Pride

The sense of pride that surfaces when a job is well done, a goal met, or a dream realized is a high that is hard to beat.

I never thought I would be able to top the immense pride I felt upon finally making the cheerleading squad, acing my calculus exam, and making it through my first year of teaching.

But I was wrong.

11+ inches off to send to Locks of Love. She's been growing it for 3 years, since the day after the last time she donated her hair to Locks of Love.

She is generous, kind, sweet, thoughtful, and loving. She just can't help it... it's who she is. And I'm so proud to be her Mama.

When Good Bargains Go Bad

I've written before of my love of resale shops. I have no idea what I'll ever do if we move back to Illinois. There is this very special store I frequent called Texas Thrift shop. The awesome deals are worth the strange stank that I must endure while perusing the racks. Plus, I get a chuckle every time I shop there and pause to take in exactly where I'm shopping: beneath my feet is an elevated wood-parquet floor. All around me are floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The entire place has a nightclub feel to it. This place is the song "Let's Get Physical" personified. Yes, it used to be an aerobics studio.

Bitchin!

Anyway, on a recent trip to buy some more clothes for my still-fat post-baby body, I saw some of the options for sale and I wondered, "really? Someone sorted all the donated clothes and actually put this gem on a hangar for sale?" Let me show you a few of my awesome finds:

This one is for your "Red Hat Society" meetings. Can you imagine the luck... finding one of THESE in a resale shop and not having to make your own? Dude, you just saved yourself a trip to Hobby Lobby for rick-rack and puffy fabric paint!


The fabric of these shorts look suspiciously like they used to be curtains. Maria Von Trapp eat your heart out!!!


This shirt just cracks me up on so many levels. 'Nuff said.


This purdy dress if fer goin' out night.



Some folks might not understand why I love to shop at resale shops. It's not that I have a penchant for wearing clothes that other people's sweaty armpits have sweated in. (Wait, is the past tense of sweat... sweat? or sweated? or swite? who cares.) No, it's just that I love to get a good deal. And I guess it's my one way to keep the earth green since I kinda suck at recycling. And, this way, I don't feel so bad when I buy a bunch of clothes that I end up hating in a few months. Plus, these clothes have been road-tested so I don't have to wonder if they're going to shrink in the wash! Either they won't or they already have!!

But, I have to laugh when people talk about frugal living. I don't think that I live frugally, but I guess it's just because this is the way I've always lived and so it's just normal to me. When I listen to financial gurus talk about saving money, I'm always anxious to hear something new. They give advice like, "Get rid of your cell phone" and "get rid of cable tv" and "bring your own lunch to work instead of eating out". Check, Check, and Check. Got something else? "Buy an older car to eliminate a car payment" and "turn your thermostat up a few degrees in the summer" and "buy things generic". Dude, we already DO all these things. I'm still waiting for something new. Two summers ago I hung up a laundry line in the backyard to keep the electricity bill down. That is one thing I haven't really kept up with. Our new laundry machine is HA-YUGE, so just one load of laundry fills two laundry lines. By the time I wash a second load, the first one isn't dry yet. It isn't time effective. And, with 7 people dirtying laundry around here, time is a commodity.

So, if you have some nuggets of wisdom to impart to this bargain shopper, I'm all ears. Or, I guess, all eyes since I'll be reading your response. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go meet up with my bowling team...

iheartfaces challenge: smile

The biggest sweetheart I know, hands down.

(She's looking down at me from a slide at the park)

Check out iheartfaces for all the other awesome entries this week!

Body Issues? Check.

*sigh*

It finally happened. I bought a piece of clothing that was above the "regular size" threshold. I found a t-shirt at Target that I really loved, but even the XL just seemed to hug my muffin top a bit too tightly. So, I went to the "WOMEN'S" department and found that Merona not only makes regular size Misses clothes, but also makes the exact same items in increasing sizes.

This is so depressing for me. Keep in mind that I'm just venting. It's not like I'm doing one single solitary thing about changing my situation about my weight except to think about it. And, last time I checked, thinking doesn't burn too many calories.

Further adding to my woes, I went to the attic to get my summer clothes down. Everything is tight. Everything needs about one more size to make it fit better.

*sigh, sigh sigh*

I have a million good excuses: My baby is only 5 months old! I'm still exclusively breastfeeding! (And I say "exclusively" not to be proud or wear as a badge of honor, but rather to solidify my disappointment that the baby refuses to take a bottle. So, I'm her sole source of nourishment. Yeah me.) I have 5 kids! I'm 38 years old and have the metabolism to prove it! Blah Blah Blah. Good excuses but just that... excuses.

I am not huge, but I'm huge for me. Does that make any sense? Like, if someone who was on The Biggest Loser weighed what I do, they might be doing the happy dance. But for me, all I know is that I look at photos of myself last year - way back when I thought my body was completely wrecked THEN! - and I wish I was that big again. Some days I look at photos from 3 years ago, before I had Sally, and I think, GAH! I haven't worn that t-shirt in ages. I can't believe I pulled it off then. If only I could get THAT body back.

Okay, so I'm going to go weigh myself now to find out how much I weigh. Here I go. I'm going to leave the laptop... now.

175.

hmm. that's a high number for me. When I got married, I weighed 150. When I got pregnant with #5, Violet, I weighed 162. So, I guess 13 more pounds to go isn't that bad. I can probably do it. I've never been good with diets, though. When I lost the weight after Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown, I used the "Pretzel diet" - which is a creation of my own doing. Basically, 1) take a vitamin daily; 2) eat hot pretzels and V-8 juice for breakfast and lunch; 3) eat a lean & healthy & regular-portion-sized dinner; and 4) drink lots of water inbetween. I know, kinda a weird diet but I figured I was getting lots of veggies with the V-8 and the pretzels kept me full.

Now I just have no energy to do anything, including vacuum or fold laundry, let alone get my butt off the couch and pry the Hershey's Kisses out of my sweaty hand.

I waffle back and forth between "I hate my body. I want it to look different." and "I have a beautiful inside. That's what matters. I'm beautiful because my husband tells me so, who cares about the other 5.5 billion people on the planet?" I waffle between "I know tons of people who have lost weight and they look great!" and "Even if I lost weight, I'd still have the stretch marks and saggy skin. I'm almost 40. Who am I kidding?"

I'm not good at committing to hard work. It's not exactly my strong suit. So, my choices are: lose weight and feel better and keep the clothes I have, or just keep doing what I'm doing and buy more clothes! The second option does seem appealing...

Is My Gun Your Business?

I just finished reading this post about having guns in the home where young children live and play.

I can't speak for everyone else. I can only speak for myself. Well, really, I guess I'm speaking for Texan Papa since he is the gun-owner in our house.

We have guns. Mainly we just have shotguns and rifles for hunting (and more, really just for collecting.) We store the guns in a gun locker, unloaded. The ammo is in a completely different place than the guns (not, say, on an adjacent shelf. It's in another room, I think.)

I don't mind the guns being here. Me, I'd never shoot anyone or anything. I'd much sooner pick up a knife or baseball bat to defend myself. But Texan Papa loves to hunt and loves even more to protect his family.

So, I'm wondering, when kids come over, should I let their parents know about all this? Should I ask the little girl from down the street, "Oh honey, did your mom say it was okay to come over? She knows about OUR GUNS, right??" Or, should I just keep my mouth shut? This is the coward's way out, but I'd really love to not force the issue with a kid.

What does your gut tell you?

Out

When I was in 9th grade, I sat in front of Matt McCarthy in English class. He had freckles and I thought he was cute. I flirted with him the only way I knew how, in my innocent freshman-year way. I passed him a note and, maybe in an attempt to seem more grown up, I used the f-word.

BIG mistake. HUGE. Especially in Miss Herrington's class.

Of course she caught me passing a note. And, of course she sent it home. Thank goodness I was able to intercept the note by checking the mail every. single. day. until it came.

So, you can imagine the level of suckitude I faced when I came home from school one day to find out that Miss Herrington had called my mom, just to make sure she got the note that was mailed home. And, of course my mother had no idea what she was talking about. Miss Herrington was nice enough to convey the contents of the note to my mother. How sweet of her.

So, 1) passed a note in class (low on the possibility-of-punishment-by-parents scale); 2) said the f-word in a note (much higher on the scale); and 3) stole note out of mail and lied about it to my family (off the scale altogether). Yeah, I was grounded for a long time freshman year.

One thing I learned from this little episode (because, really, what good is it to get caught in misbehavior if you can't learn something from it?) is this: don't EVER put something down in writing that you would ever be ashamed for your mother to read.

Still a principle to live by today. Still something I tell my children. Still something I practice.

Or maybe not.

I've always enjoyed writing my thoughts out on my blog. Pretty much, I just say it like I feel it. All bets are off. But, of course, this was always done with the understanding that the people who were reading my blog were just cyber-people, out there in the blogosphere somewhere, who I had no relationship with and to whom I had no emotional obligations. And then, through a myriad of clicks and hyperlinks and the magic of the internet, I found out that my mother-in-law has read my blog. Specifically, I found out that she read this post.

Gulp.

I don't know if she still reads it. If she does,

hi Pat.

I feel a little bit sick to my stomach. I would never want to hurt this kind, gentle, unassuming woman. She has been a really fantastic mother-in-law to me during my whole marriage. I don't have any complaints. Yet, there were times I've written some harshly-worded things about her on here. I re-read some of those, and I had to really re-examine what I'd written, why I'd written it, and if I really meant what I said. And the truth is, I still agree with what I feel. But, here's the rub:

I would be ashamed for her to read it. I didn't have the nerve to say it to her face, so I just typed it out on my not-so-anonymous blog. And, as my mother told me, I should never write anything down that I'd be ashamed for her to read.

My initial gut reaction: THE END. Close down shop. No more blog. No more words. No more hurt feelings. Never mention it to her, like I'd never found out that she knows about my blog. She's never mentioned it to me so maybe that's all fine and good for her too. So... great. There we have it. Don't ask, don't tell.

But I thought about it, and I realized that what I type here is not going to go on Fox News. It doesn't have to be fair and balanced. These thoughts are MY thoughts. They aren't a non-biased outsider's account of someone else's life. This is me, and my view of what's happening in my life, and how I feel about things. Of course my version of any story is going to be slanted - from MY point of view. And now, all of a sudden, I am feeling exactly the way I never wanted to feel: like I'm going to start censoring my words in light of who might be reading them.

Ahh, censorship. It's not such a nasty word. It can be okay. Kinda like the little angel and devil sitting on opposite shoulders, keeping our behavior in check. I guess I don't have to run at the mouth with complaints and ugliness. At the same time, I don't have to sugar coat my posts to the point that I feel sunshine coming out of my butthole. (see, normally I'd say a$$hole but already I'm switching gears to a cleaner mouth. I must be chewing Orbit gum or something.) Maybe it's okay to know that someone with whom I have an emotional investment will be reading my blog. I guess it's good to know that I'm not working without a net. 'Cause the net is what catches you when you fall, right?

Now, I just pray that my mom doesn't find her way here. But, I think I'm pretty safe. Still, maybe I should go through my old posts one more time...

Perfect Day for a Picnic

Sweet Relief

What does a tired mom of 5 need more than anything else in the world?

Maybe you'd say Mary Poppins. Maybe you'd say a stiff drink. Maybe you'd say some effective birth control.

But, no. The answer is... SPAAHHHH.

Yes, that's right, a spa day. And Holly from June Cleaver Nirvana delivered. She was approached by the folks at Scrubbing Bubbles to have an event for bloggers in the DFW area. So she shot out an invitation to all the lovely ladies she knows in our town and PRESTO my stress level dropped a few notches. The theme was all about minimizing morning madness with the Scrubbing Bubbles product, but the event was really just an opportunity for us ladies to relax and blow off some steam. Oh, and get treated to mani/pedi's or massages or facials. (I opted for the latter two).

Thank you. Thank you. THANK YOU HOLLY.

Saturday morning, Four Seasons Resort and Spa. That's where the magic happens. You would not believe the opulence of this place. Unless, of course, you've been a guest at the Four Seasons. And, as I was wandering through the lobby and salon and spa of this beautiful place, I wondered exactly how much my treatments would run. I concluded that if I had to ask, then I surely couldn't afford it.

We gathered at 9am, checked in, and we were whisked off to the luxurious dressing rooms where we were outfitted in supersoft white robes and Four Seasons slippers. We were welcome to wait for our treatments while relaxing by the waterfall, or we could munch on complimentary snacks including fresh fruit, bagels & cheese, coffee, and bottled water. (Sadly there was no diet Coke, but my liver thanked me.) All the ladies, myself included, truly enjoyed chatting with one another, getting to know each other better, and discussing all things blog.

As we left we were given a basket with goodies in it, just fun stuff like a notepad, a little digital clock, a mug, and a thumb-drive. We also got a complimentary bottle of the newest Scrubbing Bubbles product. I asked the lovely gals from the ad agency, were they going to give a presentation about Scrubbing Bubbles? Did we need to review the product for our blog? Did we need to write about it? Their answer: Nope, not unless you want to. No presentation. Just a fun PR event for busy mommy-bloggers in the DFW area.

SAH-WEET! The delivery was so low-pressure I was almost wondering if it was too good to be true.

As I left the Four Seasons, I walked out to the self-park lot because - although the valet parking was complimentary - there was no way in hell I'd be letting another human into my minivan on THAT day. Let's just say that the level of unnecessary school papers, items to be dropped at Goodwill, and leftover fast-food containers was at an all-time HIGH. But to me it was a chariot. Even though it kinda snapped me back into the reality of my 5-child, carpet-stained, stinky-laundry world, for a few hours I was able to pretend that I was just having my regular weekly spa treatments with my fellow ladies from "the club".

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I smell a poopy diaper that is way overdue for some attention...

Holly and I relax in front of the waterfall/lounging area

The Four Seasons bathrooms. Aren't they just disgusting? Reminds me of a Mobil station...

MMM yummy food, made all the more yummier because I DIDN'T HAVE TO PREPARE IT!



Okay, I am hoping that I can get everybody's names on here correctly. Starting in back, going left to right...

Amy from Living Locurto and IHeartFaces
Mariah from Humphries Nation
Lynley from Save The Phillips Family
Rebecca from Moms Out Loud DFW
Candace from MamaMia
Angela - she's Candace's sister
Holly from June Cleaver Nirvana
Gretchen from Who Put Me In Charge Of These People???
Shauna from Blah Blah Blog

Now, in the front:

Rachel from Quirky Momma
Laurie from Tip Junkie
Bianca from Becoming Bianca
Cynthia from Oh So Cynthia
Kim from Savor The Days

not pictured: Shannon from Milk and Cuddles; Lea Ann from Mommy's Wish List

Absent-Minded

Heeyyyyy Y'all.

I've been noticably absent for a few days. Or, maybe, not-so-noticably. Here's what I've been doing:

1) cursing under my breath while raking and watering and weed-n-feeding the lawn. And pruning trees. And pulling weeds. And using these things to aerate our lawn:

You wear them on your feet (with shoes, of course) and stomp around on your lawn to punch holes in the dirt. I think I'm just humoring myself into believing it will help.

2) Having a birthday party for Charlie Brown. I made a cake that, while tasting yummy, completely flopped. It was a 2-layer cake, and after frosting it, the top layer slid off the bottom later and the frosting all dripped off the sides. It looked like a frosting avalanche. Not pretty. But very tasty. The second wave of birthday desserts was a recipe from Cooks Illustrated. They were supposed to have some ganache filling in the middle with a meringuey light chocolate frosting. (You know where this is going...) Ganache center fell to the bottom and right out the bottom of the cupcake. Meringue-ey light chocolate frosting was more like whipped chocolate air. And it wasn't very sweet. I must have a very unsophisticated palate.

3) Laundry. Have I mentioned that there are 7 people in my house? And I have 2 children who still wet themselves and one baby who poops on clothes on a regular basis? Yeah, laundry is a very tiring, very unrewarding chore. And, a chore from which I can NEVER take a vacation, or I will RUE THE DAY I have to stare down the mountain of stinky towels.

4) Working on our Church Youth Group's Trivia Night! This is a job I actually like, but it's taking me some time. Bills are coming in and I've been less than generous with the cha-ching tithing for our church, so I feel it's my duty to give of my time & talents, while the treasure is kinda sparse. So, do you know which book of the bible is the longest (with the most number of words)? Do you know when the Dallas Cowboys joined the NFL? Do you know what company this logo represents:

If you do, you should come to our Trivia Night! That is, if you live in the DFW area. I mean, it's fun but I wouldn't buy a plane ticket to come or anything.

Okay, so, hopefully I'll be back soon when I can peel my hands away from a Diet Coke long enough to stay awake!

BTW, the answers are Jeremiah, 1960, and Diners Club International. I hope you didn't cheat by googling it!

**Edited to add: I am checking on the Jeremiah thing. That's the word I got from my study bible but I'm not sure. Psalms seems like the logical answer, but the verses are written in prose and therefore not paragraph form. I think Jeremiah has a higher word-count. I'll let ya know.

Playing the Poop Card

Men. Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em.

Also, Can't keep 'em out of the bathroom when nature calls.

Who knows why women think of their bathroom habits as a time-sensitive matter. Maybe it's because we know our time is valuable, and we don't want to flush our precious minutes down the toilet. Maybe it's just part of a mother's job to be efficient at every task, never sitting down on the job, including when moving our bowels. Maybe it's because we know that the longer we hang out in the bathroom, the more things we'll notice that need to be cleaned.

Maybe it's just that guys like to have an excuse to lock themselves away and not be bothered.

All I know, is that Texan Papa has taught young Charlie Brown well. Upon coming home from work and setting down his work bag, Texan Papa will take a minute to look at the mail, hug the kids, and get a quick snack. But as SOON as I utter the words, "Here, can you take the baby for a few minutes? I'm trying to get dinner finished up." he tells me "Oh, sorry! I have to use the bathroom." Of course I understand. So I'll ask, "How long will you be?" and his patent answer: "As long as I need. I have to do some PAPERWORK." Get it? Paper? As in... TOILET PAPER. That's his little code word for "Don't come in the bathroom for 15-20 minutes after I've turned on the fan." I wonder why he can't just lay the baby on the carpet in there while he's sitting down. I wonder why he can't take the bouncy seat in there. But apparently, doing his business is very important work and takes lots of uninterrupted concentration.

Much like his father, Charlie Brown escapes work by playing the poop card. As soon as dinner is finished and we need to get going on washing the dishes, Charlie Brown says, "Uh, mom, I need to USE. THE. BATHROOM." then he leans over and puts the edge of his palm up to his cheek and whispers to me, "You know, to do... number 2..." Like he has to tell me. Like I don't already know. Like it's not the exact same thing he pulls every single night. This is the same crap he tries to pull every week at church during the sermon.

And what am I supposed to say? "CLENCH YOUR CHEEKS AND THINK OF A CORK"? I mean, I don't want to be the cause of a log jam, but at the same time I wonder how much of these shenanigans are simply to escape participating in less-than-exciting activities. In other words, listening to the sermon is as boring as s**t.

I've noticed, Charlie Brown never needs to take a poop break during his video game time. Same goes for Texan Papa while he's watching a Netflix movie.

Things that make ya go Hmmm....

Making Progress

I don't want anyone to ever think that I'm not a woman of action. Problem? Find a solution. Something broken? Fix it. Weight to lose? Well, maybe I'll just put that one off for now...


But, anyway, I have gotten a few things sorted out, like...


I laid down the law with Texan Papa about the lawn. Okay, now I sound like I'm all rough and tough and I wear the pants in the family. Really, we share the pants. But I did tell him, "I am going to call Scotts to come for the lawn if you aren't going to help me." The expected argument followed... how are we going to afford this? Did you ever ask me to help you? When did you think I've had time in the past 3 weeks anyway? (Answers: I don't know how we'll afford this. No, I never asked but you should have that intrinsic notion to help me. Yes, I know you've been working on getting your Jeep running but not 18 hours of every day.) I just basically gave him the whole spiel about "I do laundry, I cook meals, I scrub toilets. I don't ask for help. And that's okay with me because that's my job, just like your job is to go to work. But the lawn is something we can do TOGETHER. I can't do it alone, and I won't do it alone. My preference would be that you help me. But if you're not going to do it, then you'll need to find a way for us to afford a service." It about broke his heart when I mentioned that he might have to actually wake up an hour early once a week in order to help with the lawn. But, I think he's seen the light.


Next, I called my sister tonight, and told her how I felt about Claire. I cried. She didn't cry, but she said she appreciated what I had to say. She told me she never felt like I shut her out or that she couldn't talk to me. It was bittersweet as we agreed that Claire's death was so long ago, but that time does indeed heal wounds. I got to hear my sister talk about what she was feeling so many years ago, as told through hindsight. It felt good to talk about Claire again, and know that my sister isn't really grieving anymore so much as remembering.

So, I'm getting a few problems solved. Now, if I could just do something about my baby pooch...

My Favorite New Toy

Okay, clearly I suck at photography. Well, maybe I'm being too harsh on myself, but I'll just go ahead and say that I will be happy to take any help that's available.

My biggest fear/weakness/pet peeve about photography is trying to take photos indoors with little or inadequate light. So, when someone suggested the Lightscoop, I was intrigued. When I found out it only cost $35, I was thrilled.

Photo courtesty of photographyreview.com

This tool basically takes a camera's flash and bounces it off nearby light-colored walls, ceilings, furniture, etc. It works almost the same way as reflectors work that professional photographers use. (Okay, that's just a guess on my part. I think I know more than I really do.)

The company claims that the Lightscoop is only for DSLR cameras. (insert sound of me crying) But, I do have a hot shoe on my camera (the holder-thingie for an external flash) so I figured it was worth a try. So, I bought the Lightscoop. And I tried it tonight while Violet was taking a bath in the kitchen sink. Here's the results:

First, with just a regular flash:

See how the color just isn't too great? And, you can't really see a harsh shadow, but there is one (It's behind her ear. In other pictures it was more pronounced).

Now, with the Lightscoop, using the settings suggested by the company:


OMG can you tell what a difference it made? And I am just a crap hobbyist photographer! Can you imagine how great it would work for people who actually know how to take great pictures??? I can't wait to use this for Charlie Brown's birthday party this weekend. Most of my birthday party pictures always suck because the lighting is low and the shadows are all over the place. I am hoping this little tool will become my new best friend.

And, just so you know, I did not alter the photos ONE IOTA except to resize them for posting. I did not touch up exposure or color or cropping or anything. They are SOOC (straight out of the camera).

If you are interested in buying a Lightscoop, they are having a sale right now. Just enter the code SPRING at checkout and you will get 25% off your order!

And, in the interest of full disclosure, I was not paid for this. I didn't get anything for free. I am the one who found them for their product, not the other way around. I just simply found something that's great, and I want to share the good vibes with other people.

So, Go get yerself one! And tell them Texan Mama sent ya! (Actually, they won't care. They don't know who the hell I am.)

Knowing What I Know

I've got 5 kids under my belt. And, when I say "under my belt" what I mean is, "I need a serious Kate Gosselin-style tummy tuck."

Having 5 kids officially puts me into the "Are you crazy?" category. Which would offend some people who have 5 kids. But me? I'm too busy wiping up baby barf or cheking homework papers or putting together school lunches assembly-line-style to care about that. When I tell people I have 5 kids, they always 1)raise their eyebrows, 2) say, "really?" and 3) ask, "Well, are you going to have any more?" To which I always reply, "Well, why not? It's already pretty crazy. I can't imagine it would get much worse."

So anyway, having 5 kids doesn't mean I did things the same way 5 times. Some things I tried to duplicate but those damn kids just HAD to go and be all "unique" and "special". Sheesh, they are so inconsiderate.

One thing is for sure: I laugh at myself as a first-time mom. I was such a bumbling mess. As a matter of fact, the name of this blog "Who Put Me In Charge Of These People" came from my memory of sitting in the hospital, when Peppermint Patty was just 2 days old, and they were ready to discharge me and force me to go home. I couldn't help feeling that these people were WAY too remiss about just handing over this tiny human to me: someone who clearly didn't have her shit together. They seemed awfully trusting and all too eager to let me have charge of a small, helpless baby with so very many working parts - parts that I needed to learn how to navigate. I think at the time, I was afraid of the unknown more than I was afraid of messing up. I could handle having a sick baby, but what if the baby was sick and I didn't know where to take her or how to help her? What if she had some illness and the doctors dismissed me as being a nervous mother; would I trust them or would I get a second opinion? What do I do if she doesn't meet her milestones on time? How do I teach her to make friends? How do I stand back and let her do things on her own?

Being a first-time mom is not just about the care and feeding of a baby. Being a first-time mom is about learning who this person is that's half of you and half of your husband. This new person will be with you forever. Being a first-time mom is all about growing, and learning the HARD lessons, and putting yourself second because NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU THOUGHT YOU'D DONE THAT BEFORE, REALLY, YOU DIDN'T.

Being a first-time mom changed me. For the sake of some of my friendships, I'd like to say that it didn't change me, and that I'll always be the same person I was before I had kids. But that's not true. And to a person who's never had kids, this will sound snobby or eliteist or something, but, it changed me in a way that can never be understood by a person who's not had kids. It changed my world view. It changed my hopes for humanity as a whole. It changed the view I had about myself. I could not have made those changes had I not become a mother.

I'm still learning, every day, 10+ years into this mothering gig. In many ways, I'm still a first-time mom. My daughter hasn't had her heart broken yet, she hasn't broken a bone, she hasn't had an argument with me. She will have a lot of firsts and I hope she wants me to be a part of them too. So, to all the moms out there who are expecting their first child, I can give you the stock advice: don't sweat the small stuff, enjoy them and don't stress yourself out, sleep when they sleep, yada yada yada. All that advice is good and true and spot on. But, instead, I'd like to suggest something different: expect the unexpected. You won't be able to watch shows about kidnapped children anymore. Your purse will suddenly need to be 3 times bigger. You will memorize the words to the Barney song. You will go to Kindergarten again. All the things you swear you'll never do, you'll do.

If you think I'm wrong, just bookmark this post and come back here in a year or two. It's okay. I won't tell anyone.

This post is part of Mamakat's Writers Workshop. Go over there and see some other great posts!

The Grass Is Always Greener When You Have Weeds Growing

So, I am curious to ask: Am I the only double-X'er out there that is responsible for 100% of housework, childcare, meal prep, AND lawn care??

Can I get an "AMEN"?

I have decided to stage a boycott on all things lawncare. I don't mind pulling weeds. I kinda suck at plants and any type of landscape, but I can give it a try. And every year, I am the one who gets stuck mowing the lawn. Truth be told, it's not ALL bad. Sometimes, on a hot summer evening, after we've finished dinner, I'll tell Texan Papa and the Peanuts to clean up the dinner dishes and put away the leftovers because "I'm going out to cut the grass and clear my head!"

But this year? This year I've got 5 kids. Including a newborn. And our lawn looks like we live in a drug den. Seriously. We've got wild onions growing. We've got clover. Of course we've got dandelions. We've got some kinds of prickly weed that I can only dig up with a shovel or put on leather gloves to pull it. And, to top it off, we've got some type of rapidly spreading ground-cover weed that is completely covering our actual non-growing grass and therefore blocking out any chance of the good stuff getting some sunlight.

I even called Scott's Lawn Service and had us all set up to get our lawn the full hands-off treatment. When they called to let us know they'd be by the next day, Texan Papa was all, "What's that? Why are they coming?" I told him, "Well, I thought I'd take care of this. You told me you wanted someone to look into our lawn. It really needs help. These guys are professionals!" And, I think the idea of someone else doing the work appealed to him. But, in the end, the benjamins won out and he said, "Oh no, we're not paying someone else to do that. I'll just put down the weed-n-feed. I'll do it."

Which means, "We'll do it."

Which really means, "I'll take a nap, then wake up too late to do anything, and say, 'Oh, I slept too long!' and Texan Mama will have to do it."

And, so, yes. I've been weed-n-feeding. And spraying. And pulling weeds. And hedge-trimming. And gutter-cleaning. And mowing. And ignoring my kids.

And still, the drug den look persists. At least the weeds are shorter.

I may have to get an appointment with Scotts on the down-low.

100-Word Challenge: Swollen

Another journey into my creative side, be that what it may. This week's 100-word challenge is from the word "swollen":

Her pale skin could not hide the glaring black-and-blue mark under her eye. While the bruise was the most obvious sign of her pain, it was her gaze that shook the policeman to his core. Her stare was vacant, as if her body was just a shell where innocence used to live. Everything good inside her had been robbed from her. A young child should not have to endure a home like that. A man can’t be called a proper parent simply because he pays the bills and provides shelter. Love. Compassion. Generosity. Mercy. Knowledge. Not a swollen cheek bone.

Unfathomable Grief

Is it good to revisit a tragedy in the past? Is it good to reopen wounds, to check if they've really been healed? To see if there is a new perspective to be appreciated?

I have no idea. I am SO fortunate. I am SO blessed. I have never lived through any such tragedy for which God didn't give me the strength to handle it. I have lost my grandparents, but I never really knew them at all and they were very old, so they'd lived full lives. (In retrospect, it is not a tragedy but it is really unfortunate that I never got to know them better). I was never abused. I was never poor. I have friends. I have love. I have my faith.

But still. You can have all those things and still have tragedy.

When I started blogging almost 2 years ago, I stumbled upon Loralee's blog. She lost a son to SIDS 8 years ago. Reading her story brings up so many emotions in me. I'm so interested in how she dealt with her pain. I want to know what she was thinking, how it affected her family, how she gets through every minute of every day without completely breaking down in tears. Reading her story is not entertainment. It's education. I hope it's teaching me something about myself.

Because, you see, 21 years ago, I lost my niece to SIDS. And I don't know if I've really dealt with it yet. It was November, 1989. My parents had gone to Florida for a few weeks to visit friends. I was a senior in High School, and (I think) it was a Saturday afternoon. I was just about to leave to go out with a friend, when I get a call on the phone. My sister's friend tells me that they've just taken Claire to the hospital because she wasn't breathing. My sister and Brother-in-law were already on their way there. I couldn't understand this. I was so young and so immature. Why would the baby stop breathing? Was she choking on something? Is this just a condition that will get corrected once they get to the hospital?

When I got there, I waited. And waited. And finally my brother-in-law came into the waiting room, and burst into tears. I have never seen him cry before that or since. No words needed to be spoken. We all knew what that meant. Claire was one week shy of being 4 months old.

I suck at grief. I don't know how to handle it and I don't know what to do around people who are experiencing it. I want to comfort them, but I know I can't say anything that will help. I want them to NOT BE SAD. Although getting through the sadness is a way to heal, it also makes me fidget in my chair. I want things to be sunshine! and rainbows! and smiley faces!

After that, I didn't talk about it to my sister. I tried to steer clear of anything about babies, or anything mentioning Claire's name, or anything sad. I didn't want her to cry. I didn't want her to miss Claire. I didn't know what to do. I felt terribly inadequate because I had never been a mother, so I didn't know what she was going through. I was smart enough to know that I couldn't relate to her.

Now, as I stare into the face of my beautiful 4-month-old daughter, my heart is heavy for my sister. I have no idea how she got through losing Claire. I want to ask her but, still, I don't want to make her sad. I don't want to make her relive old memories. I want her to know how much we all loved Claire and that we miss her too.

Every time I put Violet to sleep, I think of Claire. Every time I place her in the crib, she does this strange (but comforting) thing: she looks up at me and holds onto me, with her little fist gripping my shirt sleeve. She looks at me like, "Don't leave. Just stay here and we'll stare into each other's eyes." She never cries, but I feel like she's communicating with me. And then I think of Claire. I wonder if this will be the last time I see Violet awake. I wonder what it was like, the last time my sister saw Claire awake. And I wonder, how do you get to a point where you don't think about it every day? How do you get to a point where you don't cry? At what point do you stop telling people, "I have four children, but I lost one" and instead just tell people, "I have 3 children"?

I think typing all this out is my way of dealing with the grief of losing Claire. It's not like I'm mourning the loss of a child I spent so much time with or anything, because she was only alive for 4 months and I was a typical high-schooler at the time: self-involved, thought family was a pain, yada yada yada. It's just weird because I've always had a really horrible memory, even worse now that I've had kids, and I don't have that many memories of Claire. But I know who Claire was and I know what she meant to my sister. She meant the same thing that Violet means to me. And the thought of losing Violet is just unfathomable.

And, it's easy for me to say, "I would find a way to go on. I would get depressed but I would get through it. I'd have to - for my family's sake!" But, know what? That shoe is not on my foot. I don't know how I'd handle it. I'd love to say I'd be all strong and stable and I'd be the glue that holds the family together. In reality, though, I'm not really the glue type. I'm more the WD-40 type that makes all the falling apart so much easier. I don't know what kind of person I'd become if I lost my child.

I am certain of one thing: I would blame myself. Even if it had nothing to do with me, I would still blame myself, in the way that I blame myself for all things with my kids. I am their mother, I am the main person responsible for their upbringing. Even if they make their own choices, I was the one who shaped them and raised them and nurtured them and their choices are like my choices. I praise the good ones and I flinch at the bad ones. So, if I lost a child, I'm sure I'd tell myself, "I should have breastfed longer" or "I should have used different bedding" or "I should have bought the video baby monitor" or "I should have fed our whole family all-natural and all-organic". I'd make sure to pick apart every parenting choice I've ever made, and say that I should have done it the other way. Because, I think, blaming myself would make SOMEONE responsible. I don't know if I could handle it to think that sometimes we just lose our beautiful babies for no good reason at all. Just because. It just happens. No.

And really, in that very sad and very tragic way, Loralee is not so unique. Neither is my sister. Many many parents have been robbed of their child by SIDS or cancer or a drunk driver or any number of unfair circumstances. And so I ask myself, how do they do it? How do they cope? I can't imagine their strength. But, what do I know? Maybe it's not so much strength as much as it is simply getting through every day, every hour, every minute, and forcing yourself to go on. Forcing yourself to not cry. Forcing yourself to not throw up. Forcing yourself to just smile quietly when you want to just scream at the top of your lungs, then go cry in bed all day.

I don't know if it's morbid that I'm curious about this. Maybe it's like watching a car wreck on the highway: we're interested, but not so much that we'd like to be intimately involved in the situation ourselves. I just realize that I have it so good that I'm living a life of waiting for the other shoe to drop, ya know? I mean, I complain about my husband. I have kids who occasionally I want to send back. My van is on it's last wheels. But really? I've got it so good. I've got love. I've got family. I've got friends. I have my faith.

I feel like it's all hanging in the balance.

WHAT IS UP WITH MY DOOM AND GLOOM??? Dude.