a good, willing student. But I will surely pay my dues plus interest with Milly when she's a bit older.


~* MILLY *~


She is a little more dramatic, but truth be told, she hasn't been doing badly with school either. She LOVES her Explode the Code workbooks, and will happily sit and race through a dozen pages at a time if I let her. We started with the first book in the series, and I just bought the other two in the preschool series, lest she run out and go ballistic. I have a strong feeling that I'll be starting kindergarten books with her before this school year is over! She's doing well with her first year of Bible lessons too - she knows the same "Sons of Jacob" song as her sister, and she can name the New Testament books through 2nd Corinthians. Not too shabby for a 3.5-year-old! The thing with her is, she does school on her terms. When she's ready, you'd better not tell her that you don't have anything for her to do. And when she's done, her school day is over.


In spite of her being demon possessed temperament, something remarkable has happened in the past week... Before Goodyear, Gene would usually take Milly to church with him. On the rare occasion that we attempted to bring her to my church, she would not - and I mean would not - go to her Sunday school class. Epic tantrums ensued. Much clinging and screaming, tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth. In the end, it wasn't worth it to make her stay - I hated to leave her in such a state, and hated it doubly for the hapless volunteer who would have to deal with her.


But with Gene working every other Sunday now, something had to change. If she didn't go to her own class, she would have to sit through the worship service with me (distracting me) and then through my Sunday school class as well (distracting everyone.) So I talked to other parents in the church. Emailed the preschool director. Emailed the Sunday school teacher. Worried a lot and prayed a lot. And when Sunday morning came...she stayed in her class. The whole time. I'm talking 9:30 until a few minutes past 12 - this was major. We had talked it up and told her what to expect, and she was excited about it...until we got into the room. Then she started edging behind me and whispering that she'd changed her mind. And the tears started, but no howling. That's when her teacher, Miss Melissa, let her know that *ahem* MOMMY NEEDED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM...so I ducked into the bathroom that connected the two four-year-old classrooms (yep, they promoted her to the four-year-old room!) and exited through the other classroom. Startling the other teacher a bit, but it was worth it. Milly stayed and had a great time, and I've heard of little else but Miss Melissa all week.  :)


Wednesday night was a little harder - she threw a full-fledged tantrum and preschool director quite literally pried her off of my leg...I felt horrible once again, for leaving someone else to deal with a Milly tantrum. But again, I found out later that she cut it out almost immediately, and had a great time in class. She even got to play the hand bells - and if she keeps going and practicing, she'll get to play them in the Christmas program this year. (I am quite opposed to this; my BABY is not big enough to be in a Christmas program!! But I digress.)


Milly is enjoying some time at the ranch too. This past Saturday was Oktoberfest, and they took several alpacas, a llama, the donkey, chickens, goats, an angora rabbit, a tortoise, a snake, and a sugar glider...and set up a little petting zoo uptown. Naturally, Rachael stayed with them rather than accompanying me to my boring old Girl Scout table...but once I was relieved and Milly and I headed back to the critters, Milly was eager to get right in the middle of it. One of the younger alpacas, a handsome solid white dude named Russell, is just a little taller than Milly - she promptly claimed his lead line and led him all over the place for other people to pat. Looks like I have another 4-H'er on my hands...once she turns seven. No rush.


Both girls are excited about Halloween...and Thanksgiving...and Milly's birthday...and Christmas. They have the remainder of 2011 planned out quite nicely. Wish I were so organized.

So, that's what's been going on with us. I have more thoughts to share later, now that the dreaded update is finished. And I have three - yes, three - giveaways to post later! Perhaps I'll get around to that tonight, now that I'm done procrastinating. For now.

Cherry, yes.

Rachael had a dentist appointment yesterday morning. My child looks forward to the dentist the way that some kids look forward to their birthdays. She spotted the date on the calendar as soon as the page was turned to September - it was originally scheduled for September 7, and she was bummed for a whole afternoon when the office called to reschedule for the 13th. But the big day finally arrived, and off we went for her bi-annual checkup.

She jumped right into the chair and had her teeth cleaned with grape flavored toothpaste. (Am I the only one that finds that a little gross? Grape and toothpaste just don't go together. But she seemed to enjoy it.) She got a good report from the hygienist, and even more glowing praise from the dentist, who called her teeth "awesome" and "beautiful." Judging from her front teeth, she'll probably cost us a bundle in orthodontia in the not-so-distant future, but at least they'll have great teeth to work with.

During her checkup, I sat in the corner with Milly on my lap. She watched everything that was going on without saying a word, aside from one-word replies whenever Rachael asked her a question. The hygienist made our next appointment for mid-March and asked if I wanted to have Milly's teeth cleaned then too. I told her yes, but that I just couldn't imagine Milly going for it. Not my most cooperative child, not by a long shot. She did not seem thrilled with the idea.

So when the dentist asked her if she wanted to have her teeth "tickled" too, I wasn't surprised when her answer was a firm and immediate negative.

But then he asked if she'd just sit in the chair and let him count her teeth. She shrugged. "Okay." And climbed right into the chair.

HOLY CRAP, WHO WAS THIS KID AND WHAT DID SHE DO WITH MY CHILD?!?!

She laid back and opened her mouth wiiiiiiiide before the dentist could even sit down:

He showed her the mirror and the little hook thing he uses to touch each tooth while he's counting. (You know the thing, and I'm too lazy to Google the proper name.) He counted her teeth ("you've got a whole bunch in there!," he told her) and pronounced her teeth as beautiful too.


Then he asked again..."are you sure you don't want your teeth cleaned too, while you're already in the chair?"


Milly cut her eyes at him, suspicious.


"You could use grape flavored toothpaste..."


Frown.


"...or bubblegum flavored..."


(I honestly thought he might have her with bubblegum, she loooves bubblegum. But no dice.)


"...or cherry..."


"Cherry, yes." Instant response, no excitement, just a matter of fact "cherry, yes."


And at that point, she laid back again, opened wide, and let the hygienist clean her little teeth with cherry-flavored toothpaste. (Again, yuck.)


And me? I mentally kicked myself a kazillion times for not having my camera in my purse. I took at least a dozen pictures of Rachael's first ever dental appointment, because hey, that's scrapbook worthy. But I did have my phone, so I was able to get one pic, just to prove that it happened.


Once she was done, each girl got two prizes from the treasure box, at the dentist's insistence. Oh yeah, he really knows how to win over a little girl! And now, I have two kids looking forward to their next visit to the dentist.

9-11: Ten Years Later

Dear Rachael and Milly,


Ten years ago today - September 11, 2001 - was a sunny day just like today. Clear, blue skies as far as the eye could see. Daddy and I had been married for only five months, and that day started like most every other. He left for his job at the sawmill as the sun was rising. I rushed out the door (I always rushed in the morning) for my job in the office at King's Grant Retirement Community. I punched in at 8:30 and headed downstairs to my cubicle. I had just gotten everything situated and my computer turned on when I heard a startling report on the radio: an airplane had just crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. It was 8:46.


Wow, that was terrible news. A big building like that...well, there had to be lots of people inside, beginning their work day just as I was. It was terrible. I wandered away from desk and into the main reception area to see if my co-workers had heard. They had, and the receptionist had already turned on a little TV in the corner. We stood watching as black smoke poured out of the tower. Reporters were speculating as to whether this was a crazy accident, or whether it was something worse.


At 9:03, we were still watching the TV and saw the second plane crash into the other tower. This was no accident.

Shocked by the morning's events thus far, I had just returned to my desk when a third plane struck the Pentagon at 9:37. At 10:03, a fourth plane crashed into a Pennsylvania field after passengers bravely overtook the terrorists on board.

I called Daddy at work, called Gramma at work. I just needed to hear the voices of the people I loved. It felt like the whole word was caving in that morning. Everyone was shocked, sad, angry, scared. Several of the employees and residents had friends and family in New York and frantically attempted to get in touch with them. Some did. Others were left wondering until later that evening. As far as I know, no one there lost a loved one.

But so many people did. Nearly 3000 people lost their lives that day, quite literally out of the blue.

Employees were invited to come and pray together in the chapel that afternoon - the same chapel where Daddy and I were married. 

That night, Daddy and I sat in front of the TV at home, numbly watching as the news replayed the crashes over and over. It was so hard to go to sleep that night. I cried a lot, and I know I wasn't alone.

When nothing else happened over the next couple of days, it became clear that the attacks were over - but they had changed our country in a remarkable way. Flags were flying everywhere - off of buildings, in yards, from the tops of cars. Patriotism swelled - every heart filled with love for our country and its people. In their shock and grief, people came together and helped each other. Donated blood. Took up collections to help the families of the 9/11 victims. More people went to church, and I know that even more prayed. People gave their best in more ways that I can remember.

Alan Jackson - a big country singer at the time, still popular today, probably not by the time either of you are able to really understand this - wrote a song about 9/11 shortly afterward, that summed up quite well the way that we felt in the days following the attacks. Listen to the words:

There were other songs written, but none that speak my feelings as well as this one. Ten years later, I still cry every time I hear it. I know it'll be hard for you understand, since you weren't there, but I doubt you'll ever meet an adult that doesn't remember exactly where they were and what they were doing on September 11, 2001.


My sweet girls, even though you weren't there, you were on my mind that morning. As I sat at my desk, not working (no one got much work done that day), thinking about what had happened and what it meant for our country...uncertain of what this meant, what it might mean for our future...wondering what the world would be like in a few years...my mind flashed forward to the babies that I wanted, someday, and I prayed that they would not know the fear and uncertainty that we knew on that day. I wanted better for you both.


So I wrote a letter to you. Sitting at my desk in front of my computer, trying to look busy although my mind was anywhere but at work, I wrote a letter to my future children. I told you what had happened and what I felt at that exact moment. I told you the hopes I had for your someday-lives. The next day, I added to that letter a copy of the speech that President Bush delivered later on the evening in September 11th.


I saved it onto a disk and transferred it to my computer at home...but that was several computers and three homes ago and sadly, the letter has been lost. I so wish I could find it to share it with you (or at least, with Rachael) today. Since I can't, I thought that a new letter was in order.


I did, at least, find the President's speech. You can read or view it here.


And now you know where I was and what I was doing as well.


I hope that neither of you will ever experience a day like that one. But at the same time, I hope that someday you'll be able to imagine - and it shouldn't be hard, since there's so much video from 9/11 to be found - what it was like for us that were here. I hope that you'll feel pride in the country we live in, and in the remarkable people all around us that are willing to selflessly rush into burning buildings to save other people. I hope you'll feel compassion for the families that lost loved ones - and I hope that you'll learn great compassion in a way that's less heartbreaking. I hope you'll pray for people that need it, whether you know them or not. I hope that you never, ever have your own 9/11.


I am so grateful for you both. I wondered that morning, whether our world was changing in such a hideous way that Daddy and I would never want to subject a child of our own to it. But our country is strong, and while we will never forget that day, it did not break us. There are terrible people in the world, girls...but there are so many good ones too. Be two of the good ones. Always hope, always pray, and always do good.


I love you both, so much.
Mommy

An extra special Pink Saturday...

I'm so excited to be taking part in an extra special Pink Saturday - one that benefits Miracle Makeover. We've all seen (or at least heard of) Extreme Makeover - the show where a team of designers and carpenters invade a family's home while they're not there and make over a room or two into absolute dream rooms. Same goes with Miracle Makeover, although they focus on families in need. Their most recent project was the bedroom that cancer patient Charlie shares with his brother Liam, as well as their older sister's bedroom. Check out the video to learn about sweet Charlie, meet his lovely family, and see the before and afters of their rooms:

Pink Saturday is helping Miracle Makeover in a variety of ways this weekend - one of which is sharing this video and writing about the things that bless and inspire us. (For more ways to help - at absolutely no cost to you! - visit this week's Pink Saturday post!)

So, what came immediately to my mind that's both pink and a blessing? Well, two things, really.

On the left is a picture of my older daughter, Rachael, taken on February 13, 2004. On the right is a picture of my younger daughter, Amelia, taken on December 11, 2007.

I had saved all of Rachael's baby clothes in case we had another little girl someday, but I didn't realize until just now, when I went to find newborn pictures of them dressed in pink, that I had put them both in this very same sleeper when they were three days old. <3

More than anything else, these two little girls have been a blessing to me. Most visitors to my blog are mothers, so I hardly have to tell them how your life changes when you become a mother...or how that love grows-changes-shifts when you become a mother of more than one.

They were so precious when they were this small, and that time was so fleeting. Now they're seven and three, and most days they make me crazy. But I still love them just as much...no, even more than I did then. At three days old, I knew that they were miraculous and perfect and soft and sweet and mine, but I didn't really know them yet. I clearly remember standing in the hospital room with a tiny brush in my hand, hovering over Rachael just before the nurse came to take her hospital pictures, and thinking, "I have no idea how she wears her hair yet; we just met!" Milly was just as enigmatic - I'd watch her sleep and wonder what kind of child she would be, because she always had such a scowl on her newborn face. But she was invariably happy once she woke.

Now I know just how Rachael wears her hair - long and straight and long, long, long. No bangs. No haircuts. Minimal trims. Her plan is to let it grow all the way to the floor - she wants to cut it and donate to Locks of Love, but she still wants to have long hair after she cuts it. Quite a plan, huh? She'll be starting dance classes again this fall, and I'll admit that I'm nervous about getting all of that hair into a bun. It's nearly to her waist, and it's just a lot of hair to keep secured on top of her head. She's still a precious child, with a heart of solid gold. Her little heart aches for everyone - the sick, the orphaned, the lonely, the animals, the scraped kneed and paper cut. It's a fairly common occurrence to find her in her room, on her knees in prayer, after having heard about someone that needed it. She loves everyone, and most people adore her. I am humbled to be her mother.

And Milly! How things have changed with her! Now she wears her scowl during the day and her sweet baby face at night - quite opposite from the picture above. She whines and complains and throws tantrums like her sister never did. Just when I got complacent in my parenting, she was given to me to teach me how the other half live! She is difficult sometimes - today, for instance. We had maybe thirty peaceful minutes together all day. Most days are better, but she always runs hot and cold. Tantrum one minute, snuggles the next. And she's so sweet when she's not screaming - and so smart. She read her first words this week, at age 3 1/2. I was over the moon when Rachael read her first words just a couple of months before turning four, and here comes this little spitfire behind her and reads even sooner! She is my little wild card. I am petrified to be her mother. But blessed, always blessed.

One of Rachael's middle names - Grace - was decided on the very weekend after I learned that I was pregnant. In church on Sunday morning, the pastor explained the difference between mercy and grace. Mercy, he said, was God sparing us from the bad things that our sinful natures deserved. Grace, however, was the gifts that God poured upon us that we could not possibly deserve. I decided then and there that, if this child was a girl, Grace must be in her name somewhere.

Likewise with Milly, and her second middle name - Joy. We waited much longer than we had hoped before we were blessed with her, and I was overjoyed to finally have another little one on the way. Joy was obviously a perfect name for her.

And even though Rachael got a double-dose of klutzy from her parents, making her moniker more than a little ironic, she continues to be an amazing blessing to me, one that I could never, never have earned on my own.

And even on her worst days, I am overjoyed to have my Milly girl. I was ready to throw in the towel and resign myself to being mother to an only child, then there she was. I have only to think about it and my heart leaps with joy all over again.

I am doubly blessed, and could not ask for more.

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PS - Have you entered my giveaway for an adorable cupcake headband from Glitter Bug Gallery? It ends on Sunday night, so go now and get entered! Or, if you're new to these here parts and just want to see a current picture of my Milly...those are there too. :)

Pictures don't lie...or do they?

My girls spent the whole of last weekend with my mom and stepdad. Over the course of two nights, they ate enough junk food for a whole herd of children, and didn't drink a single glass of water. They slept in the same room as Gramma and Grandpa (something I was never allowed to do as a child), and their every whim was basically catered to. Milly got her pancakes for breakfast and her Strawberry Shortcake Happy Meal, Rachael commandeered Gramma's laptop and had Grandpa Tommy haul his kids' outgrown scooter out of the basement for her to ride.

And both girls came home with brand new pink bicycles.

Rachael got her first tricycle at approximately one year of age, and we've been attempting to teach her to pedal ever since. The poor child - who has unfortunately inherited a double dose of clumsiness from her parents - just couldn't get the hang of making her feet go around in circles. She'd go forward a little and then back a little - which, of course, applies the brakes and makes everything stop. This has been the source of much parental frustration, and Rachael had eventually decided that she didn't want to learn to ride a bike anyway, so there.

Enter Grandpa Tommy. He knew that Milly would love riding a bike, and he was right. The child jumped right on like she was born on the thing and took off. He was more concerned that Rachael didn't know how to ride, though - and it was he (not my mom, as I originally believed) who bought their bikes.

It was also he who, perhaps not fully understanding that Rachael didn't even know the mechanics of pedaling, started pushing her down the long hill in front of their house and then let go. Rachael panicked, but had the presence of mind to aim for a neighbor's grass before the bike toppled over.

By the time I came to pick them up on Sunday afternoon, though, both girls were riding in large circles around the garage, which had been cleared of cars and motorcycle to make room for them to play. I was both shocked and thrilled that Rachael had finally - finally! - learned to pedal. Not only that, but she now thought that riding a bike was fun!

So we loaded the bikes into the back of my van and brought them home, where we promptly parked them in the living room to keep them safe from the big stinky dog. And there they sat, because it's been a kazillion degrees outside, with no chance of letting up anytime in the near future.

After much nagging from the girls ("Can we go to the park and ride bikes? Pleeeease? I want to go ride bikes! Bikes? Please, bikes?") and much mommy/daddy guilt over not taking them to ride bikes just because we wanted to die every time we walked out the door...we finally took them to the park to ride bikes yesterday.

And this is when I was reminded that pictures can, in fact, lie. Take the photo above. It looks like Rachael is having a great time whizzing along on her bike, doesn't it? Someday, someone (maybe me) will come across this picture tucked into a family photo album (if I ever get them caught up) and remember fondly their own childhood bike rides. The freedom of flying down the road, the wind in your hair. Bikes are great, aren't they? And aww, look at this - Rachael learned to ride when she was little too, and she clearly loved it!

Well, the truth is, there was much whining and complaining last night. For one thing, it was still a kazillion degrees outside - a fact that she took into no consideration whatsoever until we actually got out of the van at the park. For another thing, she leaned so heavily on one training wheel the whole time we were there that she simply couldn't go fast at all - slugs breezed by her with reckless abandon. It is harder to ride a bike slowly, so she got tired of trying in a hurry - she made maybe three laps around the parking area to Milly's 20+ laps. And it must stink to watch your baby sister lapping you over...and over...and over...

Milly is clearly more coordinated than her big sister. She already roller skates and rides a bike better than Rachael, and is more willing and graceful in their swim lessons. She's less fearful and less cautious, although still not exactly a daredevil (thank you, Lord!)

Rachael definitely notices, and it doesn't make her happy...but as I keep telling her, she has to WANT to do these things, and then work at them, before she'll ever be good at them.

Anywho. Back to my photo epiphany...pictures lie. Rachael seems to be enjoying riding in the above picture. All of them evoke mental images of pleasant childhood summer evenings - and thankfully, they always will. Eventually, the memories of dripping sweat in the hot sun while watching them ride their bikes will fade. I'll forget how irritating it was to have to tell Rachael over and over and over to "sit up straight" and "just keep pedaling" and "why are you stopping again?" and "just KEEP! PEDALING!"

Thank goodness for cameras, and the ability to freeze the precious moments of the years while my girls are small...and for the sugarcoating tendencies of the human mind, that will look at them again someday and only see the happy. Maybe Rachael will even find the first picture someday and think, "wow, look at me go...I was really leaving Milly in the dust!"

10 Things I've Learned Today

1) Even when my children aren't home, I'm going to wake up at 6:30...and 7:15...and 7:45...just waiting for a little blonde head to pop up over the edge of the bed and demand food.

2) The house is eerily - and sadly - quiet without them. (I knew this already. Just got a reminder today.)

3) It's definitely worth checking the "damaged" section when shopping for a major appliance. We found the $800 dryer that we'd looked at earlier in the week for only $640 - because it had a little dent in the BACK left side, where no one will ever see it again. (SCORE!!)

4) I learned what a pain in the butt it is to help your husband maneuver a dryer through a door, around the kitchen, and into place.

5) Having not had a new dryer in twelve years, I learned that ALL new dryers have sensors that allow them to turn off when the clothes are finished drying, instead of running all the way through the cycle. (Yay for being more energy efficient!)

6) I also learned that my new dryer will dry a load of clothes in 35 MINUTES, Y'ALL that it would have taken the old dryer two hours to dry.

7) I learned that I'm a very boring - and likely very old - person for being this excited about a new dryer.

8) If hubby leaves the back doors open on his Utz truck, our very large, very smelly dog will seize the opportunity to jump inside. Thankfully, he was only interested in an empty Mt Dew bottle, and not the boxes and boxes of potato chips. (That could have been bad.)

-- 8b) Gene learned to close the doors on his truck.

9) I learned that two nights without my girls is entirely too long - even though they're having a blast with Gramma and Grandpa Tommy, and being spoiled rotten with Happy Meals and new bicycles.

10) I learned that I am too sensitive (again, a reminder and not new knowledge) and, apparently, a bad friend to boot.

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On a happier note, though, how about a little something for Pink Saturday?

I'm looking at the delicious pink of her lips and cheeks, since the pink in her dress doesn't come through as well as the orange. But the pink in her lips is enough...

This is my baby girl, my Amelia...Milly...who is 3 1/2 but wants to be 16, since that's her favorite number. (Everything is "16" these days. She told me today that she was staying at Gramma's for 16 more days. I don't think so, sweetie!)

We stopped at a nearby park for a little photo shoot one morning this past week, just after dropping her big sister off at her Junior Naturalist camp at the museum. Milly was a great little model - unexpectedly so, to tell you the truth. Her sister is usually the girly, pose-y, take-a-picture-of-me type. Which makes this picture (and the 194 others I took that morning) of my Booga that much more precious to me.

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Part of Pink Saturday is meeting new people - well, visiting new blogs - so I thought I'd share about a new favorite that I stumbled across last Saturday: Dear Helen Hartman. Modern problems, timeless wisdom, vintage attitude. She kind of reminds me of my grandma - the one I liked best - although she's way younger. I just really want to be her friend or neighbor or something. :)

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Alrighty, now for the Saturday 9! Be sure to let me know if you join in so I can come check out your answers too.

1) Tell us about the most recent wedding you attended.

- I haven't been to a wedding in ages. The last one may have actually been in January 2006 - the daughter of our then-pastor. It was lovely - she's a beautiful woman and looked just like a princess. Rachael, who was very nearly two then, actually called her Cinderella. Rachael also let me roll her hair in curlers before the wedding, but all the curl fell out before we got there. Poor kid got her daddy's stick-straight hair.

2) Do you enjoy attending weddings, or do they bore you to tears?
- I enjoy them, but they always make me cry. Of course, most things do.

3) Does marriage in general make you feel confident and good inside, or skeptical?

- It depends on the day. For the most part, I'd go with the former description...although some days, I'm certain it would be far easier to ditch the man and get a cat.

4) Do you have a photo blog? (If so, feel free to share the link with us.)

- Not a photo blog per se, but I do have one devoted solely to my digital scrapbooking.

5) Do you find yourself driving less due to the high gas prices?

- More and more frequently, yes. My van is a gas guzzler, so I need to knock off some of the more frivolous outings.

6) What's the high temperature today where you are?

- I'm not sure exactly...it's been hovering between 90 and 100 all week. The high tomorrow is supposed to be 95. Just shoot me now.

7) "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." Agree, or no?

- Mostly. Heat is wretched, but humidity just makes it that much more wretched. When I step outside and it feels like I'm slogging through a bowl of oatmeal, it immediately turns into a good day to stay in the house.

8) What's the hottest you've ever been in your life?

- This past Monday - about 100 degrees outside - sitting by the therapy pool in the YMCA during my girls' swim lesson. It was like a sauna in the desert in there. Just dripping sweat. I may have to take my own swimsuit next time so I can jump in too...or abandon the kiddos and go sit somewhere that's actually air conditioned.

9) Non-temperature related last question: In your opinion...who's hot?

- Taylor Lautner. Retracting my cougar claws now...but seriously. He just is.

WILD CHILD!

Milly has a new...hobby? pasttime? stunt? One day last week, she stripped all of the clothes off of her doll, Amy, and ran through the house with her, declaring that Amy was now a "wild child." (She turns each word into two syllables with her precise enunciation: "WY-uld CHY-uld.") Wild Child Amy was a source of great amusement for at least half an hour. I should have seen what was coming next.

Around the corner she ran, naked as the day she was born, yelling at the top of her little lungs, "WILD CHILD! WILD CHILD! I'M A WILD CHILD!" Around and around the house she ran, reveling in her newfound wildness, until the novelty wore off (and, I believe, she got a little chilly) and then she returned to her usual clothed state.

It was adorable (if a little unnerving), and I didn't think anything else about it. Wild Child was that day's game, and it was over.

But then, a couple of days later, Milly ran randomly into my bedroom - naked once again, proclaiming to be a wild child.

And again the next day, as we were getting ready to go somewhere or other, I saw her lifting her shirt over her little head. Wild Child was stopped, but only for the moment.

Tonight, my stepmom came over for dinner. We had a nice meal and had sent the girls off to play together while Gene stomped us thoroughly at Monopoly. Suddenly, the little streaker barreled through the kitchen, giggling and yelling "WILD CHILD!" We were surprised by the interruption, but I'm pretty sure it was the nakedness that surprised Granny-chele.

To date, Milly has not gone feral in public, and for this I am grateful. She seems to prefer being wild in the comfort and (relative) privacy of her own home. I pray that the notion of public nudity never occurs to her. I'm almost afraid to talk to her about it, lest it plants the notion into her little brain. It would be my luck that reminding her to not take off her clothes in public would result in a Wild Child streaking down the center aisle at church on Sunday morning.

Question #7

Demand #7: a picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.

Well, this is another easy one! Anyone who knows me at all can predict whose picture will pop up next:


Oh yes, these two little girls changed my entire world - all for the better, certainly for the crazier. I always, always, ever since I was a little girl myself, wanted to be a mommy someday and knew that I would absolutely adore my children. What I couldn't have possibly understood before I was blessed with them, was just how much love the heart can hold.

Deja vu...

So, it's late at night - actually way early in the morning - and I should have been asleep a long time ago. But instead, I brought my laptop to bed to finish up the page I was scrapping, and (as usual) got caught up with other things. In the middle of those other things, I heard Milly whimpering through the baby monitor. Now, some nights she goes to bed in her room and I don't see her till morning. Most nights, though, she still wakes up and wants to come to bed with me. No problem, I welcome the snuggle time - I just wish she'd come on in here on her own instead of waiting me to come to her and bring her in. But I digress.

I went and picked her up and hauled her into the bed with me, and told her that I wasn't going to sleep yet, but she could sleep here and I'd stay right here with her. As crazily demanding as she's been lately, I nearly expected this to end in a tantrum, but was pleasantly surprised when she laid down and went to sleep instead.

And then she started moving. Squirming. Twisting. Turning. Flopping. Kicking. She normally isn't quite so wiggly - if I'm lying next to her, she cuddles up and lies perfectly still. But given a wider reign, she's going to take up as much bed as she can manage.

Right now, she's lying sideways, her head near the edge of the bed, just beneath the pillow. Blankets have been kicked off. Arms outstretched. And one little foot, encased in fuzzy white princess-print footie pajamas, is propped firmly on my thigh.

When Rachael was a baby - from the time she was about six months old until she moved out of my bed and into her own at eighteen months - I had to stay in bed with her at night. She'd nurse to sleep and then, if I moved very carefully so as not to disturb her, I could sit up and use my laptop. If I left the room...I'm not sure how she knew, but she knew. There were some nights that I resented this arrangement very much. There are few people that I admitted it to - most would have proclaimed it yet another reason never to co-sleep with your baby. (I dare say most of them never tried it!)

But for all the nights that I was irritated about being confined, as it were, to the bed with my baby...there were ten more that I sat and watched her sleep, her little features just visible in the light from the computer screen. I memorized every detail of her cherubic little face, traced her pudgy cheeks with my fingertips, vowing to never, never forget a single thing, no matter how quickly she grew and changed. I marveled at the fact that, as much as she'd changed already, she still looked so much like she did when she was brand new, while she was sleeping.

She also tossed and turned a bit, propped her feet on me, stretched out as much as she could. She smiled in her sleep a lot, and I loved that. And I blogged about those sweet nocturnal smiles back then as well.

Now she's six years old and hasn't crawled into my bed in the middle of the night in about two years - since her sister was tiny, I suppose. I remember lying sandwiched between my girls, baby snuggled against my chest and big sister curled against my back. And one night, she just stopped...which is as it should be, I suppose, as I always knew it would be.

I have the feeling that it won't be long until the nighttime visits from Milly cease as well. After all, she has a big sister in the same room that she could just as easily crawl into bed with, when she wakes up at night at all. So during the rare instances when she joins me in bed while I'm still awake, I'll sit here a little longer than necessary, a little longer than I should, with the computer still on, the only light in the room.

And I'll watch her sleep.

I'll memorize every detail of her cherubic little face.

Trace her pudgy cheeks with a fingertip.

And vow to never, never forget this.