100 More Things About Me

Twenty-five at a time.

That makes three posts this week. Boo-yah!

Does anyone say boo-yah anymore??

1. I do not wear a bra. I refuse to wear a bra. They are uncomfortable and ugly and I am too old to care what anybody thinks anymore.

2. I have a pair of shoes in my closet that I absolutely adore but I have never worn them because I like them too much to get them dirty.

3. I agreed to name my daughter Elizabeth because I heard the song "Beth" on the radio the morning of my c-section. I took it as a sign.

4. If there is Sunny Delight in my house, I will drink the entire jug within twelve hours. I don't know what it is about that stuff but I just can't stop drinking it if it's here. I think it's really orange crack.

5. I am probably the only person in America who liked New Coke.

6. Pepsi is my soda of choice. Coke makes my teeth hurt.

7. My kids have colors to me. I can't explain it. I guess it's their "aura". Jacob is orange, Adam is brown, and Elizabeth is lime green.

8. Land of the Lost was my favorite show as a child.

9. I had breakfast with Mary Poppins at Disney World because she's my favorite character. I was 23.

10. My fourth grade friend stabbed me in the thigh with a pencil. The graphite is still there.

11. I love blue cheese, green olives, and horseradish.

12. Our family had a dog for many years. It died March 4, 1993. My grandfather had a stroke March 4, 1998, and my son was born March 4, 2001 and my cousin's daughter died in a car accident March 4 of last year. I find this strangely coincidental.

13. I still wear my maternity clothes. Not because I have to but because they are comfortable.

14. I could eat butter with a spoon and I did as a child. I try to give it up but there is nothing greater than a ton of real butter on a slice of crusty bread.

15. I bite my fingernails. I cannot stop.

16. I knew Elizabeth would be a girl because I dreamt of her one night early in my pregnancy, although her name was Emma in the dream. I wanted to name her Emma but it doesn't sound good with our last name.

17. C3P0 is my favorite Star Wars character. I am telling you this because my son with his short attention span asks this of me ten times a day. I only have a favorite character now to shut him up.

18. I am a big Smiths fan. I still listen to them every day. Still. Does anyone even know who The Smiths are anymore?

19. I lived in this very town, right down the street from Jacob's school, when I was 2-4 years old.

20. I always overtip, even when the service is bad because my friend's were waitresses and they frequently got stiffed.

21. I bought my first tube of mascara about a month ago. I tried it once in the eighth grade and it flaked under my contacts so I never used it again. I figured since I don't wear the contacts much anymore I'd try it again. That and I had an awesome coupon. Why didn't anyone ever tell me before how great that stuff is?

22. I have seventy four tubes of lipstick. It's a sickness.

23. I used to live in zip code 23456 and thought that was extremely awesome. It hurt to give it up.

24. My old neighbors tried to get a restraining order against me for telling one of their kids I was going to tell his mama on him for hitting my four year old. Because, you know, I was threatening him. Yes. The neighbors were drunk.

25. I worked at Subway once. For five months during the semester I quit college to veg out at home with my stoopid old boyfriend. After my first 16 hour shift, I drove all the way back to Morgantown and enrolled for the next semester and once that started I rarely went home again. My dad got me that job. He knew what he was doing. Don't eat the Cold Cut Combos.

The first 100 are here. Remember when we all did these?

Embracing the Pink

When I became pregnant the first time, oh so many years ago, I loved to browse the baby stores and coo over the tiny little things. Bitty shoes, wee socks, shirts that barely covered my hand. Ah....so sweet. And pink.

I came to realize shortly after our tell-all ultrasound that most of the stores cater to babies of the female persuasion. I cried that day making my way to the back of the store to the small wall of blue things. I felt like I was being sent for my consolation prize of overalls, baseball caps, and animal onesies. I finally chose a green creeper with matching socks covered in trains. Foreshadowing? It was the one thing in that store I had to have.

After Jacob was born I grew to like the blue side. Cars and monkeys and bulldozers and plaid drew me in. The best part? The sale racks were stuffed with boy clothes. I don't think I have ever paid full price for any since that very first creeper.

The day before Elizabeth was born, Derick and I went out to run some last minute errands. On our way home, I asked him to stop at my favorite children's store. I picked out some sweet blue monkey things and then I ventured over to the left side, a place I'd never been before. So. Much. Pink. And Purple. It was all so sweet, but neither have ever been one of my favorite colors. I half-heartedly chose one of them until I found a rack of an entire blue girl line that I adored. Good, beautiful, familiar blue. I bought them all and then handed my husband the receipt with the instructions to return them all before I got home with our third baby boy.

Who knew he'd have to wash them and bring them to us.

Those are still my favorite dresses.

There was no need to shop for Elizabeth early in her life because there were so many gifts, so many hand-me-downs. When I finally had to go out and get her something to wear it was so strange, yet thrilling. So much to choose from! So many colors! Pink!? Eh? Okay, it's not so bad.

Welcome to Elizabeth's closet:







I think I've learned to like the pink. Just a little.

In fact, I think I may have a problem.

It is more of a quest, but you CAN find girl clothes on sale. You have to look a little harder and be a little quicker, but trust me, they're there and the hunt is so much fun!

Hello. My name is Andria. And I'm girl-clothes-aholic. Please help me.

Have You Missed Me?

Just nod and pretend you did.

It makes me sad when I log onto my blog and see I've written maybe one post each month this year. I have considered hanging it out to dry, but my daughter's birth is on here! The preschool years are here! All that old neighborhood drama is here! I can't just let it fade away like soap operas and Banana Snapple.

So I'm taking Mommy Daisy up on her May challenge.

Want to join us?

We're going to blog three times a week this month. Maybe now you'll finally find out how Jacob's acting debut turned out and my kids might get a decent birthday post.

This totally counts as the first one though, right?

She is Three

How is it possible that my baby is three?



Not one night has passed that I haven't looked at her sleeping face and thanked God that she is mine.

She completes our family while also teaching us that pink is a statement, you can never have enough baby dolls, and a sticky kiss will cure everything.

That's my daughter. Who'd have ever thought her?

My Middle Child is a Genius

Last weekend, April 3 to be precise (you know, because ONE DAY I will want to find write it in his baby book), my littlest boy asked us to remove the training wheels from his ultra-cool Hot Wheels bike.

I was so not expecting that.

Jacob just learned to ride on two wheels last year. Shhh. Don't tell anyone.

Seriously, though, we spent nearly four years attempting to teach Jacob to ride his bike. First the bike was too tall, and then the ground was too hard, and then, OMG, what if a car comes??? In the end, all it took was one girl who told him she would only ride bikes with him if he took the wheels off. Bingo.

We have not even considered removing the trainers for Adam because he is LITTLE. A wee baby. He needs those things. What kind of parent would I be if I let my toddler just hop on a big kid bike?

Shut up. He's a toddler. Do not tell me he's going to kindergarten in four months because then I might have to hurt you. Toddler. Big toddler.

I tried to use the whole, we're so busy preparing for Easter/gearing up for that WVU game/drinking beer in the driveway, but he was persistent so his dad got his wrench and gave him a short lecture about how learning to ride a bicycle may take some time and you may not get it the first time, and yada-yada-yada, what? Wait up!.........





Five minutes.

Five minutes was all it took for him to learn to ride a two-wheeler.

So quick, in fact, we didn't even have time to get him a helmet.

Which, yes, I realize he needs a helmet. No hateful comments please, you know, if anyone still reads this thing.

Although, if you'll notice, Elizabeth improvised her own helmet.

So Close....

Two out of three ain't bad I guess.

Cool

Jacob turned NINE last Thursday.



That was March 4 in case anyone was wondering, you know, since I am very untimely these days with the birthday posts and, well, any other posts for that matter.

I blame Facebook. Damn Facebook. You killed my blog.

Anyway....

How did he get to be NINE?

I swear he was just FIVE.

This year to avoid the RSVP chaos, we decided to scrap the birthday party in favor of inviting one friend to go bowling and eat pizza and ride the rides at Kemah.

Until my sweet boy, so used to being the one left out, did not want to leave anyone out and instead requested a sleepover with all the kids in his class. It was difficult explaining to him why we couldn't invite the girls, so eventually I just told him we only had room for five (FIVE? What was I thinking?) and told him the one girl he chose was busy that night.

So last Friday afternoon I picked up from school four little boys plus my own, fed them junk food, rented video games, and let them loose at the park and creek and began our very first slumber party.

Can you call them slumber parties with boys?

I have to be honest and tell you, I did not sleep much the few days leading up to this. Oh, I knew they'd stay up late and they'd eat too much junk food, that didn't bother me, it was the not knowing that did it. Not knowing if how the boys would react to Jacob for so many hours. Not knowing if the kids would clique up and exclude him in some way. Not knowing if his excitement would override the extra afternoon pill and frighten the kids into calling for a ride home.

I was scared.

But I didn't have to be.

The boys played Legos and Wii and went fishing at the pond. They ate Cheetos and Oreos and laughed the whole time. No one fought over who had to sit by Jacob. No one complained about being on his team when they played ball. No one left him hiding when they played hide and seek. No one ran off and left him in the dust when they raced to the creek.

I have the best picture in my mind, not having my camera at that moment, I will try to share. It is of all four boys after clinking *cheers* with their soda cans sitting on the driveway with their arms around each other talking about their secret club.

His first secret club.

On his ninth birthday, my child fit in.

And as surprising as it was to me, it wasn't to him. These are school buds. They get him. Understand him. Like him.

I can't believe I ever had doubts.



His face says it all. The sleepover was a huge success.



The next day, after everyone left, he remembered one of the boys had given him a card that he stuffed in his backpack and opened it. It had twenty dollars in it, but that wasn't the best part. The boy signed his name in his nicest handwriting and after that he wrote....

P.S. You're Cool!!!!

THAT. Was the best part.

For both of us.

Libby

One of the reasons I let my husband have his way relented and named my daughter Elizabeth was because of all the nickname possiblities. I knew she wouldn't have to be Elizabeth forever and I was sure one day one the other options would stick. I was always a little jealous of girls who were called one thing but had this whole other secret name reserved only for first day of school teachers and trouble time. That seemed like the thing to have to my second grade self. How dare my parents just name me and go with it!?

Anyway, I like Elizabeth as a name but I wasn't completely sure I wanted it as my daughter's name. I still, deep down, am a little regretful that Rachel is not her first name, but, well, so be it.

The thing is, well, I didn't really know how to go about giving a nickname. I don't come from nickname people. I mean, do you decide from day one what the nickname will be? Do you try out several and see which one fits? I even called my friend who goes by her middle name and asked her how that came about, still desperately holding out hopes for the Rachel to take over. What I found out was, well, you can do just about anything you want to do, which really didn't help me much at all.

So.

Elizabeth was Elizabeth, but then sometimes also she was:

Beth
Bethy
Ella
Ellie
Betsy
Bitty
Libbet, after I read Stephen King's Duma Key and it stuck for a while,
for a very short time Betty because my friend insisted we needed to bring the Betty back,
And my personal favorite which I believe suits her the best:

Libby

She most definitely was never, ever a Liz or a Lizzie because I forbade it's use where she was concerned. I knew a Lizzie in high school and she was called Lizzie the Lezzy, meaning le*bian, and while I don't see anything wrong with that, I remember how much that girl hated it and I have hated the name ever since. Don't hate me if you're a Liz. It's just one of those things.

So recently I've been calling her Libby. Of all the names it was the one I liked the most (although I never would've guessed that three years ago). It just seemed to fit her. She was a Libby, so much so that when people asked her name, I started going straight for the Lib. It felt strange, but then it was also kind of exciting because, finally, a nickname! I even signed a few Christmas cards that way. I was a rebel.

The other day, though, my Libby and I were playing in the driveway making chalk people and I wrote her lovely nickname and spelled it out for her singing her a little song I made up about Libby, Libby, Libby that I DID NOT snag from a 70s commercial. She stopped and placed her pink and purple chalked arms on her hips and yelled back at me:

"I am NOT Libby! I am ELIZABETH!"

Say what?

After all that I she doesn't get a nickname?

I have to say I'm a little bummed.

She's a Libby to me.

So I still call her Libby. Sometimes.

Until today when she asked to be called "Princess Elizabeth"

*sigh*

Shocking Photos

I've been trying all week to write Adam's birthday post and between another school vacation and some strange desire to sort baby clothes that turned into a three day odyssey, it's not quite happening. I promise, though. Soon.

Until then, though, check these out:






Aren't they awesome?

Such a shock to get some good shots for a change.

Aimee took them! We've been blog friends for years and had never met until MLK day when she took time from her holiday to get some pics of my beautiful kids.

And, man, they do look beautiful, huh?

If you're in the Houston area, check her out. You won't be sorry. I am so pleased with these and can't wait until spring when the bluebonnets bloom so she can take some more. My kids were so at ease with her too. Jacob continues to ask when she's coming back. Hopefully it'll be soon because I can't wait to meet her lovely children and see more of her growing portfolio.

The Mother's Always the Last to Know

This fall I enrolled Jacob in a free music program through the church where he goes to school. I thought it might be fun for him to learn some instruments, but, well, he missed a lot because it's held on Sunday afternoons and we'd either be out of town, on the way back home from out of town, or I just plain forgot to drive him there.

So as part of those resolutions I almost never keep, I decided that Jacob would make it to his music program every single Sunday and he would get something out of it if it killed us both.

Yes. I forgot to take him on MLK weekend. What? It was a holiday. Shouldn't they have cancelled it?

Last week the program director called. It wasn't the first time he's called. We've talked before about Jacob's behavior so I had a lame excuse about his meds wearing off all ready when the guy explained that Jacob had been chosen for a lead part in a musical they would be performing for a conference about the new Vacation Bible School theme.

What?

First of all...I had no idea he auditioned for a part. When I asked how music went that day he said fine and, yeah, I left it at that.

Secondly....HE HAS A LEAD PART?

Huh.

Knowing that Jacob has had behavior issues there, I gave the director an out by telling him I wouldn't tell him he got the part, but he was insistent that Jacob have the part. Apparently five people auditioned eighty children and all five put Jacob at the top of their list.

Huh.

I guess my kid can sing.

And act.

Who knew?

He doesn't sing here. I can't get him to even play act in a board game we have.

He can really make a Lego creation though and if you need someone to teach your kid how to get through almost any Wii game, he's your kid, but ACT?

Jacob decided to take the part. He's added three more hours onto his Sunday music class and will be practicing every Friday night until the first performance at the end of February. So far he hasn't complained too much about it.

This Sunday he's to have his lines from the first three scenes memorized.

He memorized them on Monday and he's working on the others.

Huh.

All this time I've worried that my kid didn't have a sports thing.

Maybe he was never meant to have a sports thing.

Maybe this is his thing.

Huh.

Who knew?

RSVP. Try it, You'll Like It.

Adam turned five last week. FIVE. Who remembers when Jacob turned five and Adam was still a teeny baby?

FIVE? That's so hard for me to swallow. FIVE. Big kids turn five. How did my baby become a big kid so quickly? *sigh*

I should really write a fifth birthday post about Adam especially since I found his fourth birthday post completely blank in my draft file, but eh, I'll talk about his party.

His Ch*ck E Ch**se birthday party.





Adam has wanted a Ch*ck E Ch**se party since he knew what birthday parties were. Since Jacob got a fancy party at five, we decided Adam could choose a fancy party at five too, so we've pretty much had this party planned since the day AFTER he turned four last year.

Anyway. When preschool classes resumed after Christmas I sent Adam in with fifteen little Batm*n party invitations to place in every one of his classmate's little cubbies where his teacher so lovingly placed in each little folder before placing that in each little backpack. In addition to the date, time, and place of the party I also requested an RSVP by a certain date complete with two contact numbers and an email address for those people who feel awkward talking to a stranger over the phone. Never mind that we've all met at least three previous times, but you know, whatever.

When the invitation deadline came, I'd received one regret.

Seriously? I spent about half the day panicking wondering what would happen to my sweet baby if NO ONE showed up to celebrate his big day and then I remembered I've done this before. What has happened common courtesy and manners? Aren't we in the south here? Aah....don't get me started on the thank you card.

I waited a couple more days and got two acceptances and then contacted the mouse house and lowered my number to the minimum amount, eight, even though I only had six for sure. It was stressful, the wondering, but I had to let it go. I knew we'd have a good party no matter how many kids showed up so I just decided to be done with it.

Then on the day of the party a babysitter found me in the pick-up line half hour before and told me she'd be bringing two kids which, GREAT!, now I have my eight.

So, we get to Ch*ck E Ch**se and meet with our party hostess who sets everything up, plates, cups, tokens, pizza, for EIGHT children. Then suddenly we had TWELVE children. Twelve guests and eight token cups. Obviously the party hostess has dealt with this before because she was quick to bring out more plates and cups and utensils, but it did take her a while to get the tokens ready. The babysitter and her two charges was the last to show up and immediately demanded tokens to which I told her the hostess would be over soon with them. She wasn't happy about waiting so I gave her a handful of the 100 I bought myself and told her I'd see about the hold up. Apparently I wasn't quick enough. When I returned with the extra tokens, I found her grabbing the rest of my tokens right out of my bag. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I shouldn't have left my bag sitting there unattended but, well, we were the only people in that place so you figure you can trust your own party guests. I guess you can't.

If it weren't my kid's birthday party I would've made more of a scene than the, oh-no-someone-took-our-tokens-sorry-you-used-your-tokens-little-boy-there-aren't-anymore routine while asking my husband quite loudly in front of the thief if we could afford to buy more. Amazing, but none of that phased her.

FYI: Iif you have eight kids, you get two pizzas. If you have twelve kids, you get five pizzas. That would've been nice to know before I ordered the two extra pizzas back when we only had eight kids.

And guess who forgot her coupons??

So the party ended up costing me fifty dollars in pizza we ate three meals a day for the next three days. It was worth it, though, to finally make my five year old baby's birthday dream come true.



Next: Adam at Five

And then Later: Birthday Party Etiquette...How to Answer an RSVP, Write a Thank You Note, and If it's in someone's bag, it doesn't belong to you.

If I Had That Kind of Money, I'd Be Driving a Nicer Car

Can I just complain a little bit here.

It's nothing huge, nothing life changing, but something that kinda ticked me off today.

Jacob goes to private school. You know that. There are things I love and adore about it (the teachers) and things I completely detest (snooty parents). Of course, it goes without saying that I hate handing over a huge chunk of change every semester, but as far as private schools go, it's one of the most affordable around here. And just in case you were wondering, I didn't shop around for a cheap private school because I dislike public education. I shopped around for a half day kindergarten and this was the only one I found. We I had every intention of sending him to his regular neighborhood school in first grade but this place worked for him and we just thought we'd do this for as long as we can.

And yes, Adam will be going to the half-day kindergarten there next year (I threw up a little in my mouth typing that) because I still haven't found another one.

Anyway.

I've gotten to know some of the more laid back and less mean parents. Some of them I interact with on a regular basis. You might even call them my friends, but I don't want to jinx it or anything. So in chatting with these parents I have learned that one of Jacob's friends did not return this year because they could no longer afford it. She has since been pulled out of her neighborhood school because she was too far ahead and is now being homeschooled. They have gone in monthly asking for assistance in scholarships (which the school does offer) and have been turned down every time. This month, another parent lost his job and has no savings to fall back on so they approached the administration to ask for a one month extension fulling expecting to be employed by February. They were denied. If they do not pay this month's tuition by the end of the month, they will have to withdraw their son. In the middle of the school year. So much for that helping Christian hand.

Now. I fully understand that while trying to teach these children the ways of the L*rd is the mission of this school, I do get they are also running a business without any of the government perks given to the local school systems. I know they cannot give everyone a hand-out. I know they can't help everyone who asks. I get that. Sure, it'd be nice if they could wait a few weeks for a payment but I get they have to pay for electricity and water and teacher salaries.

This morning I went the mailbox and found yet another letter from the school. Now. They mail something out to every single family enrolled there at least once a week. Sometimes it's an ad to attend their church. Sometimes it's the monthly school newsletter. Most of the time it's a request for even more money and I don't mean tuition. All of them come with a 44 cent stamp attached.

So, I figure the enrollment is somewhere around 600 these days. Sure, there have to be some siblings, so let's say 500 families get the monthly mail. Take 500 and multiply by each of those stamps and you get about $2200 spent on EACH mailing. Let's say they send three this month and that's $6600. Uh-huh. Maybe if they just pushed those things into each kid's backpack on the way home they could save enough money to help some people in need. But what do I know?

So I opened the letter and it was an ad inviting us to the annual donate more money auction that we have actually enjoyed attending in the past. One year, I got a free weekend of petsitting for five bucks and had a good time on top of that. Last year, they combined it with the Gala (think fancy sit-down spaghetti dinner) they have in the fall because it was cancelled due to Hurricane Ike. We missed the auction last year because we couldn't do the Gala what with all these kids and everything.

I was kind of excited because, well, I don't have a life and I could really use some more pet-sitting, when I found they are yet again combining the Gala and the auction. We couldn't go to the Gala last year because we couldn't bring our kids. We can't go to the Gala this year because two tickets cost $250. That's TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS to walk around a smelly gym and then pay MORE money on a bunch of crap like pet-sitting and eat sticky pasta and limp salad. What?

I guess it goes without saying that the people of the auction committee are all the rich snooty parents right?

I can sit at the Grand Champion table for eight at the rodeo-themed Gala/auction for only $10,000. Yes. TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. Seriously???

And there's a huge sign out front of the school that says they'd like 100% participation this year.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

You know, I'd love to donate some money to that school. I'd love to see all of Jacob's previous and current teachers be paid more. They deserve it. The school needs more room and computers and stuff that will give them a better education. I'd love to help out with that. But $10,000? Don't have that. $250? Don't have that either. I do have $100 I got at Christmas that I would love to spend at the silent auction on maybe a BBQ dinner at my favorite place, tickets to the symphony, or, yes, the dang pet-sitting, but I won't be able to get in. I've been denied because I don't have enough money to get in the door.

I hope they call me again this year to see if we'll be there. I'll tell them if they want to encourage the families who go to school there to become part of their school family, then they need to include each and every one of them in a way everyone can be involved because I know we won't be the only family not attending. In fact, I can be pretty certain that no one I personally know will be able to get in either.

I'm thinking I'll have my own Gala and have all the poor people come here, swim in the pool across the street and collect ten bucks from everyone to give to the family who needs the extension.

But if they don't have ten bucks. That's okay. We're still family.

Fuzzy

Our first digital photos....





They aren't great. It wasn't a great camera, but boy it cost a pretty penny. I am amazed that I have a much better one now for a quarter of the price of the first one and even it isn't a fancy one.

I remember having a film camera. It was 2001. Now it is 2010. How did that happen? Sometimes I look at my eight year old child and wonder what happened to this little baby. I see myself and remember how I never thought I'd make it through those sleepless nights and scream-filled days. It seems like yesterday, yet at the same time it seems so far away.

Our family has grown in more ways than one since we bought that fuzzy, expensive camera. We're in a different house, in a different neighborhood, in a different town with a different dynamic than that June day. I didn't really see it coming back then, but I like it. Sometimes, though, I'd like to have just one more 2001 day. One more day to enjoy that tiny baby. Kiss his toes, feel his fuzzy hair, rock for hours on end in that old recliner, and sniff his sweet baby smell. Just one more day with that baby knowing what I know about him now.

I miss that baby.

And I wonder if I knew then what I know now about his "condition" if I'd been a better mother to him then.

I wish I could find out.

Sometimes.

My Girl

I was going to write about my New Year's Resolutions today and then I realized, heh, I used the F word twelve hours into the new year during that game and why bother eating healthfully if we're all just destined to disappear in 2012 anyway?

Instead, I'm going to write the post that's been swirling in my head for a while now. The one I've been hesitant to write for fear of upsetting some of my readers. The one that will finally separate me once and for all from all the boymoms in the world. You know, if anyone is actually still reading my drivel.

Can I just say how much I love my daughter?



Oh, I love my boys too. But my daughter? I didn't know what I was missing.

The hairbows....so cute.

The babydolls....so fun.

Shopping on the left side of Carters.....full of the awesomeness.

But the best thing? The best thing is just having her around. She gets me. I get her. I am no longer outnumbered in this house full of testosterone.

I spent my entire pregnancy telling myself that I would adore the little boy that I may have been carrying. I picked him an awesome name (two actually), set up his true blue room, and waited to complete our Y-chromosome heavy family. On the morning my daughter was born, making our way to the hospital in the near-dawn darkness, I cried. I sobbed actually. The whole way there. I cried for my daughter. The one I never thought I'd have. It was a secret between my husband and me, a secret we'd never tell our third son. Then we checked in, got plugged up, and wheeled in to have our baby with smiles on our faces. I was ready to meet our boy, I really was. I knew I loved him, I'd been with him for months. But when that doctor said it was a girl..twice, I cried. I sobbed actually. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.*

In those first weeks after she was born, in my vicodin-induced happy haze, I'd just look at her and thank God for giving me a girl. I'd wake up each morning and remember, OMG! I have a daughter!, and it'd make me just a little happier while swaying and shushing the colic away.

I miss my baby girl, but I love my little girl.

I love how she wants me to comb her hair so she can be bootiful.

I love seeing her baby dolls neatly covered and kept warm.

I love hearing her sing. Anything.

I love it when she kisses her brothers. And I love it more that they kiss her back with so much adoration.

I love the princess costumes, ponytails, and the at-home manicures on itty-bitty nails.

When Santa left his loot under our tree Christmas morning, I teared up seeing the mass of pink at one side. At one time I never thought I'd see that, the things I loved, the things I know, being loved by someone else I love. I loved seeing her ooh and aah over her girly things and I loved even more watching her move to each of her brothers and do the same with them.

I wake up in the morning now and I am no longer surprised to have a girl in my house, but I do give thanks every morning for her. And her brothers too. I cannot even imagine what life wouldn've been like if she'd been a boy. It just seems like Elizabeth was always meant to be with us.

But I still really love shopping on the left side of Carters.


*And because I'm sure someone will wonder, I was happy birthing my other two children, but the first one came eight weeks early and was rushed to the NICU immediately which was very stressful and wondering about him for six hours before anyone told me anything didn't make for a happy morning. When the second one came, I had complications that caused a prolonged postop situation and some crazy drugs that kept me from really knowing what was going on until late that afternoon, so yeah, the third birth, AWESOME.

A Forty-Two Year Tradition....

Christmas Eve photos under the tree...







I'm thinking this is a tradition that needs to end.

A Nice Surprise

I was going to write a long, reflective post about the end of 2009 and the hope that is 2010 this morning, but I was somehow led to check the school calendar yesterday and found that school does not start back until TOMORROW. Good thing I found that out before I dropped my kid off in my pajamas in the 35 degree chill.

So today, I'm taking this unexpected day off and actually spending it with my kids (as soon as Max and Ruby goes off). Trying my darnedest to stick to those resolutions.

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

Happy New Year.

Merry Christmas!

Tis the Season for Packages on Your Doorstep

Look what the UPS man brought us me!!

Can it get any better than this? My favorite food. At my door step.

Life is sooo good.



Check it out. Little red crinkly things. LITTLE RED CRINKLY THINGS! With my favorite food. It does get better.



Thank you Miss Tracey. You made my day!



And be sure to check out Tracey's review blog so your kid can get this excited on a regular old weekday too. Who knows? You might even win the cool Squeeballs Nintendo DS game giveaway she's doing right this very minute. You know, if you want to ruin Jacob's day and keep me from winning it.

I Wish I Lived in Iowa Today

So I hear ya'll are having a blizzard....

We had one too. Last Friday. In Houston. It was cold. The Christmas party I'd been looking forward to for months was cancelled. Schools dismissed early. Milk and bread flew off the supermarket shelves. The local networks ran a constant feed of breaking snow news all morning.



If you look very closely, you'll see my boys through the near white-out conditions. This was at it's very worst.

Seriously, though, Houston got some snow last week. Twice I looked out the window and saw huge falling snowflakes, I think you Yankees call them "flurries". Places west and north of us got a little accumulation too. We. Did not. Too close to the coast, I guess. Too warm for anything to stick. We. Were very disappointed.

I used to live up north. I twice missed school the entire month of February due to snow and ice and then some ice and snow. One year I drove home for Christmas across the southern part of Virginia through the Appalachians with the radio announcers telling me if I didn't have anywhere to be not to venture out. My car spun five circles that day. I made it home though. I still don't know how. Dear Mr. Channel 2 Guy, what I witnessed THAT day was a white-out. There was no white out here, but thanks for staying positive.

I chuckle a little when I watch Texas prepare for snow. It's sweet, actually. When I was a northerner I took for granted every year that it would snow. I knew we'd get a day off eventually. Non-sticking flurries were old hat. Accumulation meant shoveling and the thought of driving anywhere in that would evoke grumbles from all around. Here in Texas, EVERYONE gets excited for snow. Any snow. Or even sleet for that matter. It just so rarely happens.

Yes. We were disappointed to have no tiny snowman. No weak snowballs. But we revelled in our ten minutes of flurries. Because that's all we could get.

I'm thinking of all you blizzard survivors today. Been there, done that. Just not in a very long time so I am quite jealous. Be safe. Stay warm. Enjoy your piles of snow for me.

And I'll enjoy my 65 degrees and sunshine for you.

The Santa Saga

*Read quickly because I'll be erasing this soon. My kid knows how to log on and access my blog. And he can read, dammit.*

Before we started a family, Derick and I discussed how we'd do holidays. Basically, all the holidays would be spent with my family since his family doesn't really care and we would not insult the intelligence of our children by introducing them to imaginary figures such as The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. I mean, what decent parent LIES to their child?

That was before we passed St. Nicholas in the mall with our eight month old baby. That colicky, unhappy baby who lit right up seeing him sitting there all ho, ho, ho jolly and stuff.



So we figured, eh, he's little, we can do it this year.

And then we remembered my sister's kids, well, they also loved Santa so we kept it up, you know, to keep peace and harmony in the family.

And then the second child came and, well, how unfair would that be to let the oldest one enjoy Santa and not the youngest one, I mean, we are all about the fairness.




And the third one came, and although Santa's lap is quite full, we couldn't deny her either so here we are. For a family that wasn't going to do Santa, we sure have done up the Santa. And the Easter Bunny too, but that's an entirely different story.



But. The kids get older. And smarter. And they start to listen more. And then Mommy starts to panic.

So Jacob goes to a Christian school and most of the families there have chosen as we once did not to celebrate the secular themes of the holiday and instead focus on the true meaning of the season. There's a reason for the season? Really? I kid, I kid.

Anyway, these kids are starting to talk. In the past month, my son, my tiny baby son, has come home feeling so very sorry for three different boys who say they do not believe and he fears they will wake up with nothing on Christmas morning. He wants to buy them some Legos so they'll have something under the tree. Isn't that sweet?

While walking through the Wally World last week, one nasty old bitty had the loudest phone conversation about whether or not the person on the other end of the line should tell her child THERE IS NO SANTA. I bumped her a little with my cart. Did I mention I HATE listening to others talking on the phone. Go home. Talk there. Bah.

And now Target has this stupid ass commercial on all day where the dad gets upset at the mom when she unwraps her big screen tv and goes on and on incessantly about Santa not realizing there's a recession and Mom tells him that Santa knows how to shop.

Um, yeah. My kid. He gets innuendo. Who'd a thunk?

I see him standing there watching it. I see the gears moving in his head. I watch him stop what he's doing to catch again fifteen minutes later. The gears....still moving.

Why do that Target? Everytime I see it, the less I like you.

My kid. He doesn't ask any questions. I think he already knows the answers. It's sad really.

Sometimes I regret our decision to just go with it.

Then I see the delight in their faces when they see Santa every year.

And clear a path away from the fireplace.

And leave cookies and reindeer food and, for the past two years, a gift, bought with his own money because Santa needs a present too. FYI: Santa's getting a Lego Santa keychain. For the sleigh keys. Or the workshop. Whichever.

Santa will bring everything my kids have asked for this year. Even the very expensive Lego set he can't really afford. We're going to do it up this year. And we're going to enjoy every minute while we can.