For the people that made me.

I love my parents. I have never been one of those kids that's ashamed to hang out with my Mom and Dad. They were always the young, hip adults that everyone thought were cool. My house was the place to be when I was in high school. I even asked my Mom and Dad to chaperon the Senior trip. Now that I am older, my Mama is my best friend and my Daddy is still my hero. They are truly amazing people.

I would like to grow up to be just like my Mama. She is patient. She is kind. She is the epitome of a perfect Hostess. She always speaks kindly of others. Always. She gives people the benefit of the doubt, perhaps to a fault. She never assumes the worst and always sees the good in others. I am not exaggerating when I say, my Mom is probably the closest thing to Christlike I have seen on this Earth, next to my Dad.

I am a Daddy's girl. Even as a grown woman and a Mother, I try to make my Daddy proud. He is the strongest person I have ever met. Even if he is being tortured by physical or emotional pain, he works 120% all day, every day. He prays harder and more often than anyone else I know. He lives for Christ. He is the very picture of moral integrity. To your face or behind your back, my Dad is the exact same person. He says what he believes. He makes everyone laugh. He understands me.

I love my parents. I love how much they love other people. I love that they are honest, hardworking people that have taught their children to be the same way. I love that they love their kids and their grandkids. I love the way they have shown us all how to be Christ Followers.


I miss you, Mama and Daddy. I wish I could be there with you, to love you and support you through these difficult times. Until we can make it home; stay strong, stand up for yourselves and know that those that love you far outweigh those that don't, both in number and in IQ. ;)

Welcome to Motherhood

Welcome to Motherhood. Pull up a seat. We need to run through some preliminary red tape before we get started, so make yourself comfortable.

First of all, hand over your heart. It won't be located safely within your chest any longer but will walk about freely, with its own mind, own will and own opinion.

Hand over your body. Your size 2 jeans, your perfectly kept hair, your manicured nails and carefully put-together appearance. You will now be a food source, a warm place to sleep, a jungle gym, a trampoline, a snot rag, a boo boo healer, a horsey and a safe haven. Your child does not care how you look, just that you are there when they need you. That you love them more than you love yourself. And that you would give them your everything to see them succeed.

Now, hand over your confidence, your self-assuredness, your prior judgments and your all-knowing attitude. You will no longer know all the answers. You will now be plagued with anxiety, worry and guilt. You will sit up at night and wonder how to handle tantrums, fevers, nightmares, anger and attitude. You will second guess yourself, compare yourself and hate yourself for losing it when you know your child deserves so much more. You will look at other Mothers and no longer wonder why they raise their children the way they do, but how they could seem to have it so together when you are struggling just to get showered before 2pm.

Hand over your prideful posture, your self-confident stance. For not only the next 18 years, but the rest of your life, you will know what your knees are for. That they were made as a vessel for you to get closer to the ground, to learn what self-sacrifice really means. That they were created that you may better hear the whispers of your toddler, that you would be the perfect place to run to when your child is scared or hurting, and that you would have a place to weep openly, to cry out to the Lord for the wisdom that you know, full well, is not within you as a mere woman.

Next, let's have your money, your belongings, your treasures. That priceless antique will get knocked off the shelf and broken, those clothes that used to flatter your figure will never fit the same way again and that paycheck will never stretch far enough to get you all that you desire for yourself. As these things slip away, its odd how you never really notice. Your treasure is sleeping in your arms now, anyway.

Hand over your rock-hard exterior, your rational thoughts and your even emotions. Starting today you will get choked up at the broken dandelion picked by rough hands as the perfect gift, you will weep silently through immunizations and blood draws, you will cry openly alone at night, thinking of the ways you could have been a better Mommy throughout the day.

Now, give up your joy. Your fondest memories. For these things will fade away, distant remnants of a happiness that far outshines them now. The first belly laugh out of your child's mouth will turn your world upside down, change your opinion of what it means to be elated. Never before was there a feeling as blissful as that of your toddler's small hand tucked tightly inside your's.

Finally, hand over your love. Your love for yourself. Your love for others. You have never felt love like this. This fierce, protective, obsessive, all-forgiving, patient, irrational, all-consuming, forever LOVE. The type of love that steals your breath, that shocks you with intensity, that reflects distantly what our Father must only feel for us. Your insides will ache when you are away from your child. You will feel physical pain when they are hurting. You will feel torn apart when they are ill. You will feel your heart leap when they look into your eyes, when they say your name, when they reach out for you, when they tell you how much they love you. You will be absolutely, irrevocably be changed from this moment on. Forever.



Well, we are finished here. You're as prepared as you will ever be, which is completely and totally unprepared. Welcome to Motherhood, don't worry, you will fail completely everyday. But your victory will be in the fact that, even when you are clueless, you are raising someone that will one day be a much better person than you.

It's because I'm awkward, isn't it?

Before you read on let me warn you, there is embarrassing and personal information that may or may not (but mostly just may) be somewhat sexually suggestive. This information will leave you with side aches do to laughter if you have a good sense of humor or will leave you judging me and shaking your head if you do not. For those of you with the latter, stop reading now.

I am a fairly awkward person. I can admit it. I cannot blame it all on my sheltered upbringing that left me slightly naive to sexual innuendo, some of it is just that I often say things that are well, awkward. Let's just say, blunt honesty, dry humor and extreme sarcasm with a pinch of cynicism can mix in ways that leave some people less amused than others. While I try to surround myself only with people who are as amused as I am with my personality and who can look at my social awkwardness and smile endearingly, this does not protect me when I am unleashed on the unsuspecting public. The poor unsuspecting public like the guys at Subway tonight.

Earlier tonight my daughter and I decided to go out for dinner at the local Subway. When we got there it was pretty quiet. Only the two employees, Baby Girl and I were in the shop. The employees were both young Hispanic guys, I'd say maybe 18 and 20 if I had to guess. I read over the menu and decided to just go with soup, maybe I could convince Baby Girl to taste it before she begged me for Ritz crackers for dinner...I asked the older of the two guys behind the counter if I could get a bowl of soup, completely unaware that this would lead to one of those OMG I am SO AWKWARD!!! moments. This is the conversation that followed:

Me: "Hey, can I get a bowl of soup?"
Subway Guy #1: "Sorry, we ran out of soup. We have meatballs, though."
Me: "Oh, ok. How big are your meatballs?"

At this point the guy behind the counter kind of pursed his lips and paused. I, of course, still had no idea what I had said to make him look at me like that, so I waited...

Subway Guy #1: "Um, I'd say they are average sized."

This is when Subway Guy #2 starts to snicker behind the cash register. Upon hearing the snickers, I realized my mistaken wording. I can feel my face getting red but I don't quite have any words to correct my mistake. So, again, I look at him sheepishly and wait for him to continue.

Subway Guy #1: "I can show them to you, if you want."

At this point I definitely have no response. So, I stare at him without the slightest hint that I have heard him speak or that I do, indeed, understand English (which he spoke surprisingly clearly). It is around this time that Subway Guy #2 quietly excuses himself to the back room where I can hear him laughing openly.

Subway Guy #1: *Holding up spoon containing 2 averaged sized meatballs* "See?"
Me: *More awkward staring*
Subway Guy #1: "Ok...Is 2 enough, or would you like 4?"
Me: "They're for my daughter...so 2 is fine."

Ah, my Mother would be so proud. Scratch the Subway down the street off of my already limited list of places to eat at in the great city of Clovis. I feel I can really only blame myself and the adolescent immaturity of fast food workers for that one. Or maybe I can't even blame them. It's because I'm awkward, isn't it?

No, I haven't lost my mind. I just have a toddler.

Its like my mantra these days. Please, random lady in the grocery store, don't mind me as I mutter to myself nonsensically in the cereal aisle. I'm just trying to get my daughter and myself through Walmart in one piece.

Baby Girl has officially hit the Great Age of the Gigantic Tantrum. I often wonder when exactly we will ever be able to go out in public again. The last few times have been disasters of epic proportion. From leaving restaurants covered in milk and macaroni to dragging my flailing toddler down the grocery aisle by her arm, she is in rare form these days. I know, I know, its just a phase, this too shall pass and whatever other completely useless cliches you have for me. I get it. Its just that, sometimes I'd like to not have to apologize to the mother of the sweet, innocent, non-violent toddler that my child just pummeled in the McDonald's play place.

Don't get me wrong. She isn't always acting out. In fact, sometimes she is the most ridiculously cute thing you have ever seen. No exaggeration. You would call your own child just average after one look at this girl's knock out baby blues. Today she was heart melting, trying to carry some water across the yard in her little cupped hand so she could give the puppy a drink. Truly priceless. She is super cute a lot of the time and mostly just acts out when she is around other children. It must be the only child thing. Or perhaps just the 18 month old thing. Most likely a combination of the two. It does, however, often leave me acting in ways that make me look as if I have gone completely insane.

Just this morning I was calmly drinking my coffee and reading when I glanced down at my shirt and saw what can only be described as, well, I can't even describe it. I just immediately jumped off of the couch and began stripping. No use examining whatever toddler goo that was too closely. No keeping it on my body any longer than absolutely necessary. Poo, boogers, some other ungodly form of toddler ooze, it was on me and it had to go. Looking behind me I realized that, yes, the window shades were open and, yes, that was my neighbor standing across the street staring at me slack jawed. Hi there, old lady from across the street, no, I haven't lost my mind. I just have a toddler.

A few minutes later and after selecting a new soon-to-be-boogered t shirt, I picked up some old mail and carefully studied the contents of my trash can before I threw it in. I see only garbage, much to my relief. No, I haven't lost my mind. I just have a toddler. You have no idea how many non-trash items I have saved from the dump in the last few weeks. Books. Toys. Clothes. Cups. The Hub's toothbrush. (Actually, I just left that one there and got him a fresh one.) Its so cute and a little bit helpful when you can teach your kids to throw away their own dirty diapers, so cute until you realize that they are now throwing away everything within reach and you can't find your keys.

Welcome to my life. Please don't take my shoe laces from me. I swear, I'm not crazy.

I feel so exhausty!

That's right. I said it. Exhausty. Not like a car. Like a Mommy who has either been taking care of sick people in her house or been sick herself for the past 3 weeks! Seriously.

First Baby Girl had an ear infection, then we all got Hand, Foot and Mouth. (Now that's a party! You haven't really lived until your daughter has oozing blisters all over her body and canker sores that are each over an inch wide in her mouth. Awesome.) Next, Baby Girl had surgery to have tubes put in her ears, a great time, spectacular really. Later that week Mommy and baby puked their guts out for a few days. And then, to round it all off, The Hubs brought home a gnarly (Yup, I'm pulling out the big slang guns for this bad boy) head cold that he so kindly passed to me. It has nearly devastated my existence.

Let me just say, if we do not have a break from all of this CRAP fairly soon-ish, I am going to lose it! I don't really know what "it" is or if I ever really had "it," but I can guarantee you, "it" will be so gone.

Have I mentioned that we drive 109 miles ONE WAY to take Baby Girl to her Dr appts? Or that last week we took her to the regular Dr twice, the emergency room once and then back to the hospital 4 days later for surgery??? No? Oh, well we did. Do the math. Its something like 872 miles. And that's just miles heading from this little podunk town to the slightly bigger (but much better) town down the highway. It doesn't count the much needed driving around the city (aka: civilization) once we are there. Little things like stopping at Target and hitting up Starbucks since we don't have those where we live. Told you our town was small.

Now, I don't want to sound too complainy. (Yup, went there too.) After all, there are a few Dr's here in town we could take her to. But, we think medical care should not be something you have to wait on for hours or even days, which is often the case with Dr's here in Podunkville. I just wish that instead of having to drive that far, Baby Girl would be healthy and happy! Its my prayer and I'm clinging to it now as I lay her down for bed.



Oh look, she has a fever. Excellent. Sigh


I should have called my blog "The Exhausty Life of Mommy."

Love.

I am unashamedly sappy at times, I'll admit it gladly. But tonight I am struck with the notion that this is it. This is what life's all about. Love. Loving your husband. Laughing with him. Adoring this precious little person that the Lord has entrusted you with. Living with the knowledge that you are so so blessed to have people around you that make life, well, good. Some spend years searching for the "meaning of life" when to me it is beyond simple. Love. Love the Lord Jesus Christ. Love your family. And love those around you. 

This is living.

Love is hearing your daughter's squeals of laughter, high pitched and pure, as your husband tickles her and chases her around the house.

I could never have hoped for a more patient and loving father for my child. And I truly believe that this little person we are raising is, literally, the most beautiful creature to have ever graced the Earth. (I'm not biased or anything. I swear.)

Love is when your baby girl says, "Mommmeee!" before any other word in the morning.

How ironic it is that I often hold my breath in anticipation of the sound of my name in the morning. I am anxious to see her after 10 hours without her.

Love is picking up your sleeping girl after a trying day and holding her while she sleeps.

There is nothing more healing for the heart of a Mommy than holding your sleeping child. No amount of "me time" (though, I'll admit "me time" is still VERY necessary once in a while) could do as much good as 5 minutes of holding this precious girl while she is still. While she is at peace; quiet and precious.

Love is looking at your husband and still seeing the sweet 14 year old boy you fell for.

Today I was struck, once again, with how deeply this man loves our baby girl and me. I truly love him more today than I did the day I married him (I know it's cliche, but cliche is good when its the truth.)

I love my little family. They are everything good and beautiful. 

Ok, enough with the sap. My next blog will be full of cynicism and sarcasm once again. Promise.

Things You Should Never Have to Say.

Having a toddler, I often find myself in situations where I am saying things that would never normally come out of my mouth. Sometimes I have to stop and just take a moment to appreciate all the wonderful Mommy-isms that I yell out at any given moment. Here are a few of them:

"We don't eat things we find on the sidewalk."
"Please, stop coloring on the furniture/floor/walls/dogs."
"Let's not lick the floor."
"We don't put our feet on the table."
"Please, stop screaming at the nice waitress."
"We don't kick Daddy in the face."
"Can we not squish crackers into the couch?"
"I don't think Daddy wants you to do that with his toothbrush."
"It's not nice to hit our friends in the face with hot wheels."
"Good job for putting on your shoes! Now, can we put them on your feet instead?"
"We don't rub our face on the hospital waiting room floor."
"Where did you get gum and who pre-chewed it for you?"
"It's not nice to scream in our friends' faces."
"Let's not poo in the bathtub."
"We don't put our fingers in the puppy's nose."
"Please, don't throw things at Mommy."
"What is that in your mouth?"
"Look at my face, we don't stand on the puppy's head."
"You can't just eat macaroni and crayons for dinner."
"If you jump on my couch one more time I will fling you off it."
"Please, take Mommy's panties off of your head."
"We have to wear clothes when we go into public."
"Put the poop down!"
"Don't put your hands in there."
"Get your finger out of it!"
"Don't step in it either!"
"The puppies' water dish is not a swimming pool."
"Bananas belong in our mouth, not between our toes."
"Please, stop pushing over Mommy's laundry."
"Please, put the laundry down."
"No, let's not step on the laundry either, ok?"
"Oh, does that tantrum mean it's naptime???"
"Mommy doesn't want a kiss until you let her wipe your nose."
"I know you can hear me."
"Mommy loves you, why do you want her to go crazy?"

You all know that if I were talking to an adult that person would either be mentally handicapped or a gigantic jerk. However, she is only 1, and she is just cute enough to make it all worth while. :)

I have a confession to make.

I have to confess, the term "Domestic Goddess" is deceiving. Though I'd like to think I make it all look easy; managing a house, cooking, cleaning, taking care of a 1 year old, 2 dogs and a husband, there are times that I can admit I fail. Epically.

Sometimes this Goddess comes frighteningly close to losing it. There are times, often more than once in a day, that I look around and thing Mommy needs a vacation. Like tonight, it had been a great day. Baby Girl took a nice long nap, I cleaned the floors and did some laundry and even had time to lay down for a bit myself. Hubs was at work, Mommy was feeding, bathing and cleaning up after Baby Girl and the dogs were lazing about the living room like most evenings. I had just taken Baby Girl out of the bathtub, diapered her and set her on the carpet to play. As I went to the kitchen to get her a cup I heard her frantic cry, "Mommeeee! Mommmeeee! Mommmeeeee!!!" I came back into the tidy room I had just left to see that it had been transformed in an instant to the Room of Horror. Neon green diarrhea, the likes of which were eerily reminiscent to a scene from The Exorcist, covered her hands, feet, legs and a large portion of my 5x7' rug. (On a side note, leak guard??? Ok, Pampers, can we be a little more honest? How about, our diapers sometimes hold in all the pee!) She is holding her arms out to me like she wants me to pick her up?!? I think to myself No Way!!! I am NOT touching you! Who is going to clean this up??? Then it occurs to me, I AM Mommy! There's no one here to do this but me!!!

Sighing, I grip her by the arms and run back to the bathtub while she screams "Nooooo! Mommy!!!" (The only two words that she says with perfect clarity.) As I'm running and she is dripping down the hall I look over my shoulder to see my black lab LICKING THE CARPET where my daughter has JUST CRAPPED! I should have expected it. It shouldn't have even phased me. But there I stood in momentary shock as I witnessed what had to be one of the most disturbing sights of my life. I can almost hear my sister saying, "This is why I hate animals!" Grabbing the nearest object (a tube of toothpaste) I whip it down the hall at the unsuspecting animal screaming, "BIMMER!!! NO!!!" He looks up at me with clueless eyes as poo flings from his mouth and across my floor, the floor that I had JUST cleaned!

It was at this moment I thought to myself "Domestic Goddess" is such a deceptive term. More like "Domestic Asylum Patient" or "That Woman We Once Knew That Went Crazy." You see, Dear Readers, I am not a Domestic Goddess in any real sense of the word. I am, however, entitled to call myself whatever the poo I want. This is, after all, my blog. And you all know that you should never argue with the woman who just scrubbed diarrhea out of her carpet, and then dog vomit out of it 10 minutes later...