Giveaway!

Okay, so those of you who know me, know that I love labor and delivery. I think it's one the funnest things I've ever done, and I've done it three times. (The funnest, by far, was the one at home--wanna hear the story?? *grin*)

So, of course, I'm delighted that my friend is giving away a great skirt to give birth in, called a Binsi, on her blog! And even though I'm awhile out from my next labor and delivery, I'm sure hoppin' on this giveaway bandwagon. If you are 8 months pregnant, 8 months from being pregnant, or just LOOK like you're 8 months pregnant 8 months later (that's me), come on over and meet Christina and her giveaway. :)

Semper Fi

My dad is a Marine.

There is no such thing as "was" a Marine. Until you're dead, maybe.

He is a veteran of the Vietnam War. He joined the armed forces when he was only 17 and came home two years later with a Purple Heart and shrapnel that he would keep as a souvenir the rest of his life. My beautiful father, with his incredible heart and unfailing generosity, jumps at small sounds and hunkers at helicopters overhead. He is a veteran.

His father, my grandfather, was a Marine who fought in World War II. Pacific theater. He, too, came home with a Purple Heart. He was a veteran.

His father, my great-grandfather, was a Marine. He fought in World War I. When he enlisted, the recruiting officer wrote down that he was the "finest physical specimen" he had ever seen. He was a veteran.

It goes without saying that there is a flag flying in front of my house today, and a catch in my throat when I look at it.

Thanks, Dad. I am so proud to be your daughter.

Monday morning musing...

I was so touched by this video, and it has me musing, this morning--how do I become the kind of parent that can teach their children to be like the older boy in this story? How do I teach my children respect, compassion, and kindness?

How are you musing about this morning?

Wascally Wabbits...

Oh good grief.

Our cat, previously known as Killer and currently known as Inept, brought something into the house this morning.

I didn't realize it at first. I knew the cat was acting all strange, in a "Hey! Where'd it go? I left it right here! Where'd it go?" kind of way. So I put the cat outside and, wincing, waited to find the maimed lizard or mouse somewhere. I hoped it wasn't a snake.

A couple hours later, as I'm carrying laundry to the laundry room, I spy...

a bunny.

Sitting in the corner. Looking terrified. Then, it bolted. The last time I saw it, it was scampering under one of my kid's beds. It isn't there anymore. I know, I looked. So now there are little piles of lettuce in various locations, in case it gets hungry. And the cat is still outside.

Wascally Wabbit.

Send postcards...

The Spouse is away on business.

I miss him when he's gone.

Why?

Because...

Who is going to watch this sunset with me?

Who is going to mow this lawn?

Who is going to fold all this clean laundry?

And does this baby look tired to you????

I didn't think so.

Firetrucks, or "What is that smell???"

Monday morning, I walked into my kid's bedroom first thing and it smelled... funny. Kind of... burnt-ish. In an electric sort of way.

Alarms went off in my head, and I walked around looking at each outlet--none were smoking or black. I ran my hands along the wall feeling for heat. Only one outlet, in the whole room, had anything plugged into it, and that was the lamp--which was off. I couldn't see any forks or bobby pins that could've been jammed into a socket by a child. I opened my front door to see if it could be coming from outside. I was puzzled.

So, being me, when I got back from dropping Emily off at school, I called the fire department. I did not dial 911. I called their business number. But it was still picked up by a 911 dispatcher. (I was all friendly because, hey, the last time I talked to my local 911 dispatcher they told my husband how to deliver a baby. I never got to thank them, at the time, because I was busy, and you don't get to talk to 911 every day. Anyway.) I told them my dilemna, and they said "Okay, we'll send a guy out with a heat gun to see if there is anything going on behind the walls." Great! She also told me to flip the breaker switch to "off" and stay outside with my kids, just in case. Sure!

Well... a few minutes later I hear sirens. And I know. They aren't sending "a guy". No. They have called out the troops. I am blushing profusely as I hear the sirens getting closer. Oh well, at least I know that Caleb will think the trucks are cool. I am dreading the inevitable talks with the neighbors. They round the corner. My two year old is giddy in my arms. "FIRE TRUCKS!!"

They sent two trucks and four firemen, in full gear. I felt so dumb. I tell them "Hey, last time you were here, I had just had a baby! I hope it's less exciting this time..." Nervous chuckle from me. All business on their side. One of them is carrying an axe. They came into the house with their fancy heat radar and radared the walls and the ceiling. They asked why the breaker was flipped, and I told them I did that. They looked at me and said, in their super hero way, "Don't do that next time." Great. Next time. I'll store that away.

They couldn't find anything, and so they packed up their stuff and told me to call back if it happened again. They also mentioned, casually, that I might not want to go too far from home. Gulp.

Now it's... oh... almost three days later... and there's that smell again!! I have no idea what it is. And I'll be honest, it's makin' me nervous.

I might have to call my friends at the local fire department and have them come over again. Maybe this time I could at least give them donuts or something...

Guilty as Charged

Making mom breakfast.

I hear a lot of talk, around Mother's Day, from people saying things like "Don't let yourself feel guilty" or "There are no perfect mothers--don't compare yourself"... things like that. People give talks in church, and talk about how their moms always said that they felt so guilty on Mother's Day.

But, here's the thing, my "post secret" if you will: I don't feel guilty on Mother's Day. I have no guilt whatsoever. In fact, it's probably the one day a year when I don't feel guilty about my mothering abilities, or lack thereof. And this lack of guilt is making me feel kind of guilty.

Why don't I feel guilty? Because I need Mother's Day, darn it. I need one day a year when everyone is spouting off how great moms are. I know there are single women aching to be married and have kids. I know there are women wrestling with the demon infertility and Mother's Day is about as pleasant as a cleat in the face. I get that. But I'm over here covered in graham cracker goobers and no makeup because I was too busy searching for my kid's shoes to apply anything but lip gloss. My bachelor's degree is rotting in the cobwebs of my mind, and I'm losing any and all people skills I ever had. By the time we pull into the church parking lot, we are 5 minutes late, and one child has fallen asleep so that means I get to carry a big bag, a baby seat, AND a heavy toddler into the church building without losing either my skirt or my temper. This is not the time for political correctness. I need to hear how fantastic mothers are.

So, yay yay yay for us! Yay for moms! Yay for grandmas and aunts! I heart mother's day!

Mother's Day Smother's Day

A rundown of my week:

Exhibit A: Thing 2 is potty-training.

Exhibit B: Thing 3 is teething.

Thus necessitating:
1. Copious amounts of chocolate chips, ice cream, and even a forbidden grilled cheese toastwich.
2. A re-read of Twilight.

Which has led to:
1. The Biggest Loser workout DVDs glaring up at me accusingly from my desk.
2. A house that would be condemned by the health inspector.

Which means:
1. I'm taking off for the weekend and letting my husband deal with the potty, the teeth, and the mess.
2. Happy Mother's Day to Me.

**

PS: Just so we're clear about this, THIS is Edward Cullen:

NOT this:

That is Cedric Digory with a bad makeup job, bless him.

Don't mess with the pictures in my head, people. ;)

Dear Stranger...

Dear Strangers,

You do not know me. You probably have never even imagined me. But I have something that I want to thank you for, and this is the only way that I know of to do it.

You see, this Sunday is Mother's Day. I think everyone knows that. But what a lot of people maybe don't know is that the day before Mother's Day has it's own significance: it is Birth Mother's Day. Which always makes me think of you.

It has been over 33 and 31 years since each of you placed a baby for adoption. One of you gave birth to a beautiful, dark haired baby girl on the 4th of July in Fort Worth, Texas. The other one of you had a baby boy with big, wide eyes on December 6th in Dallas, Texas. You placed them with a young couple who had hoped and prayed and cried, for years. Until you made a choice.

And I've wondered, over the years, how you had the strength to do it. I've wondered about you, and wished that I could thank you. Because one of you gave me my big sister, and one of you gave me my big brother... and I can't imagine my life without them.

My older sister is the most beautiful, kind person you could ever know. She has beautiful brown hair that she can wear curly or straight, and piercing green eyes. She is graceful, laughs easily, and has so many talents that it makes my head spin. She has three girls now, who are each beautiful in their own way. I thought you would want to know that she has a lovely, lilting singing voice, and that she is the best listener I've ever met.

My older brother is brilliant. He has gone to some of the best colleges in the nation with that mind of his. He ran a marathon two years ago, and rides his bike to work. More than that--I think he is an amazing husband to a fabulous wife, and they are extraordinarily good parents to their two children. He has a clever sense of humor, and a serious competitive streak when you play board games. I am proud of him. You would be, too.

So, to two women that I have never met, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for having the courage, all those years ago, to do what you did. When I asked my parents, recently, what their favorite memories were from their marriage, they both agreed on the days that they found out that they were going to be parents, thanks to you. You gave them, and me, a most remarkable gift: a family. You will never know how many people you blessed.

Thank you.

Speechless

You know--it's really hard to capture in words or with a camera the things about your kids that make them who they are. It's hard to explain to other people, especially people who don't have kids, about all the things that makes having kids worth all the things that people complain about. Like diapers, temper tantrums, and not sleeping or getting to go much of anywhere without some serious planning. (All of that, combined, by the way is nothing compared to potty training and teething. If you were wondering.)

If you try to explain to people what is so great about parenting, the best you can do is usually along the lines of "But, they're just so... funny!" Which is when people look at you with a tilt of the head and a look in their eyes that says "This person clearly doesn't realize that their hair is turning gray in front of my very eyes or that their clothing doesn't match and probably never will again."

To all those people, I have only one thing to say:

You are so missing out.