American Girl

Remember when you were THIS happy to get exactly what you wanted for your birthday??

My Christmas Star

At last year's school Christmas concert Molly was disappointed because as a kindergartner she was not allowed to try out for a "part." She declared at the conclusion of that concert that she was going to get a "part" when she reached first grade no matter what.

Fast forward to this fall. A sheet came home to the parents asking everyone whose child was interested in auditioning for a part to sign up. Molly was torn between the nonspeaking role of Mary in the nativity and a singing solo. We encouraged her to try out for both and let God decide which role would be best for her in the program.

The day that parts were announced, Molly's teacher rushed her to the car and she and Molly both screamed at me that Molly had been awarded the "Away in a Manger" solo. I don't know who was more excited, Molly or Mrs. Gordon, but there sure was a lot of jumping around!

We practiced with the music CD that was sent home almost every night. Molly would use the TV remote for her microphone. With help from her music teacher at school, Molly gained more and more confidence.

Finally, the big night arrived. The excitement Molly had in the car on the drive there was nothing compared to how happy she was when we finally arrived. There was lots of smiling and giggling with her friends on stage. And then the music began planing for "Away in a Manger." I wiggled myself to the front of the auditorium and watched my baby walk across the stage. For the first time, I saw trepidation wash across her face. I said a little prayer that God would help her be brave. The spot light came up and everyone was silent.

This little child continues to amaze me with her grace and bravery. I am so blessed to be her mother. Merry Christmas everyone!

Gobble

Because making the 8+ hour drive to see our families is always a traffic nightmare, we usually spent Thanksgiving at home, just the four of us. This year was no exception. We watched the Macy's parade, ate lots of turkey, went to the movies to see Tangled, and made these yummy goodies!

And the best part...

Feasts

A sampling of photos from the kids' Thanksgiving feasts at school...

The Latest Look in Footwear

What happens when your child scrambles into the car without the slightest compunction about why his mother might need him to wear shoes? He ends up wearing Wal-Mart bags around the store on his feet.

As evidenced by the big grin on his face, I'm doubting he learned his lesson.

Fall Fun

Over the years Drew and I have realized that it's really easy for us to spend our weekends "getting stuff done." We make lists and then we cross stuff off. Sometimes we add the stuff we've already done to the list so we can cross it off so we feel better about how much stuff we've gotten accomplished. Many Sunday evenings we give the weekend a grade based on the number of chores accomplished instead of the amount of fun we had.

This sucks for the kids sometimes as they are dragged from Home Depot to Lowes and back again. So as the summer heat abated, we decided that we were going to forgo our regular to-do list this fall for a more fun one that included nothing that resembled work.

We've spent the last 3 months of weekends together as a family ignoring our chores. We went to the Matthew's Alive Festival and parade, spent a day at EdVenture Children's Museum, ate lots of BBQ at the Blues, Brews, and BBQ Festival, rode the rides at Carowinds, frolicked at the Renaissance Festival, visited all the animals at the NC Zoo, saw Toy Story 3 on Ice, got pumpkins at the pumpkin farm with Grandma and Grandpa, trick or treated at Rivergate and Carowind's Howl-o-Hunt, and took a tour of the Charlotte Humane Society with Molly's girl scout troop.

It's been terrific just enjoying being together this fall without the pretense of having to accomplish anything. Unfortunately, with the holiday season approaching and copious amounts of shopping to be done, the fun may be coming to an end for a while... at least until Santa comes!

Another Milestone

In the past two weeks a significant change has happened in our family. Many would scoff and argue that it really isn't that huge of a deal. But for me, it's been enormous.

The last 7 years of my life has revolved around one thing. Every daily activity has been scheduled around it. Drastic measures have been taken to ensure that it occurs. Without it, our life would have been disastrous.

You see, when you are a stay-at-home mom, there are two times in your seemingly endless day which trump all others.

1. The moment Daddy walks in the door after work. (Thank you Jesus, I can go to the bathroom!)

And 2. The Afternoon Nap.

Ah yes, the Afternoon Nap. The holy grail of motherhood.

And as of last week, the Afternoon Nap is no longer a part of our life.

The shift began gradually, as these things do. After being in school all day, I didn't have the heart to make Brody come right home and lay down for a nap, so on those two days, I let him stay up to play with Molly. What I found was that he was surprisingly good natured and that he fell asleep in about 30 seconds when we put him to bed at night.

Conversely, the other days that he was napping ended up being awful. He would fall asleep easily when I put him down for a nap, but when it was time to wake up, I might as well have been raising the dead. It would take him a full 90 minutes to fully wake up (and stop being a gigantic bear) and then guess what? It was time for bed. At that point he ended up just laying (and playing) in bed until 9 or 10 PM when he would finally fall asleep.

So, after coming home to a very cranky Brody for the umpteenth day in a row, Drew suggested that maybe, just maybe, it was time to do away with the naps.

I reacted like he slapped me in the face.

THE NAP!!??

THE AFTERNOON NAP!!??

NOOOOOOOOO!

Have you lost your mind??

Anything but that.

How will I ever survive?

(Quiet sobbing in the corner.)

Well, it's been two weeks now, and I am surprised and happy to report that things have been going better than I expected. Molly and I miss our time alone together in the afternoon, but she gets to play with Brody during that time instead. We haven't had any post dinner meltdowns and everyone goes right to sleep at bed time.

So sayonara Afternoon Nap. As much as you will be missed, I am enjoying our new found freedom as a family without you around. We had a good run, but it's time to move on.

I am, however, looking forward to the arrival of your cousin "Sleeping In On the Weekends" at our house. Let me know when she gets into town because I could use some extra ZZZZZs.

For Lauren

About 5 months ago, Molly came home from school and told me that her friend Lauren was going to die.

Pretty heavy stuff coming from my six year old.

We found out quickly that Lauren was indeed diagnosed with a rather rare form of leukemia and without proper and immediate treatment would be facing death.

Fast forward to today. As I am writing this, Lauren is being prepped for her bone marrow surgery that will hopefully save her life. Her big sister (and 100% donor match) Hailey had her marrow harvested this morning. All that is left is the transplant this afternoon.

And I can't get them out of my mind.

Not a day went past this summer that I didn't think about Lauren and her sister and her parents. Not one day.

I'm not an outwardly religious person. I do not wear my beliefs on my sleeve for the world to see (although I probably should.) But my faith is strong and focused. I know what I believe and to whom I owe all that is good in my life. With that being said, I can't tell you how many hours I've spent questioning WHY WHY WHY would a God that I know is so good put this family through this pain?

And not just this particular family, but so many families. And at some point in time, probably all of us.

The pain of illness. The stress of want. The anguish of watching your child fight an incurable disease. What in the world is the point?

I've struggled so much watching Lauren's journey, and to be perfectly honest, it's been mostly out of guilt. I was filled with it as I watched my children playing on the beach knowing that Lauren was having her little body filled with toxins. Heavy with guilt as my children enjoyed all that summer had to offer while Lauren and her family called the hospital home. Guilt because the simple reality is, my child could have just as easily been the one stricken, and she wasn't. It was Lauren instead. And I don't know why.

Why did God choose Lauren and her family to bear this burden? Some would say that perhaps God wants them to need Him and use Him as their strength. Perhaps God has great plans for Lauren, and this illness had to be part of her journey. Maybe God is using Lauren and her family's struggles as a way to reach out to others who are also in need of Him. Or maybe the fact that bad things happen to good people is just a part of the human experience of which we are all a part.

I don't know why Lauren or so many other wonderful children (and adults) that I know have to face such hardships. I don't really think that it's our job to know, at least not while we are here. But I do believe that God wants us to trust in him to lead us where we need to go, whether that path is easy or hard or some of both.

I pray that this chapter of Lauren's journey ends here. I pray that whatever God's plan is for her that it includes a lot less hardship from here on out and that she leads a long and healthy life being a disciple for Him.

And I pray that Lauren and Molly will again get to spend countless hours of recess playing together on the swings, just as God intended.

The Deep South

My friend Nicola told me that this story was "blog-worthy," so here goes:

Yesterday, I walked in on Molly and Drew having a heated discussion. Molly was repeating the same word over and over and Drew could not figure out for the life of him what she was talking about.

The word was Sic-CANS with the emphasis on the CANS.

Molly was so frustrated with Drew. It reminded my of how our lives where when she was just starting to talk at 9 months and we couldn't understand a word she said. There were a lot of tears.

I joined the conversation as Molly finally had an epiphany. She said, "You know Daddy... hours, minutes, sic-CANS???!!!

Oh my goodness, she was trying to say SECONDS. And then it dawned on me. With a deep southern accent (like half the teachers at school have) the word seconds does in fact sound like sic-CANS.

Perhaps we need a vacation north??!!

When You Are the Mother of a Boy

Over the years, Molly has brought me many, many flowers from the playground. Glorious assortments of dandelions, clover, and even buttercups, lovingly plucked from the ground in the hopes of gaining my approval.

Yesterday, Brody emptied his pockets after a morning spent on the playground and presented me with these, a token of his love:

(At some point I am going to need to have a discussion about presenting a woman rocks as a gift. For any woman other than his mother, those rocks better come in a little velvet box and also double as an adornment.)

Officially Obsolete

I've already posted about my personal anxiety about Brody starting preschool, and to be perfectly honest, I've been just as scared for him.

To date, the longest Brody and I have ever been apart is 3 hours. Sad but true. So it comes as no surprise that I've been questioning how he's going to get along without me. How will he pull up his pants after using the potty? How will he open his yogurt container? Will his teacher use a calm voice with him since he is petrified of being yelled at? Will he follow directions? Can he walk in line??!! Will he remember that the spatula in the kitchen set is not a light saber and should not be used as a weapon??!!!??!!

We've been talking about how school is going to be and how I'm not allowed to come in and how he's going to have to do it "all by self." He assured me that he got it and he was going to be a big boy and not cry, but I wasn't entirely buying it.

This morning he was awake before I went in to get him up and happily got dressed and chatted away about going to school and playing on the playground. He told be he couldn't wait to eat lunch with all his "buddies" and he was excited to play with the kitchen set again. Even though he was clearly happy about heading to school, I still wasn't truly believing that there wasn't going to be a meltdown in our future.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I had mentally prepared myself for the worst.

Me: "Hey guys, I'm going to park the car and walk you both in."

Brody: "No walking in."

Me: "Brody, you have school today, we need to walk in."

Brody: "I don't want to walk in."

Great.

So I decided just to drop Molly off in the regular drop off line and then park and drag Brody kicking and screaming into the building.

I opened the door and Molly climbed out.

And so did Brody.

I was floored. And then it dawned on me. It wasn't that he didn't want to walk into school, he just didn't want to walk in with me!

I called to them as they walked away, "Wait for me at the door, I need to park the car!!!"

I parked quickly and raced to the building only to find that they were gone. Nowhere to be found. Then I spotted Molly all the way up the hall... without Brody. I called, "Where's your brother??!!"

"Oh," she said, "I dropped him off!"

I raced to Brody's classroom where his teacher was waiting by the door. She confirmed that Molly had indeed dropped him off and that he was happily in the room already playing.

In that moment I was completely torn... bust into the room to scoop him and give him a big hug goodbye or simply turn around and walk away.

I stood outside the door where he couldn't see me and poked my camera around the corner in order to take one last shot, confirming that he was indeed happily ensconced within. And without another word, I turned around and left my baby. No wave. No hug. No tears.

At pickup, I found him sitting happily talking with Molly and her friends.

This face says it all about how his first ever day of school went.

He is already talking about going back again tomorrow and I think he's going to be a little miffed when he finds out that he only gets to go twice a week. Hopefully each morning in our future will be just this easy and I will be able to continue my journey into complete obscurity.

Fashionista

I just realized I didn't post anything about Molly's first day of first grade and that is probably because it was just another day around here. No anxiety. No trepidation. Just joy about the prospect of a new fun school year. The most exciting part for Molly... the new clothes she gets to wear.

I wonder if there are "fashion design" courses in the elementary syllabus?

Bippy Vader

My Brody is officially a big boy.

Potty trained? Check.

Sleeps in a twin bed? Check.

Feeds himself? Check.

Goes to school? Check.

Sleeps without a pacifier?

CHECK!!!

Today Brody decided all on his own that he was ready to put his last bippy in a Build-a-Bear for all eternity. We couldn't be prouder of him... way to go Brody!

Changing of the Guard

It startled me the other day. The realization that a phase of my life is coming to an end.

For the past seven years I have been "on." All Mommy - All the Time. No vacation. Very little time to myself. The occasional Moms Night Outs or semiannual trips to the dentist aside, I have been a full time Mommy for about the past 60,000 hours of my life.

And now, starting next Wednesday, Brody is headed off to preschool and I am going to have 12 hours a week all to myself.

TWELVE HOURS. All. To. Myself.

I wish I knew how to feel. Part of me is giddy. Will I finally get that massage with the gift certificate that's been sitting in the kitchen for almost 4 years? Will I dawdle in the supermarket isles long enough to read the labels? Will I start some exciting home improvement project? Will I use the bathroom by myself?

And then, there's the other part. The part that can't stand the thought of being alone. For all these years, I've always had a hand to hold as I've walked the mall. There's always been someone to share my lunch with. I've never needed the sound of the TV to keep me company because there's always been plenty of chatter without it. I've never had to wonder what I was going to do each day, because the answer was always "Be Mommy."

And now, for 12 hours a week, I won't need to wear my mommy hat. I can take it off. I can just be Elaine for those few hours. And I'm actually a little scared that I don't quite remember who that girl is anymore. Maybe the old Elaine is gone forever and I'm going to need to figure out how to be a new Elaine.

And then there's the matter of friends. When you are a child, your friends are the kids who live in your neighborhood. And then they become the kids in your class. And by high school and college, you get to start choosing your friends and aren't as limited by whoever is close. Then you start working, and the people you labor with 8 hours a day become your friends. And then you become a stay-at-home mom and suddenly you become friends with these other women whom you have nothing in common with besides the fact that you are both covered in baby vomit and haven't showered in 6 days. And they are your lifeline. And you plan "playdates" with your 4 month olds that can only barely hold their heads up because YOU need to get out of the house before someone has a meltdown (and I'm not talking about the baby.)

And life is good. Very good.

Until everyone's kids grow up. They go to school. And they leave you alone for 12 hours a week with absolutely no excuse to have a playgroup anymore.

So if you see me wandering around, a little aimless, simultaneously smiling and crying, wearing a name tag that says "Hello My Name is Mommy Elaine" hopefully you'll understand. And maybe you'll invite me to a playdate.

Seventeen

Seventeen.

That's how many scars I have on my body. I never stopped to count them until the other day when Drew bet that he had more scars than I do.

I had seventeen. (He lost.)

Some are long and ugly. Some are small and barely noticeable. Some of them I've had for years. My most recent is only 5 months old. Some have great stories behind them. Some were gotten quite mundanely. I have scars from bringing life into the world and I have scars from the cancer that tried to take mine. There's a scar from where I was bitten by a dog and there are three scars from bailing off my bike - three separate times.

And to tell you the truth, I rarely even think about them. Sometimes I see them when I look in the mirror and I acknowledge that my canvas is flawed, but I really consider them to be more like badges I've earned from the life I've led. I know that I can be covered in scars and still be beautiful.

Which brings me to a website I came across yesterday called Operation Beautiful.

http://operationbeautiful.com/

Please take a few minutes of your day to read about their mission and what they do and how you can do it too with a simple post it note. The whole project started as a way for the writer to end her weight insecurities and help her end negative self talk about her body, but I think (as do many others) that it can be about so much more than weight. Everyone has something that bothers them about their appearance, and in a world so obsessed with how you look over who you are, the Operation Beautiful post-its are a wonderful little reminder to each of us that what really matters isn't on the outside.

I hung my very first (of hopefully many) Operation Beautiful post-it today. I'm not going to say where because that would ruin the fun. But if you are local and do happen to find it, know that what it says is true... YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!!!

We all are.

Just the way we are.

Scars and all.

Avon Calling

So, I'm getting old. And not just older. I've been doing that since the day I was born. But now I am officially getting OLD.

In just a few weeks I will round the bend away from 30 (good bye dear friend) and begin the journey to 40 (et tu, Brute?). Oh God.

In my head it's just a number. No big deal. But there are the wrinkles, and the creaking joints, and the practically colored minivan. It's really happening.

Not that I particularly mind getting old. The alternative of ceasing to exist is simply not an option... what with a daily to-do list a mile long. It's just the decision of how to go about this aging thing.

Do I embrace it or fight it like a ninja assassin?

It's been a constant internal struggle since the wee hours of my 30th birthday that I spent alone on the kitchen floor sobbing with a bottle of wine (and no glass.)

Part of me says "Bring on the laugh lines, the age spots, the failing eyesight! I can make those things look sexy!"

And then the other part of me reminds myself that I have trouble pulling off sexy without all those things. Seriously, have you seen me in heels?

I would love to think that I will be content with my aging body because my mind and spirit are becoming richer and I am truly more at peace with who I am than I ever was at 20. If you ask me, I will probably tell you I am happy and that aging isn't bothering me.

But if we see each other at Target perusing the "anti wrinkle" cream isle, it will be our little secret, right?

One Kid, Two Wheels

If anyone watches me with my daughter, they might assume I am the worst mother in the world. There is a lot of tough love between us, but I learned early on in our relationship that it's a tactic that works.

Whenever Molly decides for some arbitrary reason that she does not want to do something that I know she will love doing once she gives it a chance, she gets the tough love. Swimming, learning to read, joining Girl Scouts, and now riding her bike. (This is a truncated list.)

At one point, hysterically sobbing, she asked me how much longer she had to continue to ride the dreaded bike. My response was, "until you like it."

Well, she officially loves riding her bike - without the training wheels... sweet vindication!

Our Fifth Family Member

When Brody was born he was given a silky blue stuffed dog/blanket. It was either Aunt Kakie or Aunt Ethel who gave it to him, but no one can remember due to the sleep deprivation we were experiencing at that time.

Either way, it got put in a pile with the rest of the rattly, squeaky stuffed toys that he was given. About the time he learned that he was able to use his fingers to pick things up, I started giving him some of his stuffed toys to hold. However, like many children, he was completely disinterested in the actual toy and was only interested if there was some sort of silky tag. With each of them, he would scritch the silky tag between his fingers. It seemed to soothe him, but many of the toys were too big for him to carry around. I got him one of those "taggy" blankets, but his didn't like it for some reason. Then finally, I pulled out the blue dog and it was love at first sight.

Ruff (as he was named) quickly became a member of the family. Where ever we went and what ever we did, Ruff was with us. I immediately tried to find a second identical Ruff to have in case of emergencies (if you are a parent, you know what I am talking about) but was unable to find one that was EXACTLY the same. I did however, find a similar blue dog blanket, and because Brody was so young, he didn't know the difference.

Over the months, Brody became more and more attached to Ruff. He slept with it. Ate with it. Took it everywhere. If you've known Brody over the past 3 years, you are also acquainted with Ruff. Several times, he was misplaced and the "backup" Ruff was brought into play. It was sufficient, but he was always happy when the "real" Ruff was found. At about 18 months, Brody was able to distinguish between the two and realized there were in fact 2 Ruffs. Of course, then he wanted both. But, not surprisingly, the original Ruff remained the favorite.

At some point, Brody began to wear through the underneath part of the blanket that connected to the head. I tried repeatedly to sew up the hole that was getting larger and larger. Eventually, he wore it through so that he could stick his finger into Ruff's head. Then it was only a matter of time before he began to pull the stuffing out. It took several month of quietly laying in bed at night pulling out the stuffing bit by bit, but eventually Ruff became flat. Each morning, Brody would gather up the stuffing he had pulled out the night before and place it carefully into his "fuzz pile" in his room.

For the past several months, Ruff has been completely deflated, until this morning when Brody announced he wanted me to fix him. So, the two of us carefully took all the stuffing from the "fuzz pile" and placed it back through the small hole into Ruff's head. Pleased that he was no longer flat, I was instructed to sew him up. And after some minor surgery, I am pleased to report that Ruff is back to his old fighting weight.

Over the years, Ruff has been spilled on, eaten on, dropped in the mud, dropped in the potty, run over, used as a weapon, lost, found, ripped, stitched and loved until his stuffing all came out. I'm not quite sure how long Brody's love affair with Ruff will last, but I have a feeling I'll be holding on to it long after he decides he no longer needs it. And maybe one day, when he's grown with a child of his own, I'll make sure Ruff is ready if he's ever called into duty again.