Christmas 2011

Christmas was a complete success!! We spent wonderful, quality time with our families and unwrapped a gazillion presents from all of our amazing family and friends.
It was Maggie's first Christmas where she was really understood unwrapping presents--at first she was pulling one piece at a time and putting it in the trash but by present-palooza 999, she had the process down pat. She loves her Cabbage Patch baby Ella, vanity, and the Barbie jeep. Her purse, books, and "wip-wip" (lipstick) are also favorites.

Ian was the most excited about Christmas and at 3am on Christmas morning, he was wide awake and ready to open Santa! He loved his Nintendo DS and his iPad. I mean really, what 8 year old kid wouldn't be thrilled by an iPad? Thanks Mom & Dad for spoiling him completely. Even I am thrilled about it, even if I have to ask permission to use it! He got a bike and cornhole boards, which I know he loves. He told me the best part of Christmas was just spending time with me. I love that kid.

  I felt like I spent most of the season convincing Will to believe in the Magic of Christmas. He only wanted to convince me that Jesus loved him regardless of what Santa thought and that Elfie wasn't as magical as I claimed he was. He even went as far as to tell us Christmas Eve that Santa wasn't real at all. I think he changed his mind on Christmas morning because Santa got him everything on his list, but this is Will, so I really have no idea.  He tells me he is most thrilled by his BB gun (maybe he won't shoot his eye out?) and his Scooter. But he loves his bike, the iPad (which was a joint gift for he and Ian), and his Nerf Oozie.

My favorite gift of the year? My rockin' new cowboy boots from my in laws! Love, love, love them! Josh and I don't exchange gifts for Christmas. After all, we have each other's love ;)But he did buy me a purple Snuggie for my birthday and I love it almost as much as my boots!

The gift that out gave all? Our decision to adopt a family for Christmas. We have always helped out with Operation Christmas Child, helped with Angel Tree, given to the Salvation Army, but we have never taken on the task of helping to provide Christmas for an entire family. And compared to other years, this was the year that we didn't have the money to do it.  However, Josh knows the father of this family and he came home a couple of weeks before Christmas convinced that we needed to find a way to help this family.Deciding to do something like this is very typical of me. But Josh? It's not that he isn't charitable. It's just that he doesn't usually volunteer us for ANY kind of project. But I could tell that this family and their circumstances were truly convicting him to do something. So we did. It wasn't fancy and it wasn't anything to brag about, but we did it. We got the kids involved and they were so excited to pick out toys for this family of 6 children. Our decision do to this is also why none of you received Christmas cards from us this year...so we weren't being rude, we were just using that money to pay forward all of the great kindness that we have received this year.

I know our small contribution to this family helped make their Holiday brighter, but for us, it made it radiate far brighter than I could have imagined. When I was wrapping the presents for the family, Will came to me with his most favorite Buzz Lightyear and said, "Mom, you know I love this Buzz, but I would love him even more if he could go to one of the boys in that family." Of course, we weren't asking him to sacrifice his own stuff but the gesture was almost more than my heart could handle. So even if Will wasn't keen on Santa or understand the magic that comes with Christmas, I know that his heart understands the importance of giving, even when we think that we don't have the resources to give. He understands sharing our joy with others. Even at 3, he understood that Jesus' love for us is more important than anything else. And despite all of his misgivings about the magic of Christmas, he ended the year knowing the true meaning of Christmas!

To Be Naughty or Nice?

My children LOVE this time of year! Ian especially. He has the magic of Christmas in his heart and he is so excited about presents & cookies & Christmas trees! I love to see Christmas through his eyes--so innocent and sweet. He also keeps reminding all of us that Christmas is really about the celebration of Christ's birth and that reminder is important, especially for me. I am kind of a Grinch. I love the meaning of Christmas and I love my children's excitement but I hate all of the shopping and present hoopla. Probably why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday--just food & family. But I really try hard to get into the Christmas spirit--for their sakes at least.

We decorated our tree right after Thanksgiving. We wrote our lists to Santa--I only asked for peace and quiet and I hope Santa really comes through for me on that one. Maggie is too young of course, but she at least understands the tree is "pwetty" and loves redecorating it every day---we are playing musical ornaments only there is no music and Maggie is the only one moving ornaments all over the tree. She also walks around saying "Ho, Ho, Ho" a lot but so far, no luck getting her near Santa. Creepy dudes in red suits are best for girls to avoid any way.

Ian's list was modest for the most part. He wants a bike, a Nintendo DS, and for his Dad & me to "take a chill pill." I'm not lying. He really wrote that in his letter. His list was much shorter this year than usual. Typically he marks everything in the Toy R Us Great Big Toy Book. But since he is singing in the Christmas musical at Church, "The Great Christmas Giveaway," he seems to understand that Christmas is much more about giving than receiving.

And then there is Will. My sweet but naughty little Will.

At first, I wasn't sure what to make of his indifference about Christmas. In his letter to Santa, he drew pictures of a guitar, a scooter, and a Nintendo DS. That was all he wanted. (You can tell he is the middle child--he keeps his expectations low). But what puzzled me most was his indifference toward our Elf, Elfie. When we came back from the lowcountry for Thanksgiving, Elfie was on the mantle waiting for us. Ian LOVES Elfie. He wakes up super early every morning and searches the house for his new spot. Will didn't wake up early and he didn't look for Elfie when he did roll out of bed. He seemed especially put off by my warnings that Elfie was there to report back to Santa about being naughty or nice. For the first week, Will convinced himself that Elfie was just a doll. After all, if he wasn't real, then Will could be as naughty as he wanted and Santa would never know. Trying to test whether Elfie contained any magic at all, I caught Will trying to knock him from him perch in the living room with a rolling pin. So, Elfie had to get creative...and be naughty too!

Recently, we have woken up to a Christmas tree littered with underwear, a dining room covered in toilet paper, and this morning, our pictures on the wall had notes from Santa signed by Elfie. While my first thought was Will--you know how much he loves to write on anything other than paper--but Elfie was hanging upside down from a picture with the marker in his hand! Will was beyond thrilled. Finally, someone around the house who was getting in more trouble than him! He is 'all in' now and can't wait to see what Elfie will do next. The little skeptic (who happens to be a lot like his Momma in this regard) finally thinks that Christmas and Santa are fun. I can't wait to see his face in the morning...I just noticed that Elfie is on top of a picture, suspending Woody from Toy Story  from a rope upside down over the mantle. What will he come up with next?

Becoming a Mom...

Looking back, my road to motherhood seems pre-destined. In fact, I've always kind of been a mom. For Kindergarten graduation, we provided a theatrical performance--I was Mother Goose. In highschool and in college, I always played the role of Mom---making sure that people followed the rules, turned in their work, and got home safe when we went out. Friends always stayed at my apartment on the weekends---and they never left with an empty stomach. To nurture is my single greatest impulse.

Despite this overwhelming urge to nurture, I didn't really see myself  becoming a mother. I love kids, babysat all the time, and always gravitated towards kids in a room. However, my life goals were all about having a career---children just didn't factor in. But in the fall of 2004, every trajectory of my life changed in an instant. At the urging of a friend, I went on a blind date with Josh. I had no idea that one simple decision would change my life so profoundly.



Josh is a good guy. He is kind, sweet, with tons of manners. He is the kind of guy that wants to take care of you, to treat you with respect, to let you be your own, independent self. While he isn't perfect, he is pretty amazing. From that very first meeting, I knew he was special. However, at 22, I was faced with a reality I wasn't sure I was interested in, regardless of Josh's endearing qualities. Josh was above everything else a Dad. Wow. I wasn't turned off by it but I wasn't sure how it fit into my goals---or how my parents would react. It was a lot to take in. But when every alarm should have been going off and leading me the other way, I didn't turn and run. That nurturing impulse kicked in.



Ian the 1st weekend I met him



After about 6 weeks of dinners and movies, Josh took me to meet Ian.  He had wispy blond hair. He seemed so fragile and he had the saddest blue eyes. When I walked in the room, he was crying. I sat on the floor and he immediately came and settled in my lap. To this day, I can still smell the baby--so innocent and sweet. I read him a story and rocked him to sleep--singing the same lullaby my Mom always sang to me. As I nuzzled my face into his sweet, chubby cheeks, there was a sharp explosion in my chest. At the time, I didn't know what it was but I knew it had just changed my life forever. It didn't matter that I was only 22 and clueless about the road ahead of me. It didn't matter that I wasn't even sure if I loved Josh yet. It didn't matter that all of my goals didn't include this path or these choices. The emotion I felt for this little boy that I barely knew was all that mattered and in my deepest heart, I knew that every path led me to that moment and to being his Mom.

This fall marks 7 years since that sharp explosion---I know now that the life altering ache in my heart was something only a mother can feel. It was an overwhelming feeling of love for my child---I felt it the first time I held Will and Maggie, too. In 7 years, that sad-eyed baby has grown into a smart, happy, and loving boy. He is a joy that fills my heart every single day. And even though we don't share the same biology, I hope he always knows that my love for him is just as pure and heart-stopping as it is for his brother and sister. I hope he knows that all of our "Broken Roads" led straight to the love we share today--that we were always meant to share this life together and that it was always God's plan for us to find our way to each other. I hope he knows that becoming his Mom meant following my heart and ignoring my head--something I always want him to do, too. I hope he knows the blessing he has always been to me and that I am so grateful that he sees me as the "best Mom (he) ever had!"

My favorite pic of me & Ian (age 3)

Tonight, he sat in my lap for a while with his long legs dangling out of the chair. I treasure these moments because they don't happen that often anymore. As I was enjoying my moment, I got a whiff of his hair and I felt that explosion in my chest all over again. I squeezed him tight and he looked over his shoulder and said, "Mom, I am glad God found a way for us to find each other. Even if it meant you having to put up with Daddy." Me too, Ian. Me too. Such a small price to pay!  

Candy Hater...

The Burgess Bunch got all sugared up, ran around April's neighborhood and collected enough candy to last until Easter. Yesterday was simply a sugar fest. From classroom parties with cupcakes to chocolate and candy pieces, I am pretty sure my children didn't ingest anything that was healthy at all. UGH....

Did I mention that I loathe candy? I am not much of a sweets person but I really can't stand candy. It is sticky, creates outbursts of uncontrollable glee in my children,  it causes cavities, and it is sticky. I don't do sticky. My kids know I don't like  it and only indulge them twice a year---Halloween and Easter. And for real, the candy that they got yesterday will last until Easter. I have already found a good hiding spot for their buckets and candy will only be doled out when they do something extraordinary, like clean the toilet.

I know my stance on candy makes me kind of a mean mom but I get it honest. My mom never let us have candy growing up, and I think that is why I don't care for it much now. Josh, on the other hand, is a candy fiend. He loves it more than the children. If the candy from yesterday really does make it to Easter, it will because my hiding spot is remarkable. And he gets his love for candy honest too. His Mom is the grandma that always has some sort of treat in her purse. It's her trademark.

Despite my contempt for Halloween in general and candy in particular, I did dress up. At least according to Will. Donning jeans, a black sweater and scarf, Will told me he loved my costume. "Did you dress up as a Mommy for Halloween?" Why yes I did. Ian, of course, couldn't leave it there. "Yeah, you are a Mom alright. At least you wore jeans instead of those black yoga pants you are so fond of." I am not sure what Ian has against my black yoga pants. According to him, wearing yoga pants more than 50% of the time is "letting yourself go."

The Ninja, Tiger, and Fairy enjoyed trick-or-treating with the young Harry Potter. The boys rode their scooters through the neighborhood (which really wasn't as great of an idea as it appeared). They aren't THAT good of riders and I was pretty sure we might end up in the ER with a broken limb before the night was over. Will carried a sword with his tiger costume, which left a lot of people stumped. He explained that he carried a sword because was a fighting tiger. Duh. Maggie could have cared less about the whole ordeal. She must take after me. She hated her costume, didn't want to wear it, and refused to get out of the stroller when we got to each house. So she rode in the stroller and ate M&M's while Will carried her bucket to each door with him to collect her candy. He did it willingly and I thought it was just because he was being nice. But about 6 houses in, I realized he was going through her bucket and taking out all of the good candy to put in his bucket, leaving her with the scraps. At least he was getting her something, right?

In the end, it was a good night. Even though I hate the candy, I love seeing them have so much fun. After all, that is what Halloween is really all about. And just know, if you come to my house and want some candy, you have to clean the toilet first!

Goodbye to Mimi....

I want my kids to think I am cool. Not their friend. Just cool. On Friday, Will thought I was. "Mom, you are such a rockstar!" What had I done to garner such praise? I had 5 kids (3 of them in carseats!) and a kid-size 4 wheeler stuffed in the minivan--which I loaded in the carpool line at school. Oh yeah, I am a rockstar. Of course, my status didn't last long. To Maggie right now, I am anything but cool.

On Saturday night during the Clemson game our neighbor, Russ, somehow convinced Maggie to throw her pacifier, Mimi (yes the Pacifier had a name like she was a real, live person), in the trash. Maggie, attempting to be a big girl and impress everyone, threw Mimi in the trash. Because she was so brave (and it was she who did it and not me), I seized on the opportunity to kick the paci habit. She is, afterall, 18 months old and absolutely obsessed with it. That of course, sounded like a bright idea at the time. 3 days later, I am pretty sure the person who was the most tortured in this experience was me.

Saturday night she did okay going to sleep without it. She was very tired and feel asleep on the couch. Sunday morning she did okay until time to leave for church. She always has it in the car and on the drive to church, she reminded me every second of the 4 mile trek that Mimi was missing. After church wasn't much better. She actually lay in the floor and begged me for it. She went to my closet and searched in every pair of shoes on the off chance that she had hid one inside a shoe. At church on Sunday night, I warned her teacher that there was a very good chance that she might tackle a classmate in an attempt to steal their paci. Luckily, she didn't stoop to such a desperate low.

Sunday night, there was very little sleep gotten by me. She fought sleep and then woke up 4 times during the night begging me for it. In an attempt to console her, I rubbed her back. Instead of lulling back to sleep, she grabbed my hand and screamed, "Dop (stop) It! Dop It! No touch me!" Heartwrenching. I wanted to give it back to her. Really I did. In fact, what little bit of sleep I got, was done with Mimi in my hand, tucked under the pillow. It took all of my mighty will power to stop the urge to give in. But I kept thinking, "We have come so far. Tomorrow will be better."

Mags attacking Will. I did break up the fight,
 after a picture of course!

Well, it wasn't. Will was sick and Maggie was in full longing for her Mimi. She cried the entire drive to school and the entire way back. I thought seruiously about driving her to Charleston and leaving her with my mom. Afterall, she was the one who gave her the pacifier to begin with. She should have to at least suffer with me.

Instead of asking me for Mimi, she began asking for her "paci," as if to make it clear to me that Mimi was the paci and was not to be confused with something else. She cried for 45 minutes straight at nap time, and then the entire way to school, sitting in the car line, and all the way back home yesterday afternoon. She even attacked Will, who kept trying to console her and tell her she would be OK without her Mimi. Poor Will felt so sorry for her that he petitioned me six times on her behalf. When I wouldn't give in, he asked God to intervene during prayer time. "God, please make Mommy give Maggie back her Mimi. If she won't do it, make Maggie feel better about missing it." So sweet but God did not intervene to give back Mimi. However, perhaps He did intervene to make her feel better about missing it. She slept all night and didn't ask me for it this morning. We seem to be over the worst of it. At least, I hope so.

These are the milestones that are hard. The ones that hurt. And honestly, it hurts a lot to think she is too old to have Mimi anymore. It hurts to know that she is in the midst of potty-training and soon diapers won't be a reality in my life anymore. (OK, so I am not all that upset about that one. Just the part that she is big enough to wear big girl panties.) It hurts to know that my baby years are coming to a close. It seems like just yesterday, Ian was a little toddler who loved for me to rock him to sleep. Now, I can no longer pick him up. It hurts to know that time goes so fast. But it does.

So, goodbye Mimi. You were a good pacifier and you gave me a lot of peaceful quiet. There is no one who will miss you as much as me. And even though I am not cool for throwing you in the trash, I know the time has come. Peace Out.

Catching up...

Sorry for taking so long to get back to the blog. We have been SO busy!

My mom was here last week. It was so great for her to be here. She spoiled the children immensely---took them to McDonald's to get breakfast before school, let them eat ice cream, bought them a ton of clothes, and read them story after story. I know it's what grandma's are supposed to do but it is amazing to see how much my children have transformed the woman who raised me. Not at all the same person.

Our Saturday's have been spent watching football---Clemson football. Since they have started out 6-0, we have been glued to their performance on Saturday's. Our neighbors, Russ & Kim, come over with their children/friends, April & Cole come over, and we cheer on the Tigers with lots of good food and fun. The kids play and we watch the game. That food, friendship, and WINNING, has made it a great fall!

Sunday we went to my in-laws for lunch after church. I got to visit with my sweet nephews Silas and Eli. We got to go for a walk to see the leaves changing and then drove up the top of Skyuka Mountain in NC to see the leaves. Another week or so and the leaves are going to be perfect!

The children are doing great. Ian is doing extremely well in school. Mostly A's and a few B's. This week, we have been doing a report on black widow spiders and building a model of a spider. Ian loves science and history so it has been a lot of fun doing projects and reading with him.

Will has managed to stay on green every single day since school started. We all know how big of a deal that is! We have been singing the 5 little pumpkins song over and over every day. He is also spending a lot of time drawing. I like that a lot more than flipping upside down off the couch!

Maggie is in the midst of potty training and she is breezing through. It is hard to believe she is old enough to be in this stage. She is learning her animal sounds and loves to read.

Thanks for being patient while I took time to catch my breath!

The Ladies Man....

Will is many things---smart, affectionate, stubborn, independent, stubborn, witty, stubborn---and now apparently, quite the ladies man. Of course, he dotes over Maggie like she hung the moon, but how his attitude persisted outside of our home was somewhat a mystery to me. He adores his "girlfriend" Madi but I know after spending too much time together, he will say she "gets on my nerves" or "she is aggravating me." This probably has less to do with Madi and more with Will being stubborn as a mule.

His teacher told me yesterday that "all of the little girls" in Will's class love him. This infatuation is apparently more than just adoring Will from afar. In fact, their love for him is creating quite a stir in the classroom. Mr. Casanova is so popular that the girls are arguing over who gets to sit with him at snack, who gets to be in centers with him, stand next to him in line and play with him on the playground. I have had  several of the other moms tell me that their daughters "just love Will" and are always talking about him at home. When I was dropping him off the other day, a girl was literally wrapped around her mother's leg, begging not to go into class. In the midst of her meltdown, she saw Will walking into class and like a switch, she immediately stopped crying, let go of her mom and followed him. Wow.

I was curious about Will's reaction to this popularity. His teacher said that in some ways, he probably encouraged them because he is "so sweet and kind" to everyone. And yes, I did clarify that she was talking about my child. She reported that he helps the girls on the slide, talks with them and plays with them. But she said she can tell that he gets aggravated with their desire to spend so much time with him. He is, after all, a total boy's boy. I imagine his tolerance for tea parties, dress up and playing house is pretty limited.

This morning, on the way to school, I asked him about the girls in his class and if they liked him. Will: Yes they do. Me: Why do you think they like you so much? Will (looking at me with a very matter of fact face): Well...you know, I'm kind of a big deal. Me (Spitting Diet Coke into my windshield): WHAT? Will: I mean, I'm a good lookin' guy. And I'm fun. I know why they like me. Me: Well maybe its less about how you look and more because you are nice to them. Will: Yeah. I mean I'm nice. They're all pretty. It works for us.

WHAT? If this is 3, I can't imagine what happens when he hits puberty--probably a big heaping pile of trouble.

I guess the bright side is that he is making friends and his teacher thinks he is a really sweet kid. It's good to know he is capable of acting like he is supposed to act--even if that never happens at home. But it is an adjustment living in the house with such a popular child. I guess when he eats ice cream out of the container without permission I have to think twice about reprimanding him. After all, he is "kind of a big deal." Geez....

Gun Slinging City Boys...

Dull isn't a word that I would use to describe my life. While it certainly isn't overly adventurous--I mean we aren't jumping out of planes over here--we don't ever seem to lack for entertainment. Never.

All day yesterday, our house smelled like something died around it. While I was getting dressed to go to a performance at Converse, Josh was investigating the smell. Under the house. In the attic. But no critter. As I am applying my mascara, Ian goes running down the hallway. A minute later, he comes back down the hallway with his BB gun. "Momma--Daddy needs you to get his gun. He has a squirrel cornered in the back yard." Seriously? I look out the window of the bathroom and sure enough, Ian isn't making it up.

Now, if you follow me on Facebook, you may remember that not all that long ago, I woke up very early one morning to my husband stomping through the yard with gun in hand after a squirrel that had escaped the attic. Our house seems to be one part Griswold and another part Swamp People. Ian snaps me back to attention, "Momma, get the gun. We gotta 'choot 'em!"  Okay, maybe a lot Swamp People.

Even though I am semi-complaining now, I do get Josh's gun and take it outside. Ian is poised on the side of the fence, aiming his gun into the shrubs on the side of house. I look over his shoulder and realize he has the squirrel's head in his cross-hairs. I hand Josh his gun as Ian takes a shot. Dead ringer. But the BB at that distance wasn't enough to do more than stun him. The squirrel goes semi-nuts in the shrubs as Josh is trying to locate him to take a shot. Will heads off to the shed to get a net. This has become a family affair.

I am looking in the shrubs for the squirrel, in my dress, BB gun in hand. If I found it, I think I planned to hit it with the gun rather than try to shoot it. Josh, however, beat me to it and finished him off. "Way to 'choot 'em!" cheered Will. "Atta boy!" yelped Ian. These people obviously don't belong in the city. We have got to move them to country.

Squirrel crisis averted, I returned to house to finish getting ready while the boys and Josh did some target shooting with the BB gun. And I will be honest, Ian's gun handling impressed me. Not only was he safe--treating the BB gun as though it were a real gun--but he always used the safety without being reminded. He also was an excellent shot!

I went on to the play while Josh watched the kids. I had a nice time away and when I got home, it was clear that they had enjoyed me being gone. It was 10pm on a school night and they were all still awake, sitting on the kitchen counter, eating cold pizza and watching TV. The boys also had purple Mohawks. Never. a. dull. moment.

Cole, Will & Ian with purple Mohawks.

And that smell? Still here. But, no critter.

A Few Funnies...

Will and his friend Madi were jumping on the trampoline. He is doing flips, handstands, tumbles...you name it. His fearless attitude is almost admirable....if I could stop envisioning the ways in which his fearlessness is going to cost me a fortune in medical bills. Anyway, he is flipping, jumping, etc and says, "Hey mom, watch this..." Famous last words, right? He runs across the trampoline, jumps and does a BACK FLIP. I felt the air leave my body and my stomach jump to my throat. However, instead of seeing him crumpled in a heap with a broken neck, he lands on his feet and shouts, "Now that is what I call WINNING!"

This morning, I dressed in my Mommy uniform--black yoga pants and a tshirt. The tshirt selection was a blue ZTA Bid Day shirt from college. Ian: Mom, do you realize your shirt says "January 2001?" Me: Yes, Ian, I do. Ian: Do you know that means your shirt is over 10 years old? Me: Yes. This is a shirt from college. Ian: Do you realize that you are no longer in college and too old to be wearing shirts from that decade? Me: I realize that this shirt is in excellent condition so I don't care if it's from another decade. Ian: Well I guess its a good thing you are embracing your old age. It will match your hair nicely.

Maggie is learning a lot of new words and animal sounds. Her new favorite word is "sit." Except, it doesn't sound like "Sit" but rather sounds a lot more like "shit." All day, she has been saying "shit, shit, shit." She looked at Will and said, "Shit Wiwie, shit." Will responded, "No Mags, it's S-I-T not shit. Shit is what you do on the potty." I imagine now she has learned TWO new words. Thanks, Will!

Being a "Crazy Crab"

I wish I could say I was one of those moms who was peppy and cheerful and sweet to her children all of the time. I wish I was one of those women who woke up before my family every morning and had a hot, steaming breakfast on the table for everyone when they got up. I wish I was a little more June Cleaver and a little less Peg Bundy.

Dressed as Peg Bundy
Halloween 2009

Seriously. I wish my house were cleaner. I wish I had endless patience. But despite my best efforts, I am not June. Some days, I probably make Peg look desirable as a Mom. I get tired. I get grumpy. And when that happens, my kids see a little a lot of Cruella Deville.

It has been a busy week for me. Add major sinus issues and I feel like I've been run over by a truck a couple of times. This morning, all I really wanted to do was put my pillow over my face and stay in bed. But alas, at 6:30am, Mags whispered "Momma" right into my ear. I pretended I couldn't hear her. She turned up her volume. I still didn't move. She laid there a minute so I thought maybe she was going back to sleep. Instead, she pinched my nose as hard as she could and said, "Beep, Beep!" I was awake.

As soon as my feet touched the floor, I heard Ian bolt out of bed. He had probably been awake for an hour and was patiently waiting for me to get up. He always wakes up early. And he is always peppy. He was ready for breakfast. Do I offer grits and eggs? Pancakes? Nope. Toaster Strudel or cereal? Yes. I know. I am awful. Ian chooses toaster strudel. I open the freezer in the house and realize we are all out. So I have to trudge to the freezer outside to get a new box. I feel my grumpy meter rising to my skull.

After I get the toaster going, I start getting ready for church. While I am always happy about being at church, I am never thrilled about the process it is to actually get to church. I have to pick out clothes for 5 people, dress 5 people, brush the hair and teeth of 4 people. I seem to always be searching for a matching sock or shoe, yelling at kids to keep still so their freshly ironed clothes don't wrinkle before we walk out of the house. It is total chaos and I am anything but a loving, doting mother throughout this process. By the time I get to church, I am literally exhausted and feel like I spend the first 10 minutes repenting for all of the mean, evil, awful, unmotherly ways I acted before I got there. It is me at my very worst.

School mornings are stressful---Josh isn't even here on school mornings---but getting ready for church always seems so much more stressful. I have no idea why. Maybe because he is here? :) In the car this morning driving over, I thought, how on Earth did my grandmother ever get 5 children out the door to church without losing her mind? I can barely manage with 3! But we made it--on time. I took a little power nap this afternoon so getting to church tonight wasn't so painful for everyone. I even cooked dinner before we left. Ian told me as we were walking to the car after church tonight, "Mom, I know you have been a lot grumpy today. Just know that Jesus loves you all the time. Even when you are a crazy crab." And it is that knowledge that helps me get through the day.

Date with Will

I wish there were more hours in the day so that I could spend more time with each of my children individually.

A while back, Ian asked if he and I could start having a date once a month where we do something together, just the two of us. Because we both love books, we typically go to dinner and then to the library. We check out tons of books and then go to the ice cream shop, eat our goodies and read together. We have a chance to talk about stuff that is on his mind. So far, he isn't too old or too cool for this special time and I treasure it!

Each time that Ian and I go on one of our little dates, Will feels left out. I understand that. And although Will and I spend a lot of time together when he gets home from preschool, its rarely that we get time that we don't have to share with Maggie too. I decided it was time for Will to have a date with Mommy too.

Today Will's class was going to the Apple Farm. Blah! I have been to the apple farm every year, at least twice a year since Ian started 4K. I am over it. So I decided that instead of going on the field trip, Will and I would take Maggie to school and then spend a little time together.

He was so excited about our date. There were no arguments over his clothes this morning. I told him he could choose to go anywhere he wanted to go for our date. He said, "First off, I want to take you to breakfast. I am starving. I'll buy but we have to get some grub!" Sounded like a plan to me. I asked him where he would like me to take him. "Mom, let's go to your favorite place to eat breakfast." I really couldn't pinpoint where he was thinking because I don't typically eat breakfast. I said, "Well what is my favorite place?" He looked at me and rolled his eyes, "Well duuuuhhhh. Only the place that serves the best Diet Coke EVER..." McDonald's. I must admit, the child knows me well.

Will ordered. "We will have 2 sausage biscuits, a chocolate milk and the biggest Diet Coke you've got." Not bad. The cashier tells him it will be $4.16. To my astonishment, he pulls out his wallet from his pocket and opens it. He had 1 dollar, which he pulled out to pay for our meal. My heart melted. I am doing a good job raising a gentleman. I told him that I was so grateful he would offer to use his money to buy me breakfast but that it was my treat. "Mom, girls aren't supposed to pay on a date. Just like they aren't supposed to open doors. That is what the boy is for." His Daddy has taught him well. :)

I insisted that I pay, we went outside and enjoyed the spectacular weather. We talked about his friend Zachary, who spent the night for the first time last night. We talked about motorcycles, punchbugs (and of course that he was the KING), Barack Obama, and whether cows really make chocolate milk. Toward the end of our meal, I asked him again what he wanted to do. I thought he might suggest the park or Monkey Joe's. But to my surprise, he asked if we could go to the Library.

And we did. He would read to me (which consists of him looking at the pictures in a book and making up totally ridiculous story lines based on the illustrations), I read to him. In fact, I was doing such a good job animating my stories that by the time we got ready to leave, I had somehow inherited 5 other children, who quietly huddled around my little circle,and listened to me read. For Will, that practically made me famous. He kept saying, "Mom, did you see all those kids listening to you read? You were awesome!" It's amazing how important your children's approval can be sometimes.

Maggie fell asleep on the way home from school so Will and I were able to play with Lego's, read the books we checked out, and snuggle for a while on the couch. Later this afternoon, we jumped on the trampoline together and he laughed hysterically when I peed my pants (All of you who have given birth to children understand my plight. Darn kids ruined my bladder!). We had a fantastic day---AND did not have one argument! It was amazing!

Despite all of his strong personality and stubborn ways, he is a pretty incredible kid. I am so glad he belongs to me. It doesn't hurt that he is pretty darn handsome too!

Are They Really Listening?

My greatest wish as a mother, beyond my kids being extremely educated, financially stable (and not living with me when their 30), happy and healthy, is that they grow up to be good people. I want them to be compassionate and kind, I want them to be the kind of person that volunteers their time and energy to good causes, I want them to grow up to love every person they meet, to be free of bias and full of tolerance. Of course, hoping they grow up that way isn't enough. (Sometimes I wish it were!)

I try really hard to teach them important values. Not just in conversation but by example. However, most of the time, I feel like it all just goes in one ear and out the other. I mean, no matter how much I try to teach Will to be nice, most of the time he isn't. At least not to me. Yesterday,  he said, "Mom, you are a fatty." A little shocked, I said, "Who taught you that?" He said, "I am not telling." So I responded, "Will that isn't nice to say to people. It could hurt their feelings." He responded, "Well Mom. I am just being honest." "Well yes, Will, you are but sometimes, it's best to just say nothing because you don't want to hurt people's feelings." (He needs to watch Bambi) Not skipping a beat he said, "Maggie is a fatty too. Look at her belly." (Long sigh from me). At least he got the honesty lesson, right?

I get discouraged but I keep teaching them in hopes that they get it. And sometimes, they surprise me.

As we were driving home from school day before yesterday, we were nearly hit head-on by a drunk driver. We were all a little shaken afterward. As we are pulling in the driveway, Ian says, "Mom I am glad that we didn't get killed." I responded, "Me too, honey. We are lucky that we have some guardian angels." He said, "Yes we do. And I am glad because I have so much I want to do with my life. I want to start company that gives toys to kids that don't have any money to buy their own." My heart swelled with pride. I told him he could start that project right away by going through some of his own toys he didn't play with anymore and take them to the Children's Shelter. He thought it was a marvelous idea!

And then to my ultimate shock, a nice moment from William this morning. Ian asked me if he could have a dollar to take to school to buy ice cream. I told him I would look in the car but I was pretty sure I didn't have a dollar. I suggested that if I couldn't find one, he could take one from his piggy bank and I would pay him back this afternoon. "I am not taking money from my bank." "OK, go without ice cream." While this is taking place, Will doesn't say a word but gets up from his breakfast and disappears into the play room. When he comes back, he is holding his wallet and hands Ian the only dollar bill he had in it. "Will this be enough money, Ian?" I felt tears sting my eyes. Not just because Will was being so uncharacteristically nice, but because he was being so giving without an expectation for anything in return.

 I am glad that at least some of the time, they really are listening.

Never Forget

10 years. 10 years is a long time. Long enough for me to graduate college and earn a Master's Degree. Long enough for me to build a career as a college administrator. Long enough for me to marry and become a mother to three children. But yet, it still seems like yesterday.

September 11, 2001.

I was in my second year of college. On Tuesday mornings, I was a peer leader to an 8am section of Freshman Year Experience. I was leading class that day but I can't at all remember the topic of discussion. About 8:55, the Administrative Assistant for the Learning Center came to let me know a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. She said they thought it was an accident. In my mind, I envisioned a small prop plane. I dismissed class at 9am and walked down the hall to the main lobby where there was a large TV. The room wasn't crowded but there were several people watching the events unfold. At 9:03 when the second plane hit, the entire room gasped in unison, very aware that this was not an accident. As the minutes passed, the room continued to fill with people. No one was going to class. No one talked. Silence enveloped us.

The news coverage seemed so chaotic. And I think the nature of the live coverage made it all that much more traumatic. When it became apparent that a plane had hit the Pentagon, I turned to one of my history professors sitting next to me and whispered "Islamic terrorists." She shook her head in agreement. I remember feeling afraid. What would happen next? Where was my family? Was I watching Armageddon? In a room full of people, I felt painfully alone.

As the South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed, I looked to my right. to see my Chemistry professor. He had tears streaming down his face. I put my hand to my face and realized that I did too. A University official came to notify us that class was cancelled for the rest of the day. No one moved. It wasn't until the news reported that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania that I felt compelled to move. I needed to call my Mom. I needed to do something to help.

As I talked to my mom from my cell phone, I drove through town. I ended up at the blood center. Surely they would need blood for the victims. So I went there, hoping that giving some of my life might help save others. People were wrapped around the building. Apparently, a lot of other people felt compelled to something to help too. I gave blood that day, hours after I arrived. Instead of just waiting in line, I went to the door and asked the woman there how I could help them. She said I could answer the phone. So I did. Others wanted to pitch in too. We handed out drinks, took information cards, gave away snacks. We needed to experience order, to create it, in a moment that was completely shrouded in chaos.

September 11, 2011

I can't help but think about that ill-fated morning. The morning that America lost her innocence. The morning we realized that oceans could no longer protect us from the evil that brewed beyond our borders. I can't help but think about the people that went to work or boarded planes that morning and never saw their loved ones again. So much evil witnessed.

But as I was talking to the boys about 9/11, they wanted to know what I remembered most. I can recall every detail, every move I made that day. I told them the basic story. But I also told them the story about how terrorists, no matter how much they wanted to destroy America, could not succeed. Yes they could hijack airplanes and they could destroy our buildings, but they could not destroy all that was good and noble about us. They couldn't destroy the selfless nature that is ingrained in the American spirit.

When it was ordered for people to run away, there were fire, EMS and police personnel that ran toward the danger to save lives. There were every day people that lent a helping hand to perfect strangers to get them to safety. There were workers that went up the stairs at the WTC to search for survivors instead of going down. There were F-16 pilots prepared to use their planes as kamikazes to ram unresponsive planes out of the air because there had been no time to arm them with weapons. And there were the passengers of Flight 93. Knowing that their plane was on a suicide mission, they accepted their fate. But rather than go down as a victim, they chose to do everything they could to ensure that terrorism would not win. They used the defiant resolve so common in America to bring the plane down over Pennsylvania before it could strike the Capitol. I told the boys about how our pain and our grief gave way to unity. Unity led to resolve. America would not rest until justice was done. Our military has carried that burden and made that sacrifice for the last 10 years.

As we go forward, we have to find a way to recapture that unity. Victory over terrorism comes not just from military superiority, but in the ability of Americans to enjoy economic prosperity and social equality. We have to find a way to have differences without being divisive. We have to remember that what divides us isn't nearly as great as what unifies us. After all, 10 years ago, we proved that in the face of terror, every day Americans---of all different races, ethnicity's and genders---were heroes. That, we should never forget.

Remembering Uncle Clyde...



Clyde Savage
October 15, 1938-September 9, 1996

 15 years ago today, one of the most important men in my life left this world for what I like to believe is a better one. Clyde Savage was my maternal grandfather's brother. He was a loving son, father, husband and brother. He was a friend to many. He was a leader and music director in his church. He was a manager at his job and a military veteran. For me, he was so much more than just the great-uncle that lived next door.

Growing up, I had a front row seat to his kind nature and selfless generosity. He was the kind of guy that would always lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it, whether they asked for help or not. As a natural handyman, he often fixed things for people. He didn't ask them for anything in return. He just wanted you to pay it forward.

Uncle Clyde with his brother
(my grandfather) Bobby

Of all the things I remember most distinctly (and often miss the most) was his laugh. He had a deep, hearty, from the gut laugh. There were times that sitting in our living room, we could actually hear him laughing in his own living room. (and we lived in the country, so we weren't that close!) When I think of him, that laugh helps soothe the deep absence I feel without him here.

As the years have passed, his absence has grown stronger for me. Time hasn't healed my wound. Logically, I know he is in a better place, called home for a purpose. But it hasn't made me miss him less. I often think about how much he would have loved his grandchildren. I think about how much he would have loved my own children. I also think about the important lessons he could have taught them.

Give of your time. Uncle Clyde believed that the time you spent with people and helping them mattered. He helped coach ball at school, he volunteered at church, took time to teach me how to ride a bike and shoot a basketball. When my Dad was so busy at the farm, Uncle Clyde would cut our grass. He looked out for Chrissy and me and spent time with us when our Dad couldn't. Not because anyone asked him to, it was just his way of helping where he could.

Uncle Clyde and Aunt Linda
with their son Tony

Be honest. Chrissy and I had a golf cart and we liked to ride it everywhere, including all over Aunt Linda and Uncle Clyde's yard. One day, Chrissy backed into his truck and left a major dent. She made me swear I wouldn't tell. Being afraid of her like I was, I didn't tell a soul. A week or so later, Uncle Clyde came over to the house and asked us if we hit his truck. Chrissy shot a look at me. "Nope" was my response. He responded, "Well I know you hit my truck because I saw you do it. I am not mad about the dent, but I am so disappointed in you for not coming to tell me about it and then lying about it." Boy were Chrissy and I in a heaping pile of trouble with our parents. But the punishment we got didn't bother me as much as knowing I had disappointed him. At 8 years old, I learned the value and importance of honesty--and it's the one thing I value most in others.

Uncle Clyde with my Mom
June 1961

Share your heart and passion with others. Uncle Clyde's mother knew scripture better than anyone else I have ever met. She could quote The Bible from cover to cover. She loved hymns. Uncle Clyde had that love too. And the Lord blessed him with a beautiful voice. Every hymn that I love today is one that when I hear it, in my heart, I feel his voice singing it. "How Great Thou Art," "When We All Get to Heaven," "The Old Rugged Cross," "Majesty." Of course, my favorite, and the one he sang best (especially with the accompaniment of his sister, Carol) was "Because He Lives." He shared his love and passion for music with others. He shared his heart through music.

Be your best self. Uncle Clyde and I had a conversation not long before he died about my future.  He wanted to know what I wanted to do with my life. At 14, I barely had a clue. He encouraged me to get as much education as possible. He urged me to follow every dream; to reach as far as I could in my imagination and when I thought I had reached the end point, reach a little further. He told me to always strive to be my best self. To never be too good or to proud to be humble. To give more to others than I was willing to take for myself. To pay back every generosity I received with even greater kindness.


Aunt Linda and Uncle Clyde with
their nephew Kenny & his children
(next to Uncle Clyde) and their son Todd.
Kenny lived with them growing up.
June 1995

 Rely on your faith for everything. The greatest gift my Uncle Clyde and Aunt Linda ever gave to me was the car ride to church every Sunday. They took me to Sunday school and church with them every week from the time I was very little. My Uncle wore his faith on his sleeve and was never afraid to let people know that his heart belonged to Jesus. It was important to him to know that your heart belonged to Jesus too. He would always tell me, "Daughter, you've got to trust in God with all your heart. He will direct your path. Just have faith in Him." Because of him and his constant counsel, I am a Christian. I was baptized just a few shorts months before he died. There have been many times when my questions were greater than my answers, when I didn't have the faith to see things through. In those moments, his words have always come back to me, pushing me to trust a little more, be patient a little longer, give God's time a chance to work things out.


Uncle Clyde's family
Back row: Todd, my Grandfather, Tony
Front: Leslie w/Talyn, Brewer, my grandmother,
Ansley & Aunt Linda.

These are his lessons. These and so many more. And as I have taken the time to put this reflection into words, I am sad. I am sad that he didn't live longer. I am sad that he has been gone from my life longer now than he was in it. I am sad that he isn't here to see what a lasting impression he made on my life. I am sad that I can't hear him sing or listen to him laugh. I am sad that my children will never know the warmth of his embrace or the brightness of his smile. I am sad that his wife and his children and his grandchildren were deprived of years of memories. I am sad that it is true that the good die young. But in my tears, there is gratitude for what he taught me, I'm sure without even realizing he was doing it. There is peace in knowing that I will see him again. There is determination to ensure that his legacy does not die. I want him to live on in the hearts of those who were blessed to know him. Honesty, compassion, faith and love. We will pass them on.


Grandchildren Brewer, Ansley
& Talyn with Aunt Linda







Uncle Clyde with his sibling and Mom
Back: Bobby, Nita, their mother Beulah & Legare
Front: Betty, Clyde & Carol

Cue Clapperboard....Action!

My life is a little like Groundhog Day. 5:30 alarm clock, drive Ian to school, come home and dress Will, take Will to school, come home, drive back to pick up Will, come home, drive to pick up Ian, come home. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. I feel like I am always driving in the car to get somewhere, wait, and then drive some more. At least 3 hours of my day is spent driving to and from and sitting in the carpool line.

My life also feels a lot like Fight Club. At least when it comes to dealing with Will. If the child doesn't grow up and argue a case before the Supreme Court, he'll have missed his calling. He is now at a stage where he knows everything. "I know" is all I hear coming from him. About everything. He is the only three year old boy I know that cares at all about his wardrobe. He prefers button down, collared shirts and khaki or plaid shorts. He wants to wear his Sperry flip flops or his Sperry boat shoes. If he is feeling a little more relaxed, he will wear his tennis shoes. And he cares about making those choices for himself.

Every morning since school has started, we have argued over my choice of outfit. The shirt wasn't the right one or the shorts didn't fit right. He wanted to wear Sperry boat shoes when I thought he should wear sneakers.Yesterday, they were having Beach Day at school and he was supposed to wear his bathing suit. "No way," he said. I told him if he didn't want to wear that, he had to wear the shorts and shirt I picked out for him. "Nope" was his reply. Thinking I could get the upper hand, I said, "Will I don't care if you wear these clothes or the bathing suit. Those are your choices. If you don't like those, the only other choice is to go naked." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay. I'll just go naked." Seriously? Battle. Battle. Battle. He wore his bathing suit in the end, but because he decided that it looked better with his sunglasses. Whatever.

Mentally exhausted from this argument, last night, I told him to pick out his own clothes. He chose a brown shirt with khaki shorts and Sperry flip flops. Perfect. This morning, he apparently changed his mind. OMG! So I sent him to his room to pick a new one. He came out in plaid (navy, orange, green) shorts and a purple shirt. Nope. I told him that it didn't match. He countered that it did. Does not. Does too. Does not. Does too. How about a navy polo? No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. How about khaki shorts with your purple shirt? No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Fine. Look Silly. I like to look silly. Did I mention this argument was prior to Diet Coke and barely after 8am? He eventually decided the navy would work with the plaid. I really would have let him go naked if I thought he would learn a lesson. Knowing him, he would have sported his birthday suit with a smile, just to spite me.

Finally, my house always feels a little like a kid version of Animal House. Instead of beer cans and empty pizza boxes, my house is littered with toys and goldfish crumbs. There are always more people here than are actually registered on the Census. Other kids' laundry joins the family hamper and I am always left searching for its rightful owner. The dinner I cook could feed an army because there is a good chance that an army of little people (and sometimes their parents) will eat with us. Tonight on the menu? Pizza for 8! Cold beer for the adults! Okay, maybe this really is Animal House....

The point is that even amongst the chaos, I can usually almost always find the humor in my life. I feel like its OK if my life could fit a Hollywood script sometimes. As long as we aren't becoming Lord of the Flies or American Psycho, I think we will be just fine.

Red Bugs, Mother of the Year Feats, and Other Funnies...

We enjoyed a great Labor Day weekend with my parents in the lowcountry. Ian experienced some firsts---he went dove hunting for the first time and he came home with his bout of red bugs (also known as chiggers). When we told him what caused all of the bites, he almost seemed proud. It is a hunting rite of passage.

Josh and I got to go on a date (alone) while we were there. Thanks Mom and Dad for watching the kids for us! We went to dinner, for a long walk on Folly Beach and enjoyed some frozen yogurt. I couldn't help but notice how calm my parents looked when we got home at 9:30. Mags and Will were already in bed. Ian was quietly watching a show about Dinosaurs. My parents seemed slightly offended when I acted impressed with their parenting skills. I should never doubt them.  It really highlighted my novice.

Here are some funnies:

My Dad took Ian dove hunting for the first time. When he got home, I asked how it went. Ian: It was alright. Me: How many birds did you get? Ian. Just 8. Poppa's shooting leaves A LOT to be desired. Me: Ha! Well at least you got some. Ian: Yes we did. But victory surely wasn't ours.

After the dove hunting adventure, Dad took Ian deer hunting that evening. Ian got to see over 20 deer from his stand. He was very excited! My Dad said that they had a small 8 point buck come out. He told Ian to watch the buck because he was going to turn and head toward does that were eating at the edge of the field. Ian said, "Yeah he is going to go down there to find him a good looking doe so that he can make out with her." Geez....

Will is sitting at the table. My Mom said, "Will. Excuse me. Prince William, would you like some breakfast?" Will turned around with all kinds of serious on his face and said, "It is King. King William." Well excuse us!

Maggie rode the four wheeler with my Dad for the first time. She loves it! And when Dad would take the boys for a ride and not her, she would fall to pieces. He took them over to my grandmother's blueberry field. Maggie fell truly, madly, deeply in love with blueberries. So much so that when I took her over there to pick some, she was eating them directly off the tree. As in, putting her mouth onto the berry and yanking it from the tree. Hands free eating! She has been pooping Smurfy ever since---but she is doing it on the potty! Hooray! She has also named her pacifier. It's name is MiMi and she is way too attached. So much so that it is time to kick the habit. I know this but I have made no effort to do it. Why? Because I don't want to listen to her whining and screaming for it. I know, I am up for Mother of the Year.

As I mentioned, Ian has red bug bites. Chiggers like to bite you in warm places on your body. Under your arms, creases of your legs, and your underwear lines. Ian got them worst in his nether regions. As I am looking for the Bendaryl cream, he decides to ask me if his penis has "a bone in it?" I honestly thought the answer was yes but I was second-guessing myself. I said, "You need to ask your Dad that question." I was still looking in the cabinet when he asks me, "Well what makes it do this?" And I look over to see him flexing it up and down. For whatever reason, my face turned about 30 shades of red. I managed, "You'll have to ask your Dad," tossed him the cream, and practically ran out of the bathroom.

Even though today was Tuesday, it felt more like a Monday. Had to re-strap car seats in the pouring rain, take Josh paperwork he left at home, get dressed for work, all before 8 am. When we get back from Josh's office, I get Will dressed for school and ask him what he wants to eat. He said, "nothing." I went to find something and came back to find him watching cartoons and eating a bag of candy corn that my dear friend, Keri Jones, sent to me last week. I didn't stop him from eating them. I really had too much to do to fight with him over breakfast. He nearly devoured the entire bag before we left the house. He asked, "Who bought those candies?" I told him, "Ms. Keri." He responded, "She just might be my new best friend!" I know... I am totally up for Mother of the Year.

Freedom Thursday....and a Potty Story

I recently read an article (I can't properly cite it because I can't remember where I read it) that contained all sorts of survey results about what Moms really think but feel too guilty to say about their lives, desires, regrets, and children. It went through everything from having favorite children to wishing you had a different spouse (baby daddy) and what moms wanted more than anything. Of course, more than 70% of Moms wanted time for herself, without her kids or her partner around, to just relax. My first thought: They actually needed this as a survey question? Duh. My second thought: At least I'm not alone. There are days when I feel like running right past Josh as he is walking in the door in the evenings so I can get some fresh air and clear my head. And I don't feel guilty at all for admitting that.

That is why I signed Maggie up for Mom's Morning Out--I need a Freedom Thursday morning. Just a few hours to get caught up on laundry or cleaning, or email, or work, or ZTA. I want to volunteer at Ian's school without having to find a sitter, go to the dentist or to the grocery store without it feeling like an act of Congress (That is an exaggeration. My kids are far better mannered and faster-moving that Congress). Some Thursdays, I want to go for a walk, or read a book or just lay on the couch and clean out my DVR. Just the thought of that possibility makes me happy.

So today, I had a plan to grade papers, pay bills, and pack clothes for our weekend trip to Charleston. Not total freedom but at least I could do it without interruption. In the parking lot of preschool, Will informs me that he has to go to the bathroom. I respond, "No problem, Hun. We can go when we get inside." He looks at me very seriously and says, "Mom, I have to go to the real bathroom." Me, "Will you can go to the bathroom here to do that." He responds, "I so should have went before we left the house. You have to take me back home." Me, "Will, that isn't going to happen. You can go here. I will take you." Will, "Mom I can't do that here." Me, "Well that is your only choice." Will, "No it isn't. I will just squeeze my butt cheeks while I am here and do it when I get home." Now, part of me thought that if he really needed to go, he would do it at school. The other part of me knew that he really would squeeze his cheeks and wait until he got home. That of course, made me worry about him. He refused to go when we got inside so I left him with arms crossed in his classroom while I dropped off Maggie. She started clinging and whining. This is new. Perhaps she could sense my excitement about Freedom Thursday? I left her but I felt really bummed out (and a little guilty).

I knew that containing the chaos at home would make me feel better. But when I walk in, our Internet is down and so is our cable. Fantastic. I spend 45 minutes of my precious morning on the phone with technical support. When they finally resolve the issue, it will be a while before our stuff is back up and running. I wash dishes, fold clothes, load the washer and suddenly realize: You are here by yourself with no ability to work. Why are you working? That survey crossed my mind and I literally sprinted to the bathroom, turned on the water, stripped off my "Mommy Uniform" and sunk myself into a very hot bubble bath. In the middle of the morning. It was fabulous. I never get to take a bath or shower without someone either physically in the tub with me or talking to me. So I sang to my Pandora station, let my body relax and felt a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (in the bath, not as a hooker).

Once I removed myself from that relaxing sanctuary, technology was back up and I continued on with the rest of my plan. When I drove back to the preschool, I felt a little more relaxed, the chaos of the last few weeks felt lighter on my shoulders. And I didn't feel guilty at all. I needed it and honestly, I feel like I deserved it. Life was back to normal as soon as I loaded the kids in car. Will informs me that I need to "drive as fast as possible to our house because [his] butt cheeks are about to explode!" Freedom surrendered...

Punch-bugging Feminists

I have probably been a feminist my entire life. At least as long as I can remember. My parents raised me to believe that my gender wasn't a disability nor should it prevent me from achieving whatever goal I set for myself---and of course, that my mind was just as capable of genius as a man. My Dad made sure Chrissy and I could bait a hook, shoot a gun, drive a stick shift, or change a tire. My Mom raised us to believe in self-reliance, self-sufficiency, and self-respect. From infancy, we were raised to believe that the gateway to all of our dreams was through an education. No one could take it away from us and no matter what, with an education, we wouldn't be forced to rely on anyone for help in life. There is no better confidence booster than knowing that you can provide for yourself.

Obviously, I want Maggie to know that she is entitled to all of the same rights and privileges as her brothers. I want her to demand equal pay for equal work, to never set her sights any lower than the very best in education and to know her value and her worth are defined by her own expectations, not those of others. I think it is very empowering for a girl to grow up with that attitude--the one that my parents so graciously helped to shape for me.

However, if I am doing my part for the empowerment of women, I will do my very best to teach my boys these important lessons. I want all of those those same things for them. But I also want them to believe that  their sister and women like her are entitled to these same basic rights. It will make them better husbands and fathers, classmates, and maybe even bosses, one day.

If only life were as perfect as it is in my head! I really do tell the boys that girls can do the same things that they can do. I provide examples with those degrees and certifications hanging on the wall. And my ability (to Ian's amazement) to drive Josh's truck (which has a stick shift). I am not afraid of frogs or lizards (I proudly hang lizards on my ear lobes like my Uncle Lee always demonstrated when I was a child). Josh and I  show it in our partnership marriage where we both care for the children, clean the house and contribute to the family income. However, I never really know if they get it.

Today I am driving with Will and his friend Madi. Will yells, "Volkswagen Yellow!" I say, "Yes, punch-bug Yellow! Good job Will" (Thanks April for resurrecting this timeless classic). Madi yells out "Punch-bug." Will responds, "You can't say that. I am the KING of punch-bug." (and he really is. The kid can point out a Volkswagen from miles away). So she counters, "Well if you are the King, then I am the princess." Will thinks about it for a minute and counters back, "No, Madi. You can be the King. Girls can do all the same things as boys so if I can be the King, you can too." Ahhh...melting heart moment for me.

I also know that growing up with a sister will reinforce so many of these lessons for the boys. She thinks that she can do all the same things that they do and because they love her so much, they are more than happy to let her tag along. And if ever a boy makes her doubt her self-worth, I am sure Will is more than happy to use these punch-bugging skills on that boy's face.

Alive, Getting Well, and Turning Gray...

The last week and a half has pretty much stunk.

Good News: The Burgess Bunch is still ALIVE!
Bad News: The entire Bunch has been sick with something EXCEPT Ian! I am convinced he is the carrier rat.

We have battled stomach bug, nasty colds and strep throat in our house for the last week. What a great way to usher in the school year. I hate sickness and germs. But sickness and germs apparently LOVE me and my house. We spent last November thru March constantly sick. I do not want a repeat of that cycle again this year. My kids are great at sharing, especially their germs. So I spent the entire weekend cloroxing, washing, and lysoling everything in our house. Maybe I can get the germs to leave. I sure hope so.

Our pediatrician (despite her less-than-stellar office staff) is so wonderful. We were her first patients on Saturday morning. She welcomed me with a hug and said, "I was afraid I would see you again this week." I practically live in her office. She gave us another script of antibiotics and told me to call her if Ian needed one too. So far, so good.

Antibiotics make Will bounce off the walls. Literally. The kid gets the jerks if you try to make him sit still.  I kept him home from school today just to be sure he was better. He talked my ear off. He has also learned that sick=mommy feels sorry for me=all the ice cream and Popsicles he wants=even more hyper child. I felt like I had the jerks by the end of the day.

In other news, I noticed last night that my hair is now more gray than whatever is my natural color. I don't mention this because because of vanity. I mention it because of how shocking it was for me to notice. Josh changed the lighting in our bathroom and it made the gray far more obvious than the dimmer lighting we had before. Bring back the dims, please! My parents are both beyond white-headed (sorry I outed you Mom), so I knew it was going to happen. I just didn't know it would happen before my 30th birthday. I blame my kids.

And maybe I blame Ian's schoolwork.

2nd grade is hard. Far more difficult than I remember it being. The teacher sends home gobs of instructions and charts and graphs for me to record our reading, writing, math AND even more stuff for me to sign. I realize it isn't her fault. She has to deal with government accountability and slack parents who don't even look in their kids' backpacks. But all of these rules and charts and graphs give this perfectionist Momma heart palpitations. Seriously. I already went to visit the teacher on Thursday so that we could talk through all of it so that "we can ensure that Ian isn't getting overwhelmed." Insert Momma for Ian. I think I got a handle on it but it is a lot to keep up with. And it is all very time consuming.

I am sure it is for all parents. But for us, especially, because Ian has dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyscalculia. Basically, he struggles in reading, writing and math. He is super smart and can remember just about everything, but I have to take the work she sends home for him and rework it in a way that works best for him to understand. This afternoon, we spent 3.5 hours doing homework. I try to make it fun; we play word games and do math drills with yummy treats but it requires a lot of me. And him.

And as if spending 3.5 hours of my afternoon doing math drills and word blends wasn't enough, Maggie pulled my laptop off of my desk and Will dropped my Droid into the bathtub...filled with water. My laptop seems OK, although the screen blinks occasionally. I am not sure I will be able to say the same for my phone.

Oh well, I can replace it. Just like I can pay to hide the gray in my hair. But I can't pay to get the moments back of "Uh Oh" when my laptop crashed to the floor, or Will's "Oh Man" when my phone went for a swim, or even the many hours I spend with Ian agonizing over reading, writing, and arithmetic. It was a bad week but along with the sniffles, I got a lot of snuggles, and "I love yous" and "You're the best Mom," as bribery for more ice cream. Believe me, as hard as it is to live sometimes, these really hard moments are some of the most rewarding of my journey in motherhood. And although I am not loving the gray hair part, if I have to have it in order to have these kids, it will be worth every trip to the salon.

Pediatrician Kind of Monday...

Last night, I got to spend the entire night watching BREAKING NEWS coverage of the chaos in Libya. Not just because I am a total, self-admitted news junkie. As if a weekend of Josh and I both being sick wasn't enough, we thought we would start this week sick too. Fun.

Maggie woke up around 11 last night screaming and yanking on her ear. Seeing as she is my 3rd child, I know this means ear infection. Despite Motrin, warm rags, etc., we didn't do much sleeping. So we watched the events unfold in Libya and counted down the minutes until we could call the Pediatrician's office at 8am.

Now to call the Pediatrician is an art form in and of itself. If you call at 7:59, you get the machine. Once you redial, you are like 15th in line to talk to a receptionist. Call at 8am, sometimes you get the machine and sometimes, you are lucky to be 4th or 5th. I have found with my substantial experience in the matter, it is best to call at 8:01. There is little risk of catching the machine and you usually end up higher than 5 but less than 10 in line to talk to the reception. Art form. Seriously.

So I dial at 8:01, Maggie is crying as I walk her around the house and get Will ready for school. The scary robot voice tells me that there are 5 callers ahead of me. Golden. 10 minutes pass and we finally get a human. Not bad. Nameless receptionist lady asks me if I can be there at 8:40. I ask back, 8:40? Yes, she answers, 8:40. I agree to take that appointment. Best to get it over with than listen to Maggie cry all morning. That gives me half an hour to get she and I ready, get Will down the street to Madi's house so he can carpool with them and get to the doctor's office on time. No problem.

Then I look in the mirror. Total hot mess. I can't go outside the confines of my car (I did drive Ian to school this morning. He never commented on my appearance. Maybe because he knew I wasn't getting out?) looking like this. So I tell Will to entertain Maggie for 3 minutes while I jump in the shower. All I heard was banging on the door and screams from her for me to hold her. She lived until I got out. She wouldn't let me blow dry my hair without holding her so I did the best I could. I threw on some clothes that actually matched, dressed her, grabbed bags and loaded everything (kids included) into the car. I had 7 minutes to get to the doctor. Went back in to grab my phone and purse, took a glance in the mirror. You guessed it. Still a hot mess. The only difference was my hair was still a little damp and I smelled better. Oh well.

Believe it or not, I made it to the Pediatrician with one minute to spare. We signed in, talked to the receptionist, and sat down in the sick area. We waited. We chatted with some people we knew. We waited. We read 2 books. We chatted with some more people we knew. We waited. People we talked with when we got there were leaving. 40 minutes into my wait, I went back to the receptionist lady to inform her I was still waiting. She asks our name. I give it. She informs me our appointment is at 9:30. Sleep deprived and without a single ounce of Diet Coke in my system, I felt the rage welling to my throat. I didn't yell but I was very loud. This is not the first or third time this has happened to me. It's more like the 5th. I love our doctor. I do not love the people who work in her office. I don't think they mean to screw up but they do. A lot.

My semi-hissy fit accomplished nothing but an apology. We waited until 9:30 to get called back. Maggie, luckily, was totally patient the entire time. If this had been Will, the story would have been much different.
After learning that Maggie weighed 29 pounds and I told the nurse the diagnosis. I looked down to notice that my shoes don't match my outfit. I didn't even care. We waited another 25 minutes to see our doctor. As unhappy as I was about the whole thing, it really didn't matter in the scheme of the amazing love and attention our doctor gives to our children. She apologized profusely for the entire thing but honestly, I can deal with her office staff because of the wonderful care we get from her. (She is the kind of Dr that calls you at night to check on your child after a visit to her office). Ear infection it is. Drops and antibiotic and she is doing fine.

It was a rough day but we survived. I even got to hear Will say prayers tonight. Instead of laughing, his tender words brought tears to my eyes. It was a prayer I needed to hear. It definitely cured my bad case of the Mondays!