Has anyone ever noticed how hard it is to sleep when children are present in your household? I recently commented on a friend's Facebook status that she should sleep all that she could before she had her baby. I wasn't lying. You literally don't really sleep again for.....heck if I know how long. All I know is that any night you go to bed thinking, "Ooooooh I'll not only get to sleep tonight but get to sleep late." Some little munchkin some where is doing the "Heeeee, heeee, heeeee" laughing knowing very well that they will foil all plans of sleep.
It starts before they even leave the womb. The end of your pregnancy is probably the most uncomfortable you could ever be in your life. Not only has your body exploded in all places, but your bladder has been smushed like a lemon and is constantly leaking causing you to pee 10 times a night. Then there is the horrific heartburn and heavy belly. Not to mention, the little monkey inside your belly that feels like being wide awake and participating in a prenatal gymnastics class while you are trying to sleep. I really think this last trimester is God's way of readying a new mother for what life will be like for the first few months after delivery: Sleepless!
Then you finally get your kids out of the baby stage, out of the eating every few hours time, and out of not sleeping through the night, and you think, "Yes, now I can sleep!" ....Heeee, heee, heeeee! Did you hear it? The munchkin laughter. They are laughing because now they are potty training and getting up to pee pee in the middle of the night. Something they appear to not be able to do by themselves until the age of 6 or so. Or they might have night mares involving alligators or ponies or wicked old hags. Whatever the reason it will, I promise you, result in you feeling like an infant yourself. Why? Because you will never sleep all the way through the night again.
I am at my parent's house this weekend. Super excited about having someone else be in charge of my children and someone else cooking my food. Also, stupidly, I was super excited about the prospect of having a good night sleep. Alas, I forgot to listen for the "Heeee, heee, heeee" of munchkin laughter. For that is what they were doing through out the night that I thought I would sleep peacefully through. First the oldest, comes and climbs into bed with me where she proceeds to move and cough (hasn't coughed any time previously or any time since waking up) and move and cough and move and cough. Then there comes a cry from munchkin #2's room, "My bwankie is wone!!!!" Have no fear, mommy to the rescue and she finds the blankie....right beside the munchkin's hand. Then the oldest is up checking the time and to see if Papa is up yet. Not happening at 4:30, dear. Then the kid in my womb, who apparently is plotting with the other two using prenatal brain waves, causes me to get up twice to pee. Then the youngest suddenly has to go "poo poo" and needs me to "wipe her booty". Really? Really!
Finally, finally, praise God, Papa awakes and the munchkins descend to the downstairs area. Ahhhh! Sweet sleep. Finally!... "Heee, heee, heee". Did I forget to mention that we are apparently raising a cheerleader with munchkin #2, and she is able to project her voice so that it echoes not only through Mimi and Papa's house, but throughout any house in a 2 mile radius? Sorry neighbors. But hey that is the one disadvantage of having these loving, amazing, and funny kids. You must say good-bye to sleep sweet sleep for at least ..... heck if I know for how long! Let me know if you ever find out!
Check out the previous video post. Here is a man who feels my pain. I love this song!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Life's Too Short
Disclaimer: This is deep.
My small town of Cairo seems to have experienced so many losses in the last few months. There are too many to name all of them, but there were some that really struck close to home.
First, Jake Elkins, the heart of our State Championship football team. So young. So vivacious. So loving and giving. So very, very tragic. He was snatched from life so early and pointlessly. No one knows why, and no one probably ever will. There are no answers, and there are so many questions. All we know is that his life ended before he ever really got to live, and his death left a community aching and comforting each other in its wake. All of us questioning. All of us hurting. All of us coming together.
Next Wendell Harrison. I didn't know Wendell, nor do I know his family, but his death was so quick and the people around him loved him so much that it has left an impression on my heart. What really affected me about his death was that I saw him about 10 minutes before his death. I had to run home for something and I cut through the back roads. On my way back, I noticed the men standing in the hole in the middle of the street attending to the gas line. Ten minutes later he was gone. Taken right from the spot where he and his fellow workers stood returning my wave as I passed. So quick.
Then there was precious Mikiah King. This angel was taken by an impaired driver as her parents were driving down the road. I don't know all of the details of her death, but I know that her parents were making a trek that I made today with my own children, and she was snatched from their lives in the blink of an eye. The pain her mother and father are feeling is unimaginable to me. I can not even comprehend, and I pray every day and every night that I will never have to experience such utter and complete despair. Why would God choose to take a beautiful child? No one can know his plan, but we can't help but question.
Finally (at least I pray it is because I don't know how much more our community can take) my friend, Jenni, lost her husband. He got up in the middle of the night to be the good daddy that he was to take care of his precious son, and sometime in the hour and a half left of the night he had a heart attack. Can you imagine? You kiss the love of your life good night and awake to find him gone. They had such a short time together, barely even six years. But they knew how much they loved each other. I think about the ten years I have been with my husband and the times we have gone to bed angry or the times I have been so mad that I have left in anger not even saying I love you. What if something had happened to him?
We take too much for granted. Maybe that is why these things happen....to teach us to appreciate those around us. Maybe they happen to help us learn to tell those we love that we love them every day with every chance we get. Maybe they happen so that we will know that no day is guaranteed, and we should live each day as if it is our last. Maybe they happen to keep others from dying in the same way later. Maybe they happen to bring people together, like Jake did for our community. Maybe they happen to bring people to God. Just think about the people who have come to know Jesus through the deaths of those they love. Maybe...
We won't ever know why tragic, heartbreaking events occur. We won't ever know how anyone comes through on the other side of these events....how they are able to go on living. I pray that I never have to find out in my own life.
All I know is that I will tell those I love that I love them everyday. I will try to treat the people I see with love and respect, because you never know what they are or could be soon going through. And I know that I will trust my Lord and Savior no matter how much I might question him about Why?
I do not know his plan, and I never will. I just know that he loves us and commands us to love each other. And I know that we are never promised tomorrow. I know that every day I need to love those around me with this in mind. After all life's too short to let one chance to tell someone you love them pass.
My small town of Cairo seems to have experienced so many losses in the last few months. There are too many to name all of them, but there were some that really struck close to home.
First, Jake Elkins, the heart of our State Championship football team. So young. So vivacious. So loving and giving. So very, very tragic. He was snatched from life so early and pointlessly. No one knows why, and no one probably ever will. There are no answers, and there are so many questions. All we know is that his life ended before he ever really got to live, and his death left a community aching and comforting each other in its wake. All of us questioning. All of us hurting. All of us coming together.
Next Wendell Harrison. I didn't know Wendell, nor do I know his family, but his death was so quick and the people around him loved him so much that it has left an impression on my heart. What really affected me about his death was that I saw him about 10 minutes before his death. I had to run home for something and I cut through the back roads. On my way back, I noticed the men standing in the hole in the middle of the street attending to the gas line. Ten minutes later he was gone. Taken right from the spot where he and his fellow workers stood returning my wave as I passed. So quick.
Then there was precious Mikiah King. This angel was taken by an impaired driver as her parents were driving down the road. I don't know all of the details of her death, but I know that her parents were making a trek that I made today with my own children, and she was snatched from their lives in the blink of an eye. The pain her mother and father are feeling is unimaginable to me. I can not even comprehend, and I pray every day and every night that I will never have to experience such utter and complete despair. Why would God choose to take a beautiful child? No one can know his plan, but we can't help but question.
Finally (at least I pray it is because I don't know how much more our community can take) my friend, Jenni, lost her husband. He got up in the middle of the night to be the good daddy that he was to take care of his precious son, and sometime in the hour and a half left of the night he had a heart attack. Can you imagine? You kiss the love of your life good night and awake to find him gone. They had such a short time together, barely even six years. But they knew how much they loved each other. I think about the ten years I have been with my husband and the times we have gone to bed angry or the times I have been so mad that I have left in anger not even saying I love you. What if something had happened to him?
We take too much for granted. Maybe that is why these things happen....to teach us to appreciate those around us. Maybe they happen to help us learn to tell those we love that we love them every day with every chance we get. Maybe they happen so that we will know that no day is guaranteed, and we should live each day as if it is our last. Maybe they happen to keep others from dying in the same way later. Maybe they happen to bring people together, like Jake did for our community. Maybe they happen to bring people to God. Just think about the people who have come to know Jesus through the deaths of those they love. Maybe...
We won't ever know why tragic, heartbreaking events occur. We won't ever know how anyone comes through on the other side of these events....how they are able to go on living. I pray that I never have to find out in my own life.
All I know is that I will tell those I love that I love them everyday. I will try to treat the people I see with love and respect, because you never know what they are or could be soon going through. And I know that I will trust my Lord and Savior no matter how much I might question him about Why?
I do not know his plan, and I never will. I just know that he loves us and commands us to love each other. And I know that we are never promised tomorrow. I know that every day I need to love those around me with this in mind. After all life's too short to let one chance to tell someone you love them pass.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Really? Really.
Alright, I get it! I am getting old. Is there a need to flaunt it in my face? I think not. Alas, mother nature feels the need to do just that.
It was one thing to have forehead lines at the ripe old age of 25 (must have been all of those summers in the sun without sunscreen---which I blame completely on my mother and not on my ability to escape like a slippery fish and run away screaming which was soon followed by screaming from the burning pain and cold aloe). It was another thing for weight to start staying attached to my thighs and stomach when it used to just melt away with one extra exercise session or starvation fest. And then it was another thing for these blasted lines to start going from the sides of my nose to my lips. What is that about? Am I a clown now? Seriously? Seriously.
And then a few months ago, I saw it--my first grey hair. Well, actually, it was white. And while it was on my head, it was not in my hair. It was in my eyebrows. REALLY? Really. At first, I brushed it off as light blonde. I mean it was the middle of the summer, and I had spent a lot of time in the sun (though be it with sunscreen-doing all I can to prevent more of these unsightly lines). Luckily, I could easily solve the problem of the could be, but I am going to believe it wasn't, white hair. I plucked it out. I mean, first of all I didn't believe in the old wives tail that "2 more will grow back in its place", and secondly, I mean what was I supposed to do---leave it there? I think not. I mean it was a white, but I am going to stick with blonde, hair.
Sadly, it appears the old wives tail was right, because a week or so later up popped two more, and they continue to pop up no matter what I do. Soon I am going to have to shave my eyebrows off and start a new trend for thirty somethings to draw on their eyebrows like a young,, but scary Joan Crawford. AHHHHHH!
Now comes the kicker....and I do mean kicker, because it is literally kicking me while I am down. Not only do I have more lines on my face than a walnut, thighs that jiggle like Jello, Bozo the clown lines, a saggy butt, and white hairs (I have come to grips with reality), but now I am turning 33. THIRTY-THREE!
I am not some person who swore they were turning thirty and holding. I am proud of my age and regardless of this post, how I look-flaws and all. Plus, with every year I have aged I have gain so many amazing things in my life...husband, Aubrey, Addison, and now who ever this is I am growing in my belly.
However, this all changed this morning. I was blow drying my hair, and there it was. A GREY HAIR. No way to take it for blonde. It was startling and depressingly grey. The funny thing was that it was totally not there yesterday. I mean no where to be found. Yet, here it is shining and silver atop my head. There was no hiding it. No mistaking it. It was loud and it was proud! So what did I do? I pulled it of course,and in a couple of weeks when two more pop up in its place all I will be able to say is.....Really? Really. Oh well I guess it is time to start dying my hair.
It was one thing to have forehead lines at the ripe old age of 25 (must have been all of those summers in the sun without sunscreen---which I blame completely on my mother and not on my ability to escape like a slippery fish and run away screaming which was soon followed by screaming from the burning pain and cold aloe). It was another thing for weight to start staying attached to my thighs and stomach when it used to just melt away with one extra exercise session or starvation fest. And then it was another thing for these blasted lines to start going from the sides of my nose to my lips. What is that about? Am I a clown now? Seriously? Seriously.
And then a few months ago, I saw it--my first grey hair. Well, actually, it was white. And while it was on my head, it was not in my hair. It was in my eyebrows. REALLY? Really. At first, I brushed it off as light blonde. I mean it was the middle of the summer, and I had spent a lot of time in the sun (though be it with sunscreen-doing all I can to prevent more of these unsightly lines). Luckily, I could easily solve the problem of the could be, but I am going to believe it wasn't, white hair. I plucked it out. I mean, first of all I didn't believe in the old wives tail that "2 more will grow back in its place", and secondly, I mean what was I supposed to do---leave it there? I think not. I mean it was a white, but I am going to stick with blonde, hair.
Sadly, it appears the old wives tail was right, because a week or so later up popped two more, and they continue to pop up no matter what I do. Soon I am going to have to shave my eyebrows off and start a new trend for thirty somethings to draw on their eyebrows like a young,, but scary Joan Crawford. AHHHHHH!
Now comes the kicker....and I do mean kicker, because it is literally kicking me while I am down. Not only do I have more lines on my face than a walnut, thighs that jiggle like Jello, Bozo the clown lines, a saggy butt, and white hairs (I have come to grips with reality), but now I am turning 33. THIRTY-THREE!
I am not some person who swore they were turning thirty and holding. I am proud of my age and regardless of this post, how I look-flaws and all. Plus, with every year I have aged I have gain so many amazing things in my life...husband, Aubrey, Addison, and now who ever this is I am growing in my belly.
However, this all changed this morning. I was blow drying my hair, and there it was. A GREY HAIR. No way to take it for blonde. It was startling and depressingly grey. The funny thing was that it was totally not there yesterday. I mean no where to be found. Yet, here it is shining and silver atop my head. There was no hiding it. No mistaking it. It was loud and it was proud! So what did I do? I pulled it of course,and in a couple of weeks when two more pop up in its place all I will be able to say is.....Really? Really. Oh well I guess it is time to start dying my hair.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Spanking Really Does Hurt Me More Than You
When I was a kid, my parents rarely conformed to the saying "Spare the rod, spoil the child". It wasn't that we were well behaved (not hoodlums though). It was just that mom had a hard time catching us with the fly swatter that was scatter with the decaying wings and legs of its victims, and I actually think that my father was afraid he would hurt us if he applied the rod (he is a strong man).
My husband and I do not adhere to this same method of parenting. Now before you go calling social services, let me explain our methods. We do not spank our children religiously. We have many different methods that are utilized first before making the decision to use the "rod" (our hands), i.e. talking, timeout, removal of privileges... However, there comes a time when a child needs a good spanking in order to get the message across. These times include those of immediate danger (running out in front of a car or sticking finger into an electrical socket) or those times when you have repeatedly told your child not to do something and have talked yourself blue in the face and the timeout step has been worn out.
The time to not "spare the rod" came to our household a couple of days ago. Our oldest child got in trouble, again, for putting her hands on someone or in this case two someones. She kicked one boy in the "booty" and hit another boy with her elbow. Now these boys could have very well deserved this treatment, however, we have discussed and timed out over and over again because of her love of putting her hands on other people be it in love, playing, annoyance, or anger.
Since there were two offenses, I decided the time had come for two spankings. I can only imagine the feeling of dread that filled her cute little stomach (she has the cutest little belly button) all afternoon waiting for her punishment. Finally the time arrived right after bath time, and I bent her over my knee (something I still giggle about until it happens) and applied 3 spanks with my hand to her naked booty. The moment she started crying my heart broke, but I knew this was a lesson that needed to be taught so I persevered. She was over it in less than 1 minute.
When Brian got home, I informed him that he now had to spank her for the second offense. This would be the first time he had actually spanked her and he was quite uncertain. Alas, he did his duty and got in a good spank. He thought he was done until he caught my disapproving look. At this point he applied one more, be it a much softer, lick which brought on the tears.
The crazy thing was that the tears were not just from her. At the point of the second spank, my youngest ran into the room screaming at the top of her lungs, "Leave my sissy awone!" She then threw herself between my husband and the culprit. Then the dramatic crying ensued. Not from the victim, but from her protector. They gripped each other and howled with tears. It was the sweetest and funniest thing I have ever seen. You would have thought they both had been beaten with an inch of their existence. If I had been quick enough to get my Flip video camera, there is no doubt we would be rich. The youngest one's crying continued long after the actual victim was over it. I guess now I can truly appreciate the phrase, "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."
My husband and I do not adhere to this same method of parenting. Now before you go calling social services, let me explain our methods. We do not spank our children religiously. We have many different methods that are utilized first before making the decision to use the "rod" (our hands), i.e. talking, timeout, removal of privileges... However, there comes a time when a child needs a good spanking in order to get the message across. These times include those of immediate danger (running out in front of a car or sticking finger into an electrical socket) or those times when you have repeatedly told your child not to do something and have talked yourself blue in the face and the timeout step has been worn out.
The time to not "spare the rod" came to our household a couple of days ago. Our oldest child got in trouble, again, for putting her hands on someone or in this case two someones. She kicked one boy in the "booty" and hit another boy with her elbow. Now these boys could have very well deserved this treatment, however, we have discussed and timed out over and over again because of her love of putting her hands on other people be it in love, playing, annoyance, or anger.
Since there were two offenses, I decided the time had come for two spankings. I can only imagine the feeling of dread that filled her cute little stomach (she has the cutest little belly button) all afternoon waiting for her punishment. Finally the time arrived right after bath time, and I bent her over my knee (something I still giggle about until it happens) and applied 3 spanks with my hand to her naked booty. The moment she started crying my heart broke, but I knew this was a lesson that needed to be taught so I persevered. She was over it in less than 1 minute.
When Brian got home, I informed him that he now had to spank her for the second offense. This would be the first time he had actually spanked her and he was quite uncertain. Alas, he did his duty and got in a good spank. He thought he was done until he caught my disapproving look. At this point he applied one more, be it a much softer, lick which brought on the tears.
The crazy thing was that the tears were not just from her. At the point of the second spank, my youngest ran into the room screaming at the top of her lungs, "Leave my sissy awone!" She then threw herself between my husband and the culprit. Then the dramatic crying ensued. Not from the victim, but from her protector. They gripped each other and howled with tears. It was the sweetest and funniest thing I have ever seen. You would have thought they both had been beaten with an inch of their existence. If I had been quick enough to get my Flip video camera, there is no doubt we would be rich. The youngest one's crying continued long after the actual victim was over it. I guess now I can truly appreciate the phrase, "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."
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