Throwback to 1997. My besties Brooke, Caroline, Karen and me. 

Among the interwebs there is a wave of “open letters” and lists of coulda, shoulda, wouldas about the past and offer advice. Some are wonderfully insightful.

Almost always blogs annoy me in their constant negativity, but in this case, I love the theme of looking back and offering advice to other folks…especially when it’s uplifting and positive.

With that in mind, today I am going to begin a series called, “Could.Shoulda.Woulda.” This series will include letters and lists to my former self, letters to young girls, young men, mommies and strangers.

I love the thought of rehashing the past and putting a positive spin on it to (hopefully) encourage others. I hope that this series will do just that.

So, here we go, here’s my very first little story of this series:

Top 10 Things I Wish I Would Have Known in High School

1. Your mother isn’t an idiot. She knows much more than you think. If you show her respect, chances are she’ll respect you right back.

2.  Wearing short shorts/skirts often make your legs look bigger than they actually are. I know that all your friends are wearing them and it’s hard to find modest clothes, but you can find modest shorts and skirts. Your legs will look much better in mid thigh shorts. Trust me on this.

3. Speaking of modesty, I know it’s hard to understand that boys look at your body before you heart. I still have a hard time understanding why it’s so difficult for guys to look into my eyes first, rather than my chest. But ya know what girls? That’s just the way they are made. God made men and women very differently. Part of the wisdom of growing up is understanding that you can curb their lust for you by your clothing. If you dress and act modestly chances are that boys will treat you more respectfully.

4. You’ve probably said or at least thought, “I don’t care what they think about me, I’ll do what I want.” You’ve probably thought this about your parents, siblings, friends or teachers. But darling, as a former 13 yr. old I can tell you that really, you do care very much. Very, very, very much. Don’t let your hormones and emotions get away from you enough to ruin your reputation, because sweet girl, your reputation means everything.

5. While I’m on the subject of reputation, let me give you a gentle reminder that your reputation will be with you forever. The decisions you make now will absolutely effect you later in life. I know that it seems like these four years are taking forever  and you’re bored and frustrated and annoyed at everything in your life, but acting out physically and/or emotionally is not productive. I still regret some of the ways that I treated people in high school based on my bad attitude. Every relationship you have in your life matters, treat them gently.

6. The Bible offers this extremely wise advice in 1 Corinthians 15:33, “Do not be misled, bad company corrupts good character.” I know that you love your friends. Maybe you’ve known them for a long time, maybe you just met. Either way, if they are drinking, doing drugs, having sex, stealing, cheating, and/or any other questionable activity, please hear me on this, it is not your job to fix them. It is not your job to be a good influence on them. It is not your job. It is not your job. It is not your job. Walk away from those friendships and invest in people that believe in good things. Luke 6:45 reminds us that “The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks.” That means that whatever you are putting in, comes out. For example, if you are around negative, cursing, bitter people, guess what? Eventually rather than you raising them up they will bring you down. Don’t forget, how you spend your days is how you spend your life. Do not waste it with people that aren’t good influences on your heart and soul.

7. Boys. I know that you like them. I was a bit boy crazy in high school actually, so I know all about it. It’s awesome to get attention and for boys to say nice things, I know that. I really do. But I also know that in almost every single instance dating in high school is a mistake. You’re just too young. You are. You really are. You are too emotional and the boys are too hormonal which is never a good combo. The best case scenario is that you won’t endure massive heartbreak, the worst case is that you will. Enjoy your life with your friends (both boys and girls). Be foot loose and fancy free! Dance, laugh, sing, play sports, be in plays, be in every single club if you want, but resist the urge to get a boyfriend. You’ll thank me later.

8. Stay pure. This one is a tag-along to the one before. I’ve mentioned a few times that boys are hormonal basketcases during high school. Remember? It’s okay. God made them this way. Chances are that at some point you will feel pressure to have a physical relationship with a guy (even if it’s just a kiss). You’ll have romantic intentions and have Taylor Swift playing in your head as he reaches for you. But honey, please hear me. Taylor Swift isn’t playing in his head. He’s probably hearing something a little more like David Guetta’s “Sexy Chick.” Even if he likes you for your heart, when you tempt his hormones, it will be incredibly hard for him to resist you. This is a compliment to you sure, but you are playing with fire if you think your raging emotions and his raging hormones should ever be left alone together. Play it safe, don’t be alone with a guy. Like, ever.

9. Planning for college is important. Where you go is important. Studying is important. It’s all important. BUT, don’t allow the pressure of college to weigh you down. Remember that God loves you more than you know, if you allow Him to guide you, He will. He’ll do a much better job than you ever could.

10. Always remember that you are beautiful. On the inside and out. I know there’s a lot of pressure to be skinny and beautiful, but please realize that you, my love, are the daughter of the King. You are the apple of His eye. When you feel pressure, just remember that. You are loved by the Creator of the whole wide world. Proverbs 31 is a great chapter of the Bible to hang your hat (and your heart on), “Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

So there you go, this is going into my Bitzy’s baby book, because sadly, someday my baby won’t be a baby anymore and I’ll tell her all these things. Excuse me while I go cry myself to sleep about that.

Do you guys have anything to add? Did I forget something important? Disagree with any of them? Do tell!

Thank Jesus in heaven I’ve never had a mouse in my house.

Or a goose in my roost.

Or used a moose for a boost.

Or had a wocket in my pocket.

Oh wait! Thank you Dr. Seuss for making everything in my head rhyme all the time.

Ah, I can’t stop!

Anyway, while I appreciate all you animal lovers out there, I’m simply not one of you. I love our puppies (mostly), but mice?

Grody.

I can say with full confidence that I have never freaked out so much in all my life, which, as you can imagine, is saying a lot.

Here’s the story:

One fateful day in college when I was foot loose and fancy free, my roommate and I, Lizbeth, were hanging out in our dorm. Lizbeth was studying (as usual). She was always studying. And I was always pestering her not to study. That was basically our life for 4 years. “Lizbeth, please for the love, stop studying and pay attention to me! Let’s play, sing, dance, shop, eat, anything but study!” Her answer was always and forever, “NO!”

That said, she was down the hall momentarily and I was combing/curling/teasing/hair spraying my hair. As I was playing I saw a flash behind me. It was fast.

I assumed it was nothing and continued frying my hair with a curling iron.

Then, I saw it again.

So, I go over to the recliner in the corner and slightly move it only to find the most horrifying site of my life.

A REAL LIFE MOUSE.

I began screaming uncontrollably. UNCONTROALLY PEOPLE.

I jumped up the recliner and continued screaming.

Non-stop screaming.

Clearly, this caused quite a commotion. The door was open so the entire floor heard me shrieking. Um, loudly.

When Lizbeth heard my incessant screaming as I came face to face with this creature, she came running.

As she was sprinting to my rescue she had a small run in with our door.

Bless Lizbeth’s heart, one may say he had  lots of “run ins” with doors, walls, floors, stairs. I say this with love, of course, as there is literally no one in the world as clumsy as I am.

Anyway, as my knight in shining armour slid directly into a metal door, my hopes of her saving me from the mouse beast were becoming slimmer and slimmer (because clearly it was all about me. Right? Eh, I annoy myself).

As she lay in the doorway of our room with her smashed knee she says, “Molly, what’s wrong with you? Why are you in the chair? What happened?”

All I could get out was, “MOUSE. ROOM. FLOOR. HELP.”

Meanwhile, girls have gathered at the door to see me crouching in the chair in the fetal position screaming and Lizbeth crouching at the door holding her knee looking on the floor for the mouse.

To say it was a hilarious disaster would be an understatement.

Then, ever so gently Lizbeth told me to get down and come out of the room.

“ARE YOU A CRAZY PERSON? THE MOUSE WILL GET ME!”

I may or may not have been a tiny bit hysterical. I also may or may have graduated from the fetal position to doing some sort of football high knee dance in the chair.

Thank goodness Lizbeth, (the bravest of the two of us) got a broom and began the great mouse search, as I was still frozen in the recliner.

As I recall, a tennis racket and a trash bag were involved as well.

My some miracle, my brave and precious friend caught the ferocious mouse, sprinted down the hall and pitched it out the window.

Poor little mouse.

(I hope there are no mouse activist reading this, as I cannot be certain that the mouse lived to tell the tale after being thrown from the 3rd floor of our dorm).

Valiantly, Lizbeth marched back into our room saying, “There. I caught the mouse. I’m going back to study.”

“NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! WHAT IF IT COMES BACK?!”

I think I saw an eye roll as she went back to studying.

I couldn’t be too upset, she did save my life after all.

And to this day, I’ve never seen a mouse again.

Love to all,

Introducing my sweet blogger friend, Keely. She not only is a fantastic writer, she is also a fellow mama to 2 beautiful girls. She has been so kind to write a guest blog for me…I hope you enjoy!!!!

I try so hard to be a good mother.

Or at least the kind of mother that the media depicts as being “good.”

And by Media, I mean Other Parenting Blogs.

But the deck is stacked these days. Not only does one have to feed, clothe, and generally keep one’s kiddos healthy (all the time, too, not just for like a day or a week!), but we’re also in charge of entertaining, teaching, having a good amount of [supervised] “down time,” and Creating Moments…in a spotless home. And you’d better believe that the super-clean abode needs to be kept that way without chemicals or any other substance you wouldn’t want directly up the nostril of anyone residing with you. A Good Mother- as everybody on the internet knows- uses only eco-friendly products to sanitize her sustainably built home, the one that was created with with [naturally replenishing] bamboo flooring and/or solar panels. She also fashions homemade air fresheners out of whittled lemon peels.

(I may have made up that last part. Or, I’ve just unwittingly created a new thing and am already failing to do it often enough.)

Chemical-free cleaning is the hardest part. (Mostly because I cannot afford that whole bamboo thing.) I’m a pretty good Mom on the other fronts; I love rolling around on the floor with my two daughters. I adore singing made-up songs in made-up French. And, for the most part, our major health maladies can be fixed with a pirate Band-Aid and a cool mist humidifier.  But the green living thing? For the uninitiated, let’s just say that kids can make some truly horrific things happen in, on, or around their bodies in impressively short amounts of time. And gentle spritzes of vinegar and lemon can only sanitize so much. (Although it does make an exceptional salad dressing.) So sometimes industrial-strength cleansers are the only way to ensure germ-freeitude, short of burning play clothes, kitchen surfaces, and maybe even the kitchen itself.

And there you go. Filthy children and thoughts of burning down the kitchen. Not a Good Mother.

When I try to be a greener cleaner in the bathroom, I end up using way too many of those compostable wipes. It then occurs to me that, since we generally don’t compost, I’ve just shoved the entirety of my supplies right into the regular trash can. Strike One for saving the Earth.

And then, after I realize that I’ve just had my hands directly in the toilet bowl (with or without biodegradable wipes), I generally use industrial- strength bleach and way too much boiling hot water to wash my hands. (Strike Two. And a half.)

I try not to beat myself up about it. After all, no mother (even a Good one) is perfect all the time. This thought comforts me for roughly ten minutes. That’s when I find my infant (ignoring her BPA-free and stimulating wooden rattles) with a hairy cat toy in her mouth. So I throw the whole shebang away with nary a thought of recycling. (The cat toy, that is. I keep the baby and the cat hair.) Strike…let’s just go ahead and call it Strike Nine, because it’s already been a long day.

I haven’t given up hope, however, that Nora and Susannah will grow up to be responsible and environmentally friendly citizens of the world.

After all, they have exceptional table manners, despite seeing their mother eat cereal over the sink with a spatula.

There’s hope.

Wanna connect with Keely? Check out her blog here! Be sure to “like” Lolly Gag Blog on Facebook too!

Have a great day friends!

I hear his chest rising, the air flowing seamlessly through his nostrils as and I thank God for my husbands every breath.

I hear the wind whipping through the trees, almost like a threat. The wind is wild and uncontainable. I thank God for the ability to be outside, standing on my two feet, listening to the beautiful mystery of the wind.

I hear my beautiful girl prancing through the kitchen singing “Away in a Manager” under her breath, like an afterthought. I thank God for the miracle of her and her ability to sing and dance in freedom.

I hear my baby boys laughter as he pounds his hands and knees into the floor, crawling more quickly and efficiently. He becomes more coordinated and confident each day, I thank God for a wild and happy little boy.

I hear my two silly puppies barking at 7:00pm on the dot, conveniently when both of our babies are settling into a deep sleep. I thank God that they are so protective over our family.

I hear the tip tapping of rain falling on our roof and I thank God to have a roof over our heads, as so many do not.

I hear the air conditioning turning off and on during this unseasonably warm spring day. I thank God for the luxury of being able to control how warm and cold our home is.

If I get really quiet, I can focus on the beating of my own heart. I thank God to be alive and healthy to enjoy this beautiful life that He has so graciously given me.

I want to really hear things. Things that I’ve missed in the past. I want to resolve for 2012 to be the year of hearing.

Join me?

Brother Bear was asleep and missed our smushy face pic!

So yesterday was my birthday.

It was a perfect day full of Jesus, Zach and my babies. The perfect combo pack.

The funny thing is though, no matter how old I get, I always think I’m 22.

I don’t just pretend, I really think it.

When someone says, “How old are you?” I immediately think that I’m 22.

But not just me. Everyone I know is apparently 22 as well.

For example, not too long ago I was out to dinner with my lady friends and one of my dear darlings said that she went out on a date with a guy who was really nice but older than her. When I asked how old and she responded that he was 38.

38?

“You can’t go out with him! He’s 16 years older than you! He’s way too old for you!”

Then, all of my friends looked at me like I was a crazy person (more than usual).

“You know that I’m not 22 any more, right?”

“Oh my. You’re not? How old are you anyway?”

See? Everyone is 22 forever.

In my defense, 22 was a darn good year for me. I met my Zach, graduated from college, moved to Louisville, started my first job, met some of my best friends and lived on my own. It was quite eventful, but so wonderful.

Now that I’m, ahem, not 22, every year continues to be eventful…and wonderful.

In my old age I am beginning to become more thankful for birthdays, because well, the alternative is grim. But then I get greedy, panicky almost. Like I have to super pumped to get older because I’m so frantic about something happening to me and leaving my babies and Zach.

So, with gratitude I celebrate another birthday full of wrinkles, sags and headaches!!!!

Being 22 isn’t so bad after all! Keep ‘em coming!

In my mind, everything is a Hallmark moment.

So, obviously everything is set in candlelight. Apparently, in my mind it’s always dark outside, hence the candles.

Also? There are children laughing and tiny feet pit pattering all over the house. There are no naps in my mind and memories.

And there is always, and I mean always, pie. Any kind will do. Just pie. P-I-E.

While my life is beautiful and fabulous and I would not trade it for a zillion trillion bazillion bucks, it’s not always picture perfect. And sadly, there are hardly ever pies.

In fact, it’s more like a circus around here than anything. A wonderful and entertaining circus, but still yet, a circus.

There are tantrums and tears, messy meals and lots of screaming. Mainly the happy sort of screaming, but still, a scream is a scream. And when you multiply the happy screams with the sad screams with the hurt screams with the idon’tknowwhyiamsadijustam screams, that’s a whole lotta screaming.

I do it love though. Every single bit of it. It may not be perfect, but it’s perfect for me.

And the Winner is….Melani Moore!!! Congrats Melani!!!! I hope you LOVE you babylegs from Tater ‘N Sass. I just got my Bitzy a pair and they are precious:).

Thanks again to Amy at Tater ‘N Sass for the giveaway!

Do you ever see baby stuff that you want to wear? I know I sure do.

I mean, why doesn’t Target make the little baby owl hats for mommies? Why only the babies?

Do you think it would be weird if I started wearing baby legs, even though I have Mama legs? Probably. I think they called ‘em leg warmers back in the 80′s.

I did have a Barbie who sported some pretty smokin’ hot leg warmers.

Well since I’m weird enough sans baby legs, I think I’ll leave it to my littles and my old and faithful Barbie to sport the sweetest little leggings ever.

Amy, a precious gal that I went to college with has generously offered to give away a pair of her homemade babylegs to one lucky reader!  Below you’ll see 2 different examples, but if you go to her Etsy Store you’ll see more samples! If you’re the lucky winner you can let Amy know what color/style and size you need for your little Barbie!

They’re great for little kiddos who are learning to crawl to protect their little knees, they’re great for potty training and diaper changes so you don’t have to remove tights, and quite honestly, just look super cute.  Amy’s Etsy store is called Tater ‘n Sass. Sweet huh?

Leaving a comment on this post is all you have to do to enter! Of course, for those over achievers, you can gain one extra entry by “liking” Tater ‘n Sass on Facebook! Please just remember to leave me an extra comment telling me that you “liked” it.

This giveaway closes at 10:00pm EST Tuesday, November 1st. The winner will be announced the next day.

Good luck!

Disclosure: Tater n’ Sass has provided this giveaway today.

Love to all,

Letter to a Stranger,

Hi. You don’t know me. Come to think of it, I don’t know you either.

But I feel like I do.

Granted, I don’t know your hair color, your shoe size or your favorite ice cream flavor.

I don’t know how you take your eggs, how much you weighed when you were born, or what you cooked for dinner last night.

In fact, I only know one thing about you and that’s all I really need to know.

I know that you are a mother.

A spirit filled, beautiful soul of a mother.

This tells me more than any random factoid ever could.

I know that you are in a constant state of worry, joy, anxiety, wonder, happiness and love.

I know this, because I am a mother myself.

Something happens when you see  that tiny pink line on the test.

You change.

In fact, you will never, ever be the same.

It’s as if that tiny life inside of you crawls up in your heart and curls up and your heart grows.

And then, regardless of whether that sweet baby grows in your womb or goes to be Jesus, you are a mommy.

I know that you’ve had a hard day. A life altering day.

A day that will forever define you as a person.

And I know that you are broken.

I know that your heart is shattered and you aren’t sure of what the next step is.

And to you, my stranger friend, I want to say that from the bottom of my heart I am sorry.

I’m not sorry that the child in your womb is special, for I’m sure she is spectacular. And I’m not sorry that because of her, you are forever changed in the most wonderful of ways.

I’m simply sorry that you’re hurting.

But ya know what, God made us a promise. A real life beautiful promise. He says that He works ALL things out for the good of those who love Him who have been called according to His purpose.

ALL things.

Hard things.

Impossible things.

He says that He’ll work it out.

It’s that simple.

So tonight, my encouragement to you my friend is to rest in that goodness.

To sit and cry and rest.

To go up on the mountain and rest under the shadow of His wings.

Tonight, I will cry with you and pray for that precious miracle in your womb and I will pray for you. For your heart and soul to feel the presence of Jesus.

To be held by Him.

And in the days ahead, I will continue to pray.

I will pray that this will make you better.

It will, ya know.

I know that she has already made you better.

You are loved deeply by so many my stranger friend.

Feel that love tonight.

With all my heart,

Molly

As I sit at my Mama’s house examining the overflow of stockings on the fireplace and searching for a place to sit in the sea of my siblings, toys, my squealing baby girl, and friends, I am overwhelmed at the tangible blessings in front of my eyes.

Family.

Life.

Health.

Love.

But mostly I am thankful for a tiny baby King named Jesus.  The One who brings us all together in His name, the One who calls us to remember how He came from His heavenly throne in heaven to experience life just as we do.

He didn’t have to ya know? It wasn’t on His bucket list or anything. When you’re the Son of God, things like crazy adventures, road trips and long walks down the beach aren’t quite as magical when you experience them as a human rather than as Creator. It’s not like leaving a perfect paradise of heaven for a sinful and selfish earthly home would be pleasant.

But still, He came.

He came as a tiny baby in a manager to a mommy that wasn’t old enough to have a drivers license, much less be a mother.

There wasn’t a parade welcoming the King of the universe into the world.

No trumpets.

No carriages.

No flags.

Nope. None of that.

Just a teenager and her fiancee meeting their Creator wrapped in swaddling clothes.

I wonder if as Mary held her newborn son that she considered how His birth would be the timetable in which all of history is set? Or if she realized that although He came to earth in such humility that He would come back in such a glorious fashion that every single knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord?

Did she know that the tiny baby that was pressed against her chest would eventually be pierced for her own sins?

Did she know how her heart would break?

Could she imagine how much one person could bring such joy, but such heartache?

I hope not.

I hope that as Mary caressed the cheek of her son, that she memorized the lines on His face. That she ran her young finger up and down His tiny legs and arms and tickled His baby feet. That she rocked Him and whispered how much she loved Him.

That she breathed Him in and lived in that very moment. Not the past or the future, just the present.

So in honor of Mary and her sweet baby King Jesus, I will do the same.

I will not worry about yesterday or tomorrow, I will sit and look around at the faces of my family and breathe them in and memorize them. I will soak in the pleasure of my sweet baby girl’s Christmas joy that has absolutely nothing to do with presents or Santa. I will bask in the glow of Christmas lights that shine in my soul mates eyes, and then…

I will thank Jesus for coming. For His gift of love and the incomparable delight of being His daughter.

Have a Merry Christmas!

I know that you all are simply dying to see pictures from my Bitzy’s 1st Birthday Party…never fear, today the wait is over.  Remember the theme was Candy Corn!!!!

On October 16th we celebrated party #1 in my home country of NC, and then we finished strong for party #2 here at home on her actual birthday. Both parties were way fun with lots of wonderful family and friends, as well as the first & second time that sugar had ever graced the lips of my beautiful girl.

It’s true. While I am a sugar addict and try to eat as many processed foods as humanly possible, I feel very strongly that my Bitzy only eat fresh and organic foods. Does that make me a nerdy mommy or what?  It’s OK, make fun. I figure she’ll have years and years on her own to eat total crap, but as long as I’m solely responsible for what goes in her mouth, she’s eating the really good stuff.

Anyway, at her 2 parties she did have cake and icing. Honestly, it wasn’t quite the affair that I assumed it would be. I mean, the child is genetically predisposed to love sugar, and she did eat it, but she wasn’t overly impressed.

All this to say, we had a blast. An absolutely wonderful and amazing celebration of life..and here are the pictures to prove it!

Party #1:

The loves of my life.

I mean, cutest candy corn evah or what?!

Please direct your attention to the cowgirl in the far right on the floor. Little Reba. I die.

She looks so mischievous in this picture.

Some of the decor.

Family picture before all the fun began!

And Now to Party #2!!!!

This is the banner that I paid $79,000 when I shoulda paid $.99…but alas, it’s cute right?

The spread!

Basking in the glow of her presents!

I am one blessed gal..look at my family!!! Thank you Jesus!

I can’t believe I have a toddler!!!!

Classic Bitzy pose in the party aftermath.

I hope you enjoyed the pictures! Now to begin thinking about next year…:)

I so wish that all little stories were funny and had happy endings.

That tears only rolled down the cheeks of those laughing hysterically.

That heartache was only in the movies.

If I had a genie in a bottle those would be my 3 wishes…but there is no such thing as a genie and there’s no bottle (sorry Christina Aguilera), so unfortunately there are still heartaches and tears and sad-endings.

And ya know what? Sometimes life just doesn’t seem very fair does it?

It’s tough stuff.

Ya see, some dear family friends lost their sweet baby boy last night at only 23 weeks gestation.

Again, it’s just no fair.

That a life has ended that never really began.

So the question that pulls on the shirt sleeves of those of us who love this beautiful family is, of course, “why do bad things happen to good people?” This question has been asked by millions of people, millions of times as they search for answers in times of grief and sorrow.

Now I’m no theologian. Not even close. I’m not a Biblical scholar or an expert at anything really. But I am familiar with loss and I do know the pang of heartache and how doubt in a Sovereign God can creep in the hearts of the most dedicated Believers. I know all about that.

So I feel equipped to answer this age old question…so here it goes…

I don’t know.

I have no idea why bad things happen to good people. How’s that for an answer?

Why crackheads can pop babies out one after the other when some couples try for years to conceive a child.  Why at this very moment someone in the world is dying from starvation. Why murderers choose to kill rather than to love. Why babies die.

I just don’t know.

What I do know?

That God is good.

That He tracks all of our sorrows and has collected all of our tears in His bottle. He has recorded each one (Psalm 56:8).

That He makes all things work together for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).

That He heals the broken hearted, binding up our wounds (Psalms 147:3).

And as if that wasn’t enough…

He will not abandon us or leave us as orphans in the storm- He will come to you (John 14:18).

Did you hear that?

The Creator of the whole wide world is not only available, but right beside you in the midst of grief and mourning.

I remember a few days after we found that we had a miscarriage and after the D&C and the drama of it all, I was just so sad. That’s the best way to describe it. So sad. I wasn’t confused or doubting the character of God, I was simply sad and I really needed a bit of comfort from my Jesus (read the whole story here).

So I laid face down on the bathroom floor and prayed that He would heal my heart. I just couldn’t handle the sadness. It was so heavy, I could barely carry the load of it.

And I cried.

Oh, how I cried.

I cried for my sweet baby, I cried for me and for Zach and for the innocence of pregnancy that was forever shattered.

I just cried and prayed for what seemed like hours.

And through all the pain and confusion and the sadness, Jesus was there.

He sure was.

And while I’ll never know why bad things happen to good people, I trust that there is always a plan.

Always.

There’s a bigger picture than what we can see. And I’ve gotta trust that our Lord and Savior is looking at the whole big beautiful scheme of things and is acutely aware of how He will use them for good.

But, that doesn’t make the hurt less does it?

So to our dear sweet family friends, I send my love. I am so so so sorry. And I pray that the Great Comforter and the Prince of Peace will lay His beautiful hands on your hearts and give you comfort.

And to the rest of you, my sweet readers, I love you too.

I have always and forever loved every season of the year in it’s own way, except for summer. Summer and I have been on the outs for awhile.

You see, I’m from the beautiful mountains of NC. Summer heat barely reaches 90 degrees. It’s green, lush and comfortable in the summer.  So, when I moved to Louisville, KY I assumed that the weather would be similar. Right? I means it’s only 6 hours away. How could the weather be that different?

When my dear friend Bethany and I were gearing up to move to Louisville we visited in May. Louisville in May is nothing sort of magical. The flowers have bloomed, the air is light and hopeful. The temperature was in the mid 70′s with a slight breeze while the sun shone brightly, welcoming me with open arms. Basically, it was the perfect spring day. Fast forward a few months to August, a few weeks before we made the big move.

We had barely stopped on the way up from NC and drove directly to a pizza joint a few minutes from our new house to eat before we began our pre-move chores.  As we grabbed our purses and turned the car off I opened my door to what was no less than a cloud of humidity that slapped me in the face. It literally took my breath away. I looked at Bethany and said, “Um, please tell me that a heat wave has hit!” She sheepishly looked away and confessed that Louisville may very well may host the hottest and most humid summers ever of all time. Information I coulda used before I signed the lease.

Fast forward a few weeks. Being the genius that I am, when we picked out our new home to rent we didn’t exactly notice that the windows were made out of play dough and the north wind blew directly from the front door to the back door. And also, the “air conditioner” in the house worked just about as well as the “heater,” as in, like, not at all. But in the houses defense, the hardwood flowers were beautiful…and it had a dishwasher.

While the floors were lovely, I spent an entire year in my bedroom either sweating or shivering myself to sleep. Not the greatest conditions. But alas, it was fun being free of schoolwork and having an actual job. Louisville was mine to conquer. I was single, happy and basking in the glow of self discovery.

My roommate Bethany and I didn’t have cable so we would normally just hang out in the living in the evenings chatting and laughing. As the oppressive summer drifted into fall, our attire changed, but our conversations were just has wonderful as ever.

We enjoyed the wonder of the local farmers markets, pumpkin patches and many Saturday morning walks, watching the leaves graduate from green to yellow and red. Like Spring, Fall is fantastic.

Then, winter hit. And it hit hard. Remember the whole north wind thing? Turns out that living in a house that has windows made of play dough in the winter isn’t the greatest idea.

I distinctly remember laying in the living room floor wrapped up in a sleeping bag with a heater next to my head on the left and one to right…and I was still freezing. But don’t worry, we still had a hefty $300 heat and electric bill every month that reminded us the importance of good insulation. Turns out that the power company could care less what your windows of made of, they just want their money.

Perhaps this is when I began questioning my intense hatred of summer and began realizing that winter should be on my hit list too.

These questions have remained in limbo for a few years, with no real resolution.

Then, I had a baby last fall as winter was ushered in.  I had plans of bundling up and taking my newborn love on walks and adventures as we discovered the world together.

But, old man winter had other plans. It was literally the coldest winter ever recorded in Louisville. Again, awesome.

Summers so hot that you wanna rip off your undies and jump into a strangers swimming pools and winters that make you wish you could kill a bear with your own bare hands just so you could wrap up into his fur.

Ah, Louisville. I was tricked into living here in your strange weather disasters…but I still love you so.

But, please, please, pretty please can fall last longer than 2 days? Can you please quit the 90 degree temperatures in October? I fear that 90 degrees will turn to 30 degrees in the blink of an eye and fall will be a distant memory.

And also, while I’m on a roll, if more than 2 raindrops could fall in the next few months that would be great. The other day I lit a candle in the house and my yard almost caught on fire because it’s so dry.

Awesome, yet again.

All I can think about today is The Wonder Years.

Is that weird?

I got some bummer news today from one of my sweet friends and my heart is broken for them, so what do I do rather than get depressed?  I revert to my childhood and think about things that have absolutely no meaning whatsoever.

Hey, it beats depression.

That’s probably not healthy is it?

Anyway, back to thinking about nothing…remember the love story of Kevin and Winnie?  It was just so…romantic.  In a strange middle school kind of way that is.

But then again, I was in middle school when I watched it (or was it Elementary?).  If I were to watch it now it may not have the same zest as it did then.

I had a major crush and Kevin and honestly, a major girl crush on Winnie.

Who didn’t?

Kevin’s goofy smile and Winnie’s perfect little figure.

“What would you do if I sang out of tune…would you stand up and walk out of me…” All together now…(got in your head! Ha!).

Ah, the nights of eating ice cream while watching hours of TV are WAY over…but boy did I enjoy them while they lasted.

Anyone else lovin’ some old school TV?  Every now and then it just hits me and I’m a kid again, watching TV and lovin’ every minute.

So anyway, to my dear friend, we’ll get through all the yucky stuff. Promise. Hang in there. The pain lessens everyday and God is near and will teach you more than you can imagine through the heartache. He’s tricky like that.  And as we learn from the Wonder Years, “I get by with a little help from my friends, I get high with a little help from my friends.”

Hmmm…well, actually we won’t get high, but we will get by. Love you.

Love to all…

Isn't she lovely?

As we have well determined, I’m not a scientist.  I barely passed all of my science classes (remember the Birds debacle: if not, read it here and here), I’m not really sure what a beaker is, and I surely don’t know anything about the periodic table, but I do know that we inherit traits from our parents, grandparents and so on.

So maybe rather than a scientist I’m a geneticist.

My Grey’s Anatomy degree has failed me yet again.

That said, this whole circle of life is a beautiful thing.  I wonder if my Great, Great Grandmother, Molly, ever thought there would be a younger version of herself in a different time? I hope so.

More importantly, I wonder if she had beautiful kinky curly hair?  Porcelain skin? A keen memory?

If she did, she certainly didn’t pass them on to me.  Instead, I wonder if she passed her most horrendous traits.

For example, did she have the loudest most annoying laugh ever?  Or, enormous size 11 ugly feet? Or, like me, could sweat more than any other human alive- ever?

Probably.

I got some good genes I tell ya.

It’s true that my laugh could be heard from miles away.  I try to hold it in, to not scream laugh, but I just can’t help it.  Life is so funny that I just can’t help it!  And it’s true that my monster feet are not only huge but are in terrible disarray from months of neglect: AKA- having a baby.  Having that little Bitzy has lessened my intense desire for manicured feet.  And lastly, the sweat. The buckets, piles and trash bags full of my sweaty sweat.

It’s disgusting.

I don’t perspire people.

I cannot dab the sweat.

It pours and pours.

It’s ugly, violent, disgusting sweat.

In fact, once in a basketball game my hands were so sweaty that the ball went right through my hands. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to catch a basketball with slippery wet hands, but it ain’t pretty.

Or the endless walks that I’ve taken with friends (Ahem, Julie) and I look like I’ve jumped in the swimming pool with my soaking wet sweaty clothes and they look like they’re ready for prom when we’re done.

No fair!

Or my personal favorite, at a spinning class the instructor told the whole class that they should all be drinking as much water as me. When I said, oh really, why? She replied, “You are sweating so much that you bound to be drinking tons of water.  Good for you.”

Yay. Freaking good for me.

I wanted to say, “Honey, this ain’t my first rodeo with sweat and I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Can we please not point it out to the ENTIRE class lady?”

Mortifying.

Even with my most unattractive features, I’m still proud of my heritage.

Although I do wish that in the history books they would list these little details just so their offspring generations down the road would have a heads up.

So, for my great, great granddaughter, I’m sorry for your screeching laugh, large and disgusting feet and sweaty sweatiness.  Be assured that if I could endure it, so can you.  Promise. Love you!  Granny.

Ta-Ta my darlings!  Happy Monday!

I had 9 Weight Watcher points for lunch.  9 beautiful sugary points of dessert.  No real food.  No fruit, veggies, bread or meat.  Just sugar. And it was glorious. Who needs real food?  I could totally live on desserts and ice cream forever. Couldn’t you?

Is it just me, or is 98% of this blog about food?

I confess, I love food.

For the first time ever today I became very annoyed with Target. But don’t worry, I’m over it now.  Target said it was sorry and I forgave him.  (Why is Target a boy?)

Every other person I know in the world is pregnant or just had a yummy bit of goodness baby.  What does this mean? Recession?  Peer Pressure? Jobless? Boredom?  Why in the world does it make me want to be pregnant?  Peer pressure for sure. That answers that question.  Well, and that babies are the number one most awesome thing in the whole.wide.world (other than Jesus and husbands of course).

Bitzy seriously gets cuter from one moment to the next.  Is this possible you ask?  Yes. A resounding yes. I’ve experienced this.  She’ll kiss me with a big wet slobbery kiss, crawl away like she’s in a mad rush to get somewhere extremely important, spin around on her tush, then flash me the cutest little toothy smile and confirm, yet again, that she gets cuter by the millisecond.  Seriously.

All I can think about are cucumbers (lie).

All I can think about are Milk Duds (truth).

I confess that I not only write about food constantly, but I think about it constantly. Is that healthy?  Probably not.  But neither is eating 78 boxes of Milk Duds per year and Lord knows that I could care less about how healthy that is.  So, whatever.

I wish that I had super kinky curly hair that looked amazing without me ever touching it.

This morning in a meeting for work I burst out laughing thinking about something hilarious that Zach said this weekend.  It was completely and totally off the topic of discussion and it just popped in my head like lightening.  Being married to him is like going to the Carnival everyday…always funny, never boring and full of rat tails and airbrushed t-shirts.

Actually Zach doesn’t have a rat tail or an airbrushed t-shirt.  Oh well, you get my point. Or do you? What is my point?

I’m feeling particular random today, can’t you tell?

Anyway, happy Monday!

Bethany: 23 seconds after having a baby and she looks beautiful.

Here my dear readers is a fabulous blog from my friend Bethany.  Her blog never ceases to leave me wanting more!  Check it out here. She has been so kind to write a guest blog for me…I hope you enjoy!!!!

So Molly asked me to be a “guest blogger” on her blog. First and foremost – I LOVE her blog. She never fails to put a smile on her face with her hilarious stories! Molly and I went to college together – and just so you know I do NOT remember the blazers (I’m not saying she didn’t have a closet full) – but I do remember she always dressed cute. Maybe it’s because I was in a phase of life when I bought all of my clothes at Goodwill? Don’t get me wrong – they have some bargains – but this was definitely my “grung-y” stage of life… Another blog… Another time=)

ANYWAYS – I have self-diagnosed ADD. Somehow I fooled my teachers in school, or maybe it developed later in life I don’t know. But I have it. (Trust me – I’m a teacher – half my student’s have it so I am practically an expert.) Anyone who has conversations with me, must walk away with their head spinning from all the random topics I bring up. This was made incredibly clear to me as I was on my run this morning. Just to set the stage – you should know that it was IDEAL running weather…Cool, rainy, cloudy, just beautiful outside. I headed out on a 9 mile run by myself…it was a cleanse for my mind. This week has been kind of a weird week for me…so my thoughts & emotions started in one direction and ended up in about 1000 tangents. By the time I was finished with my run my body was invigorated and my endorphins elevated, but my brain was drained from running sprints between ideas… So let me just share a FEW of them with you:

Back in 1995 at good ole Avery High School my friend Natalie was just as fun, beautiful and stylish as she is now…don’t let this guest blog fool you.  Natalie’s blog always puts a smile on my face and I’m forever begging her for more!!!  So, I have asked Natalie to write a little story to share with us.  I just know you’ll love it as much I as I do…

Beautiful Natalie.

What Not To Wear

I have recently become addicted to the TLC series, what not to wear. Mostly because I feel as if I could be a candidate for the show.

I love any makeover show but this one allows the poor unsuspecting fashion train wreck to be bashed by her loved ones and then placed in the 360 mirror while the stars of the show point out all the flaws. Its rather brutal but in the end there is always a happy made-over woman gushing about how it changed her life. I think for 5 thousand dollars worth of new duds I could take the criticism.

My lifelong pal Michaela and I discussed the fact that maybe I wouldn’t be picked due to lack of interesting wardrobe on my part, or lack of quirky personality traits… I am not a witch..that was recently aired- and I do not usually rock the plaid mini skirt with thigh high boots. I am however realizing more and more that I am rather boring with my clothing.

My mom says, “Nat you should wear color, you wear too much grey and black.” So I decided to access the situation.

I did just have a baby so the choices are limited- I open my closet and there before me are 5 pairs of too tight jeans, an array of black t shirts, a brown Northface jacket, Uggs, running shoes, Clark’s and 3 pairs of heels.

That’s right you heard me 3 pairs of heels.

I am told that most women are addicted to shoes but my closet shows nothing of the sort. If you know me at all you know I wear these worn and tattered Clark’s most everyday.

I decide to revamp the wardrobe, spice it up a little. With the original fashion QUEEN by my side, aka my mom, I hit the mall. I tried on countless dresses, shirts, skirts, pants all of which my sweet mother (whom is nothing like the critics on what not to wear) said they all looked beautiful, even with the extra 5 lbs around my abdomen. At the end of the day I walked out with 5 dresses, three of which were black… what can I say, its slimming.

I hung those black dresses in my closest and thought, you know theres nothing wrong with just being me, dull wardrobe and all… besides its not like I am on what not to wear!!

Thanks Natalie!!! Please check out her blog here.

Ya know the times that you get something stuck in your head and you just can’t get it out.  The times that no matter how someones tries to persuade you differently, you flat out refuse to listen.

I think it’s called being stubborn.

Clearly, I’ve never been stubborn, so I’m not familiar with this phenomenon.

However, my dear friend Stephanie is experiencing the saddest kind of stubbornness.

She refuses to read/watch/experience/drool over Twilight.

That’s right everyone. You heard me correctly.

She doesn’t have a team Edward OR a team Jacob.

Nor does she care.

It’s heartbreaking, really.

By the way, just in case you’re wondering, I’m Team Edward. Period. No discussion, no thought, nada. I love Edward and he loves me. He told me so.

My friend Megan has made it her personal mission to make Steph (even though it’s all sorts of impossible to make Steph do anything), not only read the books, but to watch the movies.

To those of us who are Twi-Hard, this would be a beautiful gift sent from heaven.  To not only read about the love between Edward and Bella with all the imagery and romance, but to see it on the big screen as well.

However, in my dear Steph’s defense, she’s not like me. She’s way cooler than me.  I am kooky, cheesy and I reside in the camp where all things are fuzzy, romantic and require lots of cliches.

For example, my perfect romantic evening would be walking on the beach, at sunset, with a Chicago song playing over the heavenly surround sound, with a fruity cocktail in my hand, as Zach and I talk about the wonders of the universe and I proclaim my undying love for him. And then (just for effect) I would throw myself into his arms and we would passionately kiss right there on the beach, in front of God and everyone.

I am a romantic gal.  Cheesy, to be sure, but romantic all the same.

That, my friends, would be Steph’s nightmare.

Her perfect date night would occur after she spent all day at the pool becoming even more tan and beautiful, and then would meet her date at an Ohio State football game, have a fun and lighthearted dinner afterward where she would drink beer (or Gin) and laugh about that play or that one, and then on to a concert where she would continue to be social, charming and the life of the party.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s wonderfully delightful, and she loves me through my cheesiness, I would have no clue how we’re friends.

I’m hoping that if she continues to refuse to experience the balm of true love with Edward then she’ll let us girls do some kind of skit and act out the books and movies. While I love a little role play action and a rousing game of charades, it makes her want to gag herself with a spoon.

Maybe that’s the secret to persuading the unpersuadable, give them an option that they hate and then give them another that they hate more!

Okay Steph, how would you feel about Megan, Julie and me putting on a little Twilight puppet show  for you??? OR, you could just read the books?  What’s it gonna be?

Yum...Carrots.

I love making my Bitzy’s baby food!  Remember how I was nervous about it?  Never you mind, it’s fantastic. So far her favorites are peaches, carrots, zucchini and sweet potatoes.  However, she HATES green beans and bananas. My love for making baby food is a testimony that anyone and I mean, anyone can do it.

Daisy and Lily are back home (they have been on sabbatical at their Lolly and Pops).  My darling husband has been in shambles without them. It’s cute, really. They’ve been home for approximately 78 hours and I haven’t yelled at them yet.  This, my friends, is a record….and sort of a miracle.

Ah, Bleach. I love you.

I love Clorox bleach. I love the smell so much.  I love how the scent of cleanliness gets on my hands and stays there no matter how many hand-washes (which is a lot) I do during the day. Since my Bitzy’s been here I have been cleaning with all natural products, but I miss bleach.  Nevermind that 85% of my clothes have little spots where I’ve sprayed or spilled it on me.  Worth it.  Totally worth it.

I hate, and I mean hate, pumping gas. I wanna be like Driving Miss Daisy when I’m old (or now, whatever) and have someone drive me everywhere and pump my gas.  Doesn’t that sound lovely?

It is very possible that I’m addicted to online shopping. It’s amazing how much I abhor shopping in real life, but love shopping online.  So odd. Except for Target. I will shop in the store with no problem.  No hives or anything.

I confess that I wore way too many blazers in college.  Turns out that it wasn’t 1987, it was 2002. I wish someone woulda told me. Now Zach makes fun of me constantly for being so fashion challenged in college.  But, just for the record, that’s when we fell for each other…so maybe the blazers were working for me after all.

Best.Ever.

I have worn mascara every single day of my life since I graduated college.  That’s a lot of days to wear mascara ya know. I love it…the more the merrier. My drug of choice is Maybelline.  They make it like no one else.

All I can think about is banana bread, which is so unlike me.  Baked goods normally aren’t my thing. (NO, I’m not pregnant, quit asking me).

Any confessions dear friends?  Spill it.

If you missed Part One click here to catch up…

So, as you’ll remember I signed up for Birdwatching as an “easy out” for a science credit my last semester of college.  The funny thing about “easy outs” is there aren’t any. Ever.

I bet that the kid that cheated on his finals would agree.  Or the athlete that took steroids and got caught.  Or the girl that almost failed a class because she assumed it was easy…

Oh wait, that’s me.

I know this will come as a shock to you, but I wasn’t exactly the model Birdwatching student. Getting up at 7:30am 3 days a week to go look and listen to birds seemed terribly lame and frankly, I had better things to do.  Things like, laying on the couch watching 7th Heaven with my roommates.

I was really busy.

So, when the first test rolled around and we had to answer about the anatomy of little Tweetie and be able to name all of his little songs, I was, ahem, screwed.  Really screwed.

So, I guessed and guessed and guessed.

As an expert guesser in college, I wasn’t at all nervous to get the test back.  After all, this was the easiest class ever, right?

58.

I got a freaking 58 on the test.  Unbelievable.

Looking back, it’s actually unbelievable that I got 58% right.  But at the time, I was appalled.

Did this professor not realize that this class was supposed to be easy?  Hello?

So, after my 58, I started going to class more and attempted to learn about my little forest friends.

But, honestly, I just don’t care about birds.  I didn’t then and I don’t know.

So, I wasn’t exactly “into it.”

(An interesting note to remember is that my final semester in college is when I met the love of my life and husband.  It’s possible that I was a wee bit distracted).

Fast forward to the end of the semester, I was gearing up to graduate, interviewing for jobs, taking road trips with friends, cementing myself on the couch with my roomies to soak in every last second, and falling in love.

Ah, sweet bliss.

The fine print is that I wasn’t studying.  I couldn’t really fit it in.  I was much too busy socializing to study.

Duh.

So, when finals came around I leisurely took them and was happy to close the door on my semester of my math and science nightmares.  But then, my Birdwatching professor sent me a note to come and see him.

I assumed that he wanted to thank me for making his class so much fun. While I wasn’t an expert birdwatcher, I did keep everyone entertained (or so I thought, I was probably extremely annoying if we’re honest with ourselves).

So I pranced down to the science building to bid goodbye to my good old professor.

I bounced in his office with a big smile and said, “Hey Coach!” (My antics didn’t end in high school.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it).

He smiled and asked me to sit down.  Then he proceeded to tell me that he was going to fail me because my final grade was too low.

Whwhwhaaaaaaaattttttttt?????????   NoNONoNONoNO!

I calmly said, “Oh, there must be some mistake.  I already have a job (which I did not, just for the record) for the summer.  I simply can’t fail.”

Just like that.  I basically told a 65 year old man with 40 years teaching experience that he was wrong and that I wouldn’t allow him to fail me.

Unfortunately he didn’t buy it.

He proceeded to say that he was sorry but he had never passed anyone with a final grade as low as mine and that he just couldn’t do it.

This my friends, is when the actress is me reared her Academy Award winning head.

“But, Professor, you have no idea what’s it’s like to really, really, really want something and not be able to do it.  I want to understand Birdwatching, I LOVE birds, but I just can’t.  I can’t learn about them, they are too beautiful.  Too complex. They are beyond what I can grasp.”  Then, I ashamedly got on my hands and knees and said, “Please sir, please don’t fail me.  I have a bright future that needs to begin now.  Not in a few months.  Please give me this gift.  Please.”

I would like to thank the Academy.

Then, you’ll never believe what happened.

He bought it. I fully expected him to laugh in my face and banish me to summer school.  But instead, he smiled and said, “I understand honey. I understand.”

He told me to visit an all day seminar about wildflowers and birds at a near by state park and then he would pass me with a C.  A big beautiful C.

That is the most beautiful C that has ever been given.

So, that’s the little story about Birds. It could have ended much worse.  Although, my only recurring nightmare is that I forgot to take my math and science credits in college so I can’t graduate.

I guess in the end, the Birds are still after me.

My number one pet peeve of all time is WHEN PEOPLE TYPE IN ALL CAPS.  I DON’T KNOW WHY IT DRIVES ME SO CRAZY, IT JUST DOES. Is it so hard to use the shift key people?

I am proud of my husband for all of the little awards he gets while playing Call of Duty.  He’s fighting the terrorists after all (or some 7 year old in Wisconsin- but whatever).

Pitiful.

Yesterday my Weight Watcher points consisted of eating Weight Watchers Carmel’s, Weight Watchers ice cream, and Weight Watchers muffins.  Who needs meat or veggies when you can have sugary diet food?  I should be the poster child on how you can still eat an all sugar diet and lose weight.  It’s remarkable really.

In all of my bad dreams I can’t scream when the bad people are chasing me.  Any dream interpreters out there? Am I nuts or what?

My nighttime routine of face washing has gone from a 4 step program (before Bitzy) of cleanser, toner, eye cream and moisturizer to me using a baby wipe (if I’m lucky) as I fall into bed.   This my friends sums up what motherhood is like.  My question is, since my routine has so drastically changed, what happens when I have 2, 3, or 4 kids?  Will I cease to wash my face, will I just rub my cheeks against the sheets at night hoping to get the grime off, or will I just rub in all the slobber that  builds up from sweet baby kisses and hope for the best?  Dire straits people, dire straits.

I want to kick Jesse James in the head.  Is that wrong?

My Bitzy will begin eating “real”solid foods in the next few weeks and I’m a wreck (like squash, apples, etc). Here’s why:

1.) I’m making all of her baby food and it makes me nervous.

2.) This means that she’s not a tiny baby anymore.  First solids and then she’s driving.  It’s a slippery slope.

3.) Now it’s super easy to feed her on the go (seeing as how I just attach her to me).  Solids seem like a lot of work.  So much packing and whatnot.  Would it be weird if I just nursed her forever?

Speaking of, tonight during our bedtime feeding, I imagined not nursing her and I began to cry.  I honestly cannot imagine stopping. Call me nuts, but it’s going to be extremely difficult for me to ween myself from her. Is 7 really too old?  Really?

I actually like doing laundry.

I love hairspray. In fact, I don’t want to live in a world without it.  My hairspray of choice is Aussie.  That’s right, $3.99 and I’m good to go for weeks. For those of you who don’t use it, you should. It will make your world a happier place and your hair will thank you.

I have a favorite pair of flip flops that are totally falling apart and look ratty, but yet I still save them and wear them for “special occasions.”  While it may look like I’m wearing my ghetto shoes to dinner, it’s really a glorious occasion for them to be allowed out of the closet.  They are on death row and anytime they are released from their cell could be their “last supper.”

I am sorta scared of the dark.  I attribute this entirely to the movie, “The Ring.”  That movie creeped me out in a way that is completely uncalled for in a grown woman.  To this day, if I turn out the lights and leave the room and it’s pitch black I think about that little girl in the chair.  Ah, it sends shivers up my spine.  Creepiest movie ever.

Now I’m going to have nightmares.

Thanks a lot.

Finally, Daisy and Lily are back from a sabbatical at their Lolly & Pops.  They’ve been home for 24 hours and I don’t hate them yet.  Maybe it has something to do with this development…

If she loves 'em, so do I.

Any confessions that you’d like to share with me, dear readers?  Do you secretly hate your dogs but can’t break it to your husband?  Are there some days that all you eat is sugar (please say yes), Confess away my friends…

Remember the old meanie that so rudely laid his airplane chair back on Bitzy and my lap on our way to the wedding? As I was trying to get my wonderful husband to stop poking the seat of the old geezer in order to punish him, I noticed that beside me sat an even older man.

When I say old, I mean old. As in fought in the Civil War old. Or maybe drove a buggy on the Oregon Trail old.

I’m thinking around 100ish.

No joke.

Don’t get me wrong, I love old people just as much as the next gal, but I did find it odd that he was flying.

Where did he have to go anyway?

So, I asked him.  ”Where ya goin’?” in my annoyingly nosey way.

He just stared at me and grinned.

Oh dear.

It was then that the flight attendant saved me by informing me that my old friend was deaf.

Ah, that would explain why he had looked at me and grinned rather than answering my all important question about his comings and goings.

For those of you who don’t know, I have a very large soft spot for the deaf and hard of hearing community.

So of course, I instantly fell in love with my old friend.

In fact, I have always really wanted to learn sign language, I truly desire to be able to communicate with such an incredible community of people.

However, apparently I don’t desire it enough to sit in a class for longer than 2 hours.

Even though I took 10 years of Spanish and remember approximately 2 broken sentences, I figured that 2 hours was plenty enough for me to learn ASL.  Shockingly, it was not.

I annoy myself.

Anyway, as I nestled my girl in my arms I watched as the old man and his seat mate communicated in the most primitive way.

They passed notes.

As I sat back with awe at watching the barriers of age, disability, color, ethnicity or anything else for that matter melt away,  I was amazed.

We are all just people who need community.  We need connection. We need love.

As I was brimming with all kinds of love, I leaned over to Zach and asked him nicely not to murder the man who put his seat back on me.

So he didn’t.

I think he may be sweet on me.

I’m so glad that I had the privilege of meeting a new old friend and helping my husband escape prison.

A good day indeed.

When my amazing friend Danelle asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding I was, of course, honored and excited.

Weddings are my favorite, after all.

Especially when the wedding is a God honoring union of two precious souls, so of course, I said “YES!”

After all the oohs and ahhs of wedding planning and we hung up the phone and I realized that I missed one very important factoid…

We would have to fly in order to get there.

Like, in an airplane.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not scared of flying, thoughts of taking my incredibly fussy child on an airborne capsule with no way out suddenly sent me into hysterics.

At the time of this call, my girl was crying constantly (ah the joys of colic) and I couldn’t imagine a worse nightmare than sitting still for 2 hours on a plane with a baby who’s greatest joy was crying her eyes out.

I was terrified.

T.E.R.R.F.I.E.D.

I even had nightmares about taking that little bit on a plane.  All the stares and whispers from strangers about what I terrible mother I was.

I scoured the good ole world wide web about how to prevent her from being a holy terror on the plane (other than Benadryl of course).

All the advice was basically the same.

To Pray.

All I could do was pray.

Thank the good Lord, as the weeks have continued my girl has gotten better and better.  Crying is now only 2nd or 3rd on her list of her favorite things to do.

Anything is an improvement.  Believe me.

As I obsessed about this trip my fear turned into more of a constant worry and dread.

Finally the fateful day arrived and we were prepared.  Her feedings were perfectly timed to begin at take off (to help her baby ears), the flight departed at her nap time, she was changed…

All systems a go for a great flight.

Right?

What I didn’t take into account was that we weren’t the only people on the plane.

Can you believe that they didn’t let us fly by ourselves?

Don’t they know that this is our first time flying with an infant?  Was the airline not aware of my constant worry and dread?

As we nestled into our seats in the very back of the plane (white noise=good / bathroom dooring slamming= bad), I was anxious to see how this all would turn out.  She was content and happy to read books and play with her toys as we sat and waited for take off.

So far so good.

As we took off she ate like a little champion and then fell asleep quietly in my arms and didn’t wake up until we landed 2.5 hours later.

That’s right.

I wasted so much time worrying when my genius, amazing, beautiful, joyful, well behaved child was a dream baby the entire flight.

However, there were a few snags of course.

One of my pet peeves is when grouchy old men lay there seats backs on airplanes.  Drives.Me.Bananas.  I know that it’s his “right” and his “preference” to lay that seat down, I just find it be so…so…so…intrusive.  Let me also point out that he slammed his seat back with no regard to the precious cargo in my arms.

I wanted to smack him.  In fact, Zach almost did.

Imagine me with a baby in my arms all snuggled and relishing in my perfect child’s airplane etiquette while my husband plots/obsesses about how to punish this oldie for laying his chair back.

It was quite funny actually.

So after all the worrying, everything worked out just fine (even without Benadryl).

It always does doesn’t it?

If I had a dollar for every “great” idea that I have declared, I would be a gazillionaire.   Sure, some of them were pretty darn good, mostly just OK and then a few were flat out awful.

The following story falls into the “flat out awful” category.

Why didn't I think of this first?

It was my Freshman year of college, or was it my Sophomore year, I don’t remember, anyway, I was having a particularly tough time facing the wrath of pimples.  Ever so often I would be visited by these awful little creatures and it just about drove me crazy.  In high school my face was clear enough, but in college (hormones are a real thing) my zits came out to play.

I had face washes, creams, lotions and potions and they all would work for awhile and then they would fail me. Again and again, I was disappointed.

Then, I declared Pimple War.

I read every article in the whole wide world about getting rid of these life ruining facial disgraces.  I looked in magazines, online and in books.  I was gearing up for a fight.

One night, as I was reading some scintillating article about combating acne, I learned a trick that had been passed down for centuries (OK, maybe not centuries, but for awhile)-

TOOTHPASTE.

Of course!  Why didn’t I think of that?

Ya know when toothpaste dries on your lips and you just can’t get it off and it sucks the moisture out?   Then I imagined all the pesky zits that I would murder when wielding the sword of toothpaste, drying out all the little idiots!

The article said to put a tiny dab of toothpaste on each zit and they would magically disappear as quickly as they came.

So before bed that night I began dabbing.

It's amazing what you can find on Google Images.

Always the overachiever, I continued dabbing until it turned into more of a rub…then, the rubbing escalated into covering and before I knew it I had a complete toothpaste mask on.

Why risk it?  I wanted those suckers to die.

My roommate Lizbeth, warned me not to sleep in the toothpaste mask.  She begged me to take it off.

Was she trying to sabotage my efforts?  Was she working for the pimple team?

I wasn’t having any of it!  I was determined to sleep in my toothpaste mask come hell or high water.

As I lay down I positioned myself perfectly in the middle of my pillow, as to not rub off any of my miracle paste and I bid my enemy pimples goodnight.

(You know where this is going don’t you?)

So the next morning I wake up and my face is on fire, there is toothpaste dried on my pillow and there are blue gel chunks in my hair.

That’s right, I said gel.

One tiny little part of the article that I ignored (other than the dabbing suggestion), was to opt for the more creamy toothpaste, not the gel kind.  Because NEWSFLASH, the gel would burn my face.

And it did.

I walked around with a bright red chapped toothpaste face for 3 days.

The good news?  There’s always a silver lining, ya know.

1. My zits went on vacation.

2. I had the illusion of a sunburn.

3. I learned not to sleep in gel toothpaste.

Ya live, Ya learn.

Before I married my soul mate I did a bit of fruitless dating. I’ll tell you right now that I could write a 500 page book of stories of all the weirdies I’ve been out with.

Seriously.

This particular story is just a sampling of my ability to pick guys that were extraordinarily bizarre.

Of course, at the time I didn’t see how incredibly strange he was. I called him”quirky” and “eccentric.”

My friends and family, however, called him “insane” and “crazy.”

I shoulda listened…but let’s focus on the positive. If I had listened, I would’nt have all these great stories about him.

Anyway, moving on- In order to protect the semi-innocent, his name has been changed to, hmmm….how about CooKoo?

CooKoo's BFF

I like it.

Before the story begins, take in mind that CooKoo liked to hang out every.single.night. I was too big of a pansy back then to put my foot down.

Ya live, ya learn.

That said, if I wanted to see my girlfriends CooKoo had to be present.

Clearly this was a healthy relationship, right?

WRONG.

Anyway, on one night in particular, CooKoo and me were hanging out with several of my girlfriends at my apartment. We were just chatting and out of nowhere CooKoo starts going on an on about time travel.

That’s right.  Time Freaking Travel.

There may be some uber nerds out in the world who sit around and discuss time travel, but not me.  I’m more into about talking about important things like LOST, Grey’s Anatomy and One Tree Hill.

Best.Show.Ever.

I will say that it’s possible, unlikely, but possible, that if he had had his doctorate in Physics or something of the sort I may have been a bit more interested.  But he didn’t. Nope, not a all.  Just a chum who had heard of Stephen Hawking on the Discovery Channel.

I knew how to pick ‘em back then.

Another important point about CooKoo was that he LOVED to talk.  He went on and on and on and on about time travel.  So much so, that it was uncomfortable for everyone, including me.

However, remember that he was not at all educated in the subject.  Quite the contrary.  It was just mindless chatter. So instead of listening, I sat there and fumed…and fumed…and fumed.

I begged and pleaded with him to be quiet to no avail.  I even threw out a few lines of, “you’re embarrassing me,” and it still didn’t shut him up.

Did I mention that one of my friends witnessing this debacle had a Master in Science Education.  She tried to argue with him for a minute and then gave up.  She felt sorry for him.

He was on a mission to convince us all that there is a “wrinkle in time.”

Nah, no thanks.  I’m not buying it and neither are my friends, (who, by this point, have called the doctor to get me medication because clearly I have lost my mind by being with this crazyo).

Finally, after I was officially mortified and everyone left, I went to bed wondering how in the world I had picked such a complete and total weirdo to date.

It was and still is, an unsolved mystery…kinda like time travel.