Just Like That

It happened.

I dropped a little girl off at school this morning, and this afternoon a woman sat in the seat my baby girl had occupied just 7 hours before.

Today my 10 (almost 11) year-old daughter entered womanhood. Yep, she started her period.

I'm not shocked. We've suspected this was coming for awhile now with all the other changes she's been experiencing, but it just feels weird. My husband and I were just marveling at our beautiful daughter two nights ago, both of us commenting that she seems to have matured in a hurry. She really is a gorgeous young lady, smart and wise to boot. I'm so proud of her, but I still wanted her to be a little girl for a little longer. I don't think I was ready for this. Not at all.

Camryn's taking it all in stride, as usual. She was a tad weepy when she got into the car. When I asked why she was sad she said, "I'm just not ready for this yet." That makes two of us, dear.

There wasn't much talk on the drive home. With a nosy 7 year-old brother in the back seat there wasn't a lot Camryn could say that didn't get met with a "What? What's that?" from Aiden. She popped in her iPod ear buds, leaned the chair back and said to me, "We'll talk when we get home, 'k?"

Whew.

When we got home, I showed her how to use a maxi-pad and talked about some things to be careful about. She asked some questions and that was that. She recently read a book I bought her called The Care and Keeping of You that is a published by the American Girls series. It was very informative and she learned a lot and asked questions about the things she didn't understand. If you have a girl, I highly recommend the book.

My sweet baby is taking a long, hot bath right now. She has some cramps and such, so told her to go relax. That's what I always did when I had my monthly visitor. Daddy is bringing home flowers for his princess tonight, and we'll most likely go out to eat (though Camryn, hubby and I will be the only ones who know why). We just want her to know how special this is. A pain in the rear most months, but special nonetheless.

And suddenly I feel every one of my 35 years. My baby is a woman.

Wow.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow...

Tomorrow is the last day of school before Christmas break. Hallelujah. Before we can start our 2 weeks of rest & relaxation, though, we have to get through tomorrow morning.

I am Camryn's room mom. Tomorrow at 8:15 I have to be in her classroom for her Christmas party. We're having breakfast; I just finished preparing an egg casserole. It's in the fridge and the oven is set to preheat at 6:45 am tomorrow. The bacon is ready to go, as is the fruit salad that I bought at the grocery store today (I love convenience!) The fruit salad in the fridge is the second one I picked up off the shelf, because the first one dumped in the floor when the lid came off as I was transferring it to the buggy. "Clean up in produce!!" I hate when that happens.

Around 9:50 am I'll get into the car and head to Quinn & Lillian's school. Hopefully I'll be there a little before 10:30, which is when Lillian's class play will start. After that I'll distribute gifts to teachers and take Quinn & Lillian back out to Camryn & Aiden's school where I'll distribute gifts to teachers and staff. Camryn and Aiden will be released at 12:15. I'll pick them up and head into town to have lunch with the hubby. After that, we'll all come back home. I will immediately put on PJs and the Christmas break will commence!

I.CANNOT.WAIT. Two weeks of sleeping late, staying in PJs as long as I want to, doing nothing but hanging with my kiddos. I'm sure that by Sunday, January 4th I'll be ready for everyone to be back in school, but for now, I'm gonna' just chill.

Guest Blogger (Kind Of)

This sure is turning out to be an Aiden-centric blog lately. Didn't mean it to be, but right now he's my favorite kid.

What? You don't find yourself having moments (days, weeks) where you have a favorite child? I do love each of my children equally and greatly, but sometimes there are stretches where I prefer the company of one kid simply because the other 3 are DRIVING ME BANANAS.

Right now Lillian is in a Tourette's phase. She sings spontaneously and loudly and repeats things A LOT. It's most annoying. And there's the yelling and the growling. She's the living incarnation of the strong willed child.

Quinn is in a "I can't get the words out of my mouth fast enough and therefore it's impossible to comprehend what I'm saying especially because I refuse to pronouce the letter R correctly, making me sound like I was born in Boston" phase. Arrrrrrr. Arrrrrr. Arrrrr... I sound like a pirate when I correct his speech.

Camryn is female, she's 10, on the cusp of womanhood and she thinks the world revolves around her. NO has suddenly disappeared from the list of words she comprehends. She can dish it, but she won't take it. 'Nuff said.

So that leaves Aiden. Sweet, do anything to please me Aiden. He's like a lap cat, that one. So docile and compliant and loves to be stroked, physically and emotionally. We totally get each other. He's so like me it's scary. Maybe that's why I like him so much. It's a form of narcissism.

The following was plucked from his Friday folder when I cleaned out his backpack over the weekend. I just had to share. I have typed it just as he wrote it, misspellings and all.

CREATION

I am glad that God created the day so that I can play.

I am happy God created the season winnter so that I can play in the snow.

I am delighted that God created the color red because I like red lightsabers.

I am pleased that God created the fruit/vegetable Bannana because I like Pennut budeer banana sanwichs.

I am excited that God created the animal tiger because I like the strips.

I am thankful God created the Sabbath when I can rest and play legos.

And God rested, and played Legos, and it was good.

Cel-e-brate Good Times, C'mon!

It's funny what a little motivation will do for children.

My kids have become enamored with "The Sims" computer programs this summer. Their daddy used to play Sims games all the time (before he got really busy at work). The kids found his old CDs and loaded them onto the computers and now they're hooked on The Sims.

They've downloaded (free) things to spice up their games and discovered cheats to help them make more money and keep their Sim families healthy. Now, of course, they want more Sims games.

Seeing as how it's so close to Christmas, I suggested that they put the desired Sims games on their Christmas lists. Won't work, I was told. Their Christmas lists are already full (they only get 3 items each for Christmas, and I guess they each already have their top 3 items on their lists...)

So a plan was hatched. My 9 year-old gets the "Plan Hatcher of the Year" award. She's a great hatcher of plans.

"Mommy? If we clean stuff up around the house today, can we earn money to buy Sims 2?"

I ain't no dummy. I'm all over getting out of household chores. Sounded like a plan to me.

I gave the kids a long list. I expected about half of it to be done before they pooped out. It was enough to exhaust even me.

The list?

Empty dishwasher.
Put up dishes.
Wipe down kitchen counters and table.
Vacuum house.
Straighten up den.
Clean bedrooms.
Make beds.
Clean basement (included vacuuming, getting toys, books, etc. out of the floor, and putting up a bunch of stuff that was on the big table down there)
Empty dryer.
Empty washing machine.
Put up folded clothes.
Clean up the playroom (this was a BIG job)

They presented their initial request to me around 8:30 am. It's now 11:45 am.

They're done with every chore I had on the list. They didn't fuss, fight, scream or whine. They've been super nice little worker bees.

Camryn is now cooking lunch for all of the kids.

I'm searching Amazon for their game.

Aiden said, "I bet this is the best day of your life!"

Pretty close, son. Pretty close!

Can you smell it?

Summer is slowly winding down. My younger son starts back to school on August 29. That's only 32 days from today (753 hours, 18 minutes, 30 seconds and counting...) The other two go back on September 4. The "baby" starts twice-a-week Mom's Day Out on the 13th (I think).

I'm ready.

I've enjoyed our lazy summer. I've loved making a decent breakfast (almost) every morning, and I've celebrated the fact that most days, there was nowhere to go after we finished. We ate slowly, talking to one another and laughing over pancakes or waffles or eggs and toast. My kids are so entertaining. I love starting my day off in their company.

Our "plans" always varied. Sometimes we'd devise a "caventure" (adventure) for the day. Sometimes we made no formal decisions about what we were doing other than we were definitely staying in our PJs until we decided to put our swimsuits on and take a dip. I've put together lots of Legos in the past 2 months. I've colored until I had to buy new crayons. I've raced the kids in the pool until I had to stop and take a breath (or 2. Or 10,045). I've snuggled the kids in their beds at 9:30 pm and 10 am. I've had a great time.

That's what I love about summer. There is a lack of urgentness about ANYTHING. There is an absence of formal plans. There's the sleeping late. There's the warm skin after swimming and drying out before coming inside. There's the cold skin after swimming and coming inside to an AC set to 72 degrees.

Summer is eating cereal for lunch if we want to. It's driving an hour out of our way to go to a great consignment or scrapbooking store we've never before visited. Free hours in the summer mean having lots and lots of special lunches with Daddy, or "parking lot picnics" at Sonic with all the windows down and the sunroof open.

Summer is all about good times.

I'll miss the "looseness" of summer, but I'll be honest. I'm gettin' ready for fall.

I can only handle so many days with no structure. The kids need structure. I need it. They need to be away from one another for several hours at a time.

I NEED TO BE AWAY FROM THEM FOR SEVERAL HOURS AT A TIME.

(I'm sorry. Did I just scream that? Ahem. Please excuse my outburst.)

Fall. I can smell it.

It smells like pencil shavings, brand new jeans, bologna sandwiches and, best of all, sweet freedom.

House Rules

A couple of weeks ago I sat down at the kitchen table with the kids and I let them come up with the house rules. I was tired of keeping the rules in my head, and I thought if we actually wrote them down (and I let them help) it might cut down on a lot of chaos around here. I put the rules on the fridge, and when a rule is broken, all I have to do is point in the general direction of the kitchen and remind them of the list we made. Works pretty well.

These are the rules the kids dictated to me. Some things they told me were very specific, so I didn't write down *all* of their rules. If I had, the list would be as long as the Alabama Constitution (with 777 amendments, it holds the record for the most amended state constitution. If you have about 3 days, it's a comical read).

Anyhow, here are the rules for our household:

(1) No screaming at parents or siblings
(2) No Light Saber fighting except in your bedrooms or outside
(3) No hitting people or throwing things
(4) No running inside
(5) No stomping
(6) No sneaking food - always ask permission before getting a snack
(7) No playing on the couches
(8) No snatching
(9) No pinching or biting
(10) Everyone makes their beds and gets dressed in the morning before playing or eating (in the summer I let this one slide a bit...)
(11) The den is not a playroom! No toys in the den.
(12) No arguing. If you need an argument settled, find a parent.
(13) No pulling on the curtains
(14) Respect people when they're talking
(15) Do not say "NO" to Mom or Dad when they tell you to do something
(16) No fighting over seats (this is a problem at mealtimes, 'cause everyone wants to sit in the 2 seats that face the den TV, even though we usually turn it off)
(17) No kicking each other
(18) No standing on tables
(19) No slamming doors
(20) No locking doors
(21) Be delightful at the dinner table

Formula For Success

What does it take to get 4 kids (ages 9, 6, 4 and 2) to sit still and quiet for about 2 hours?

Here's my formula:

• 3 boxes Mike & Ike candies (2 grape, 1 tropical)
• 1 box Junior Mints
• 1 box Rainbow Nerds
• 1-16 oz. Dr. Pepper
• 1-16 oz. Diet Dr. Pepper
• 1-16 oz. Dasani water
• 1-16 oz. Coke
• 1-16 oz. Mello Yello
• 1 empty bottle for the 4 year-old to pee in so you don't have to leave the theater during the flick (It went unused! Wahoo!)
• 1 large purse for hiding all the cheap snacks from Dollar Tree (Thanks, Elaine!)
• 5 tickets to the 11:30 am showing of "Ratatouille"
• 1 large tub of popcorn
• 5 seats on the very back row of the theater

Mix altogether and enjoy.

It's In the Genes

Organization must be in the genes somewhere, 'cause my 9 year-old daughter has the gift. It has been passed on to the next generation!

For most of the kids' lives I have struggled with getting them to clean up after themselves. Only my oldest was diligent about tidying up after playing. She's a natural organizer, and being the oldest, quite eager to please her clean freak of a mother.

I was quite frazzled with the children yesterday. The kids and I spent 2 days last week cleaning the playroom after Hurricane Lillian (my 2 year-old) went through there; everything (shelves, chairs, toys) was turned over and dumped into the floor. It was a huge mess, and therefore a huge task to take on, but we got it done.

The only problem with cleaning the playroom and reorganizing it is that it's just going to end up messy again. That's why we put it upstairs above the garage (so I wouldn't have to see it unless I purposefully went up there!) So anyway, the boys and Lillian messed everything up again, despite Camryn's efforts to control the clutter and get everything put back when they were done playing. She was frustrated, and so was I. We just couldn't get the boys and Lillian to commit to cleaning after they played.

After threatening to take away the toys in the playroom if they weren't cleaned up appropriately, I was at the end of my rope. Good thing Camryn knows how to tie knots. She came up with a brilliant solution, all by her 9 year-old self.

Her answer?

Centers.

Just like the boys and Lillian have at school.

She's a frickin' genius!

Now in our playroom we have a car center, a kitchen (home living) center, a baby center, a train center, etc. Somehow this has made it easier for the kids to clean things up and put things back when they're done. Now they know where things go, and they happily play together. There is no screaming at clean-up time.

And the playroom is clean.

My daughter deserves a medal.

Hair today...

I found a 1" long hair on the back of my right knee yesterday. I've been wearing shorts pretty consistently since late April, plus I walked around the beach for 4 days with that monstrous hair hanging off the back of my knee. Yick. (Yeah, right. I'm sure no one noticed, but STILL. Yick!)

In other news, I started the potty training process with 2 1/2 year-old Lillian this week. She's been wearing (and mostly keeping dry!) her new Dora panties. Her siblings have been like her little cheerleading squad, so she's getting lots of positive feedback for her efforts.

However, she's been in a sugar coma just about every day due to the "potty candy" prize she gets for..... erm..... "producing". I've been using "old" Halloween candy as her prizes, so the candies have been medium-sized. I need to switch to Skittles or M&Ms or jelly beans before she contracts Juvenile Diabetes. The kid loves the sweets!

Once Lillian is in underwear for good, I won't have any more diapers to change! That will be a momentous occasion, because I've been changing diapers consistently since 1998 except for one week when I left the two youngest kids with my parents and took the two oldest to Disney World (and various weekends away with my honey, of course!) That's almost a decade of changing poop and pee. Wow.

Journey

I have had these lyrics floating around in my head today:

I get the joy of rediscovering you
I'm forever yours
Faithfully

It's from "Faithfully" by Journey and while it's not about the relationship between a parent and child, I feel like it applies to me lately.

I feel like I've rediscovered my children. I've always been involved in their lives, but I decided to make a conscious effort to interact with them more during our days together this summer. I've fallen in love with my babies all over again. Who couldn't love faces like these?



We've been watching home videos together over the past few days and nights, and I have to admit, there are a lot of those moments I had forgotten. When you're so accustomed to seeing your kids in their present states day after day, it's difficult to remember what they were like when they were younger. That's why I've loved watching the videos. I have been reminded of how awesome my kids are because I see how far they've come since they were tiny and how precious (and unprecocious) they were when they were small.

I love those kiddos. Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em.

I'm forever theirs....

Faithfully

Mirror, Mirror, On the wall....

....I have become my mother after all.

It's official. I am now my own mother.

I have been doing mom-like things for a long time. My husband usually catches me and says, "Hey, Linda! Stop it!" (Linda is my mom's name. The man sure knows how to get my attention!)

Lately I have become even more mother-like. I have noticed that I have started to fling my arm out across the passenger seat when I have to brake suddenly. (I guess my arm is there in case the seatbelt AND the airbag fail to work? Who knows.)

I say things to my kids that my mother said to me when I was a kid. When I say these things, it eerily sounds like my mother's voice coming from my mouth.

Like the day I told my boys not to eat their boogers because it would make worms grow in their stomachs. Why the heck did I say that? That was one thing that freaked me out as a kid, yet I REPEATED IT to my kids. (They still pick their boogers and eat 'em, so I guess they don't care about worms.)

I've walked through piles of stuff in my kids' rooms and warned them that they need to keep the floors clean because in a fire I might trip over the piles of junk and not be able to save them from the burning house.

Yep. My mom told me that one, too. Strangely, for months afterward I had nightmares about the house burning down. Great parenting, I tell you.

The worst thing, though... the dreaded thing that has made me realize I have turned into my mother....

I'VE STARTED TO HUM.

Oh, woe is me. It's true.

My mom loves to hum along to songs. She doesn't sing along. She hums. It has irritated the snot out of me my entire life. So WHY am I now doing it?

I can tell you why. In my aging wisdom, I have discovered why my mother hums. And guess what?

IT IS ALL MY FAULT.

See, I like music. I LOVE to sing along to the radio, but I'll sing along to anything, really. TV commercials. Kids' videos. "The Little Mermaid" is my favorite movie to sing along to. I know all the words. Even the French song that the chef sings when the Sebastian the crab is about to get stuffed. Les Poissons. LOVE that song.

But, like Edith Bunker, I've been warned to stifle it. My daughter is evidently very sensitive to my singing, so much so that she barks at me whenever I sing along to something.

"MOMMMMMMMMEEEEEEE. PUH-LEASE stop singing."

Therefore, in place of singing, I've turned to humming.

Like my own daughter, I chastised my mom for singing. I have no idea why (other than she always tried to sing the harmony instead of the melody). But, I did it to her. And, so, there it is. That's why my mother hums. I stifled her. I told her to stop singing, so she did the only thing she could do. She started to HUM.

I made my mother a Hummer.

And it's come back to haunt me.

Poem Blog

When I slipped on my shoe this morning, there was a little toy in it. I growled at first, and then it hit me that one day I will never step on a Lego or Barbie shoe or tiny tire again. This poem flowed out of those feelings.


There's a Nerf ball in my kitchen floor
A tiny tire in my shoe
Orphaned Legos everywhere I look
Empty juice cups, too.

Barbie shoes under my feet
Polly Pocket has lost her shirt
Hairbows, headbands, single socks
Tennis shoes covered in dirt.

The playroom floor is covered in toys
Crayon scribbles cover my walls
Books are scattered here and there
Someone's Crocs are in the hall.

This one is yelling at that one,
Radios blare from every room
Lightsaber battles on my front lawn,
Vader cries, "Mommy!" as he meets his doom.

There are dirty dishes in my sink
Laundry needs to be done
So many things I could be doing
But I'd miss out on the fun.

As long as there are children here
This house will be a mess
One day my house will be tidy
One day I'll get some rest.

I don't want that day to come too soon;
I like having my children near.
It won't be long before they're gone,
And I'll be all alone here.

Longing to step on the Legos
And Barbie shoes that once littered the floor
My children will be grown and have moved away
And I'll wish they were babies once more.

See Spot Pull His Hair Out

I love Target. I really love Target.

I love that you could pick up a gallon of milk, a birthday present for a kid you've never met (but to whose party your son is invited because he's in your kid's 3K class an his mom needs to meet the minimum head count at Chuck E Cheese...), a bra, and a vacuum cleaner, all under the same roof.

But I swear to you, on the tallest stack of Bibles I could ever find, I will not-

-I repeat-

I WILL NOT

Step foot inside a Target store ever again if all four of my children are with me.

Shoot me if I do.

Heavenly day.

I picked Camryn up from a sleepover party. She was grumpy (nothing new there) because I would not let one of her friends come along with us.

Do I look nuts? Four kids at Target is temporary insanity. Five is suicide.

So before we even reached the store I had Moody Dwarf giving me the crossed arms coupled with the evil eye. Dangerous combo, that one.

Aiden and Quinn had pooled their spending money so they could buy one thing together at Target. Aiden had his heart set on something in the Star Wars Lego category. He had $10 and Quinn had $3, but together they could get something bigger.

Yeah. You know how that's going to turn out, right?

I had a long list of things to buy, and I warned Aiden that the toy department might be the last thing on my list. He said, "Okay." No fussing. Just, "Okay".

Yeah. You know how that's going to turn out, right?

So first we hit the dollar spot, where I stopped to talk to a neighbor. Aiden and Camryn started running around (the other two, thankfully, were in the buggy...) I hate that. I HATE IT when my kids act like that while I'm distracted.

I stopped chatting with the neighbor and looked up to see my 8 year-old daughter staring at me wearing these hideous shamrock sunglasses.

I had to laugh. I lost all leverage as soon as I did, too.

("Mommy didn't punish us for running around. Ha. She laughed. I'm a GENIUS, Aiden. GENIUS! I can rock a pair of shamrock sunglasses. That's some lucky stuff there, man.")

Take the parking break off, Mildred, 'cause it's all downhill from there.

Dora underwear. Check.

("Mommy? When are we going to the toy department??")

Belt for Camryn. Check.

("Mooommy? When are we going to the toooooy department??")

Bra for Camryn. Check. (Yeah. I said bra. Can you believe it? She'll be nine on the 7th. NINE.)

("MOMMMMMMMMEEEEEE! When are we going to the toy department??")

In the middle of girls' unmentionables, Quinn says, "MOMMY! I gotta go pee!"

Quinn's like E.F. Hutton. When he mentions PEE, you LISTEN.

We dropped everything and took him to the potty. Just.in.time.

("MOMMMMMMMMEEEEEE! Mommeeeeeee! MOMMY! Is the toy department next?")

New tennis shoes for Quinn. Check.

("Why does Quinn need new shoes?? THIS.IS.NOT.THE.TOY.DEPARTMENT!")

Easter sandals for Camryn. Check. (NO YOU CANNOT WEAR THEM AROUND THE STORE. I don't care if you have a blister. That's why I tell you to wear SOCKS, precious thing.)

("MOMMMMMMMMEEEEEE! I see the toy department!!")

As soon as we saw the toys, Camryn tried to bribe the boys into splitting their cash with her so they could each get a toy. There's a brilliant lawyer in there, I tell you.

I should skip the entire toy department visit. You know how that went if you've ever tried to get a child to find something they want to buy that's within their budget. Disaster.

"NO. You cannot get that Imperial Destroyer. What the freak? NO WAY. That thing is $100 and it has over 1300 pieces! Holy mother of pearl. I'm not crazy. No. NOOOOO! I said no. NO. You only have $13. NO! I will not chip in the rest. NO! A thousand times no."

"Aiden., stop crying. Aiden, sweetheart. No, it doesn't mean I don't love you just because I won't bring home 1300+ Legos that might someday, with any luck and a year of no vacuuming, form a Star Wars ship. And quit taking advice from your sister about using guilt to twist my arm. It won't work."

The boys finally settled on a tube of plastic dinosaurs and a sand mill (Aiden), some bubbles and another sand mill (Quinn).

I swear. I need the Nobel prize for that. That was the Camp Target Accords, I tell you.

I thought it would get better, but pretty soon Aiden started asking for something to drink.

Repeatedly.

Like, three times a minute.

I thought his head was going to explode.

I thought my head was going to explode.

I want my mommy.

The One With the Puke (OR: Why I Love My Hubby)

My sweet 4 year-old son (finally) had his well check at the doctor yesterday.

If you're a mom, you know what that means.

Uh-huh. SHOTS.

My husband took Quinn to the doctor. When they returned home, there were tears in Quinn's eyes, a Band-Aid on one of his fingers, and a catch in his walk (the shots went in his legs, so he considered himself crippled...)

My husband and I have experienced it all before; our oldest two children had similar reactions to the dreaded 4 year shots. Bless their hearts.

Eventually Quinn realized that he could once again use his legs and the finger with the Band Aid on it. He had a few doses of Tylenol and was feeling pretty near normal at bedtime.

At approximately 2:30 am I heard the wail of a cry growing closer and closer as it approached my bedroom.

Then I heard the sound every parent dreads hearing in the middle of the night (or anytime, really).

THE BARF.

My husband jumped up and grabbed the trash can and let Quinn finish losing his shrimp dinner. Then he set about cleaning Quinn, the carpet, the hardwoods in the hall, and the spot beside Quinn's bed.

What a guy. I love that man. He never shrinks from responsibility when it comes to me and our children. He is a true helpmate.

Meanwhile, I got the much easier job of changing and cuddling my sick boy.

While I don't relish the upchuck, I do enjoy cuddling my children when they're ill. It's one of the best times to be a mom. The kids are usually so compliant, so drained of energy, so willing to be snuggled and held close. They just sit still and let you rub their hair and their feverish brows.

It's the height of maternal bliss.

Saying Goodbye

My precious 8 year-old daughter is going through a rough time right now.

When school started back on January 2, my daughter's best friend Emily was not in class. Her mom had pulled her and her brother back out of school to resume homeschooling. Camryn was devastated.

Camryn's class is a combined group of 3rd and 4th graders. She and Emily were the only 3rd grade girls. Emily's brother, Caleb, was also in the class since he is a 4th grader. Their departure left a big hole in the already small class, but it also made a dent in my daughter's heart.

The 4th grade girls are a little catty and cliquish. I'm sure it's hormonal, but still... Camryn says she doesn't get along well with them. I think it's because Camryn is used to being the boss (being the oldest child at home) and doesn't know how to interact with older girls. Either way, Emily's absence left Camryn without a close female friend.

So, Camryn strengthened her friendship with a 3rd grade boy named Jacob. The friendship quickly became a crush, and Jacob and Camryn soon started their own club with just themselves as members. It was a true budding romance. Any mention of Jacob's name brought a quick "HUSH UP!" from Camryn.

Ah, young love.

Now Jacob is moving. He and his family are heading back to Fort Worth, Texas. That's where they came from; Jacob's dad, Dustin, accepted a position as the Furman University chaplain, and that brought them here to Greenville.

Dustin is now also the reason that Jacob is leaving. He had a bicycle accident in October. He fell off of his bike while riding around the neighborhood with his kids, and he hit his head on a manhole cover. The damage was severe since Dustin wasn't wearing a helmet. He was in a coma for awhile, but now his condition is being called a "vegetative state". Not a "permanent vegetative state", but still... it's not good.

So, Jacob's mom has made the heart wrenching decision to move herself, her husband and their three children back to Texas. I can understand her desire to be near family, but they will be sorely missed.

It's a hard thing. Camryn is as in "love" as her little 8 year-old heart can be. I feel very sad for her. First her best friend left, and now her little crush. She's not having a very good 2007 so far.

Camryn and I got busy and made up a little scrapbook for Jacob. I went to school today and took pictures of her classmates and let them sign the book for Jacob. When the pictures are developed, we'll add those to the book and present the surprise to Jacob at his going away party on Thursday.

Friday is Jacob's official last day at school. I expect there to be tears when Camryn gets home. The Rx for that will be lots of popcorn and snuggling in my bed, but I know it won't take the sting of loss out of Camryn's heart.

What's worse is that I know this won't be the first time my baby's heart will be broken by a boy. I just didn't think this would start so soon.

I'm not ready.

Groggy Blog

Word of Warning:

If you're going to drink a Mimosa at midnight and then stay up to, oh, 1:30 am watching "Ace of Cakes" on Food Network, be prepared for the inevitable.

Like, say, your 4 year-old son bringing you his **previously assembled** Lego Tie Fighter in a gazillion pieces at 8 am the next day. And he wants YOU to put it back together. NOW!

(PANTS? Where are my pajama pants? And what is that stuck to my cheek? Oh. The medicine I dropped last night... THERE it is!)

Thank goodness for Little Debbie honey buns.

Feed 'em, clean 'em, go back to bed.

Darned mimosas.

Stage Presence

Tonight I sat in the pew of my church and watched in awe as my daughter approached the microphone to sing a solo. She sang without signs of any nervousness (though I was sitting with cold, clammy hands, shaking in my seat...) She sang loudly and confidently and she sang with perfect pitch.

I was so VERY proud of her.

This is her fourth time since May 2005 that she has earned a solo in a church musical. She was the only first grader to earn a solo in her first musical in May 2005. She rocked that one. I cried when she finished because I was so very stinkin' PROUD of her.

She went on to sing solos in last year's Christmas musical and the spring 2006 musical. The song she sang tonight was the most difficult one yet.

But she pulled it off.

The other kids that took their turns singing did so with fidgeting hands or fists clenched in fear. They sang softly and quickly and ran back to their places when their songs were over.

Not Camryn. She strode boldly to the microphone, smiled her winning smile, and sang her heart out.

She's a natural performer. I don't know from whom she gets her confidence, because I would be jelly on that stage. I have sung in groups before, large choirs and ensembles, but never a solo. That's scary.

My daughter knocks my socks off. I'm such a proud mom!

It's All in How You Ask

Just now my 2 year-old daughter brought a book to me and said, "Read me, Mommy."

I opened up the front cover and saw a big magenta scribble that undoubtedly came from a crayon.

"Did you color in this book, Lillian?"

"No."

"Lillo, did you color on this page?"

"No."

Lillian Grayce, did you huggah on this page?" ("Huggah" is 2 year-old for "color".)

"No."

"Who colored in this book, Lillian?"

"Me."

"Do you have stinky pants, Lillian?"

"No."

"Lillian, do you have poops?"

"No."

"Lillian, bring me a diaper. You stink."

"Okay. Wipes, too? Need cream, Mommy."

Selfish

I feel awful.

I was supposed to chaperone a trip to the apple orchard for my daughter's school today. Since it's a small school, there isn't a bus to take everyone at once. Therefore, they need parent volunteer drivers.

I found a nail in one of my tires yesterday. I found it at 5 pm. Yes, I could've gotten the tire fixed last night, but I didn't.

Why? Because part of me was relieved that I didn't have to go to the orchard today. I only said I'd go because my daughter was so pitiful when she was begging me to go. Plus, the scrapper in me thought, "Oh, that would make for some great pictures!" But inside, I knew I'd rather be at home, because Fridays are supposed to be my day off.

So I took Camryn to school today in Stan's truck and told the administrator I couldn't take kids to the orchard (the truck is not the most reliable vehicle, either, and the orchard is over an hour away in North Carolina...) I felt guilty about getting out of chaperoning, but I'm so glad I didn't have to go.

But I still feel awful. What if something happens to Camryn? Something I could've prevented if I'd been there? What if the lady that took my place driving has an accident and Camryn gets hurt? I'm wrestling with all this guilt.

But at the same time I'm happy to be home. By myself, because all of the other kids are at school. I'm completely selfish.

Conforming or Transforming?

Today on the drive to school I casually said to my daughter that it's just under 4 months until Christmas. This must've reminded her of other upcoming holidays, because suddenly we found ourselves discussing Halloween.

Several months ago our 3 oldest children (and my 35 year-old husband) became obsessed with Power Rangers. We had the DVR set to record every Power Rangers episode except Mystic Force. I was able to find a Pink Ranger SPD (Space Force Delta) costume for my older daughter. She was over the moon and couldn't wait for it to arrive on the front doorstep. She LOVED it. Just last month I found SPD costumes for the boys as well, so the three oldest kids had their Halloween costumes all ready to go. They were eagerly anticipating being Power Rangers for Halloween. It was going to be SO COOL!

Imagine my shock when my oldest announced this morning that she was rethinking her Power Ranger costume choice. She said she'd talked to all the girls in her class (all FIVE of them!) and none of them watch Power Rangers.

Three days into her first year of "real" school and we already have our first case of PEER PRESSURE, folks!

Well, maybe not the first case. On her first day my daughter was supposed to bring in her favorite thing to share with the class. I was there when her teacher announced that during the parent drop-in. She mouthed to me "Cozie!" Cozie is her bedtime pal. She's had him since she was born; he is even in the bassinet picture of her that was taken in the hospital.



When she got home from the drop-in I reminded her to go put a Cozie (she owns 3) in her backpack so he wouldn't be forgotten. That's when she started second guessing her choice. In the hour or so that it took to finish up at the drop-in and drive home, she'd already decided that Cozie was "too babyish" to share.

She won't wear her Crocs to school either, because "everyone else" wears tennis shoes. Buh. I saw the teacher wearing black Crocs just last week.

So, it's begun. She's giving into peer pressure. It's subtle, but it's there. I gave her a gentle mom-talk about being unique and not conforming to the standards of others. I reminded her of what God tells us in Romans 12:2 "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."

She gave me the old 8 year-old eye roll and told me she's not changing costumes because of peer pressure, but I know differently.

On the drive back home my mind wandered. I started reviewing our conversation. I had to be honest with myself and admit that at 33 years-old, I still give in to peer pressure. I still worry about what people think of me. I struggle with it on a daily basis. Got no idea WHY.

When will I reach the place in my life when the only person I care about pleasing is God the Father?