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!

Growing up I always had bright blonde hair. It wasn’t platinum by any stretch, but it was a pretty shade of blonde. The older I got, the darker it got. It went from bright blonde to more of a honey blonde and then to a carmel blonde and finally to a dirty, dirty blonde.

After two babies and breastfeeding hormones pumping away (ha, get it? I crack myself up), now it’s dark blonde. Apparently my hormones don’t like pretty blonde hair. They like mousey blonde/brown hair.

I’m told that this is normal, is it? Is this yet another way that I’m a total weirdo?  Has this happened to anyone else?

Before Brother was born and I worked part-time I would visit my trusty and talented hairdresser for all of my coloring needs. But now, our budget simply doesn’t allow it. Zach has begged me to go, to bite the bullet and pay the money, but I just can’t. Once you become insane about {not} spending money, dropping $100 on hair just doesn’t make sense to me like it once did.

At first, I was in total deniel that I even needed color. I figured that I would “get used” to having darker hair. In fact, I went nearly 6 months without any coloring help at all.

It was a sad, sad time.

Then, it occured to me that maybe, just maybe I could do it myself. All I had to do was follow the instructions on the box, right? I mean, how hard could it be? So, I bought a highlighting kit. When I got it home and read the directions I saw the cute little cap. It was then and there that it became clear that in no universe could I hightlight my own hair. Patience is NOT my bag, it’s just not. And, let’s face it, my darling husband isn’t exactly hairdresser material.

So I gave up for a few days and declared that having pretty hair was a thing of the past.

But then, I thought of my friend Candyce. Candyce is one of those people that knows something about everything. So, I emailed her and gave her the scoop.

To my delight, she knew exactly what to do! She gave me detailed instructions on what to get for an all over color. Forget the highlighting kit! Putting a bunch of chemicals all over my head like shampoo is much more my speed.

Like a good little student I followed her instructions to the letter. After my babies were in bed I went to get this sacred box of beauty. When I got home I did exactly what the kit said to do.

And, wait for it…

It wasn’t terrible.

It wasn’t great, but definitely not terrible.

I tried to convince myself that it was totally awesome to have semi strawberry blonde roots while the rest of my hair was kind of a mix between brown and blonde splotches. Ever positive, I figured that it could be worse.

After a week or so, I went back to the store and got another kind. A lighter shade this time. At first I was timid to go too blonde because I felt like my hair was practically black.

Dramatic much?

And then, WAMMMOOOOO! It was great. In fact, it was kind of awesome.

So awesome that I’ve been using a box to color my hair for months now. The last time I got a haircut the hairdresser actually commented on how great my color looked. Imagine her surprise when I told her that it was from a box! Ha!

But like every little story there is sometimes controversy.

Cue: Last Night.

On my weekly trip to The Wal-mart, I casually looked for some color. I’m not true to a brand or even a certain color, I like to keep my options open in the world of hair coloring.

I had a price match and coupon for Loreal Healthy Look so I grabbed a box. When I got it I realized that it was on clearance for $5.00. Double score.

*Note to self: When buying hair color, never, ever, never, ever, never, ever buy it if it’s on clearance. Got it?

When I got home I innocently put on my chemical shampoo (that’s my pet name for my hair color. Isn’t it fitting?), waited my 10 minutes and washed it out.

As I got out of the shower I noticed that it looked a little dark, but no worries, I figured that when it dried it would be lighter and brighter.

Um, no.

It was brown.

That’s right.

Today, I was a brunette.

I would like to think that I looked like my bestie Sandy, but I fear that I did not.

For one thing, there are no tropicial flowers up in here and secondly, the sun hasn’t shined in months it seems. Well, and the obvious, that Sandy is a supermodel, and I am sadly, not.

Honestly today I really didn’t even think about it much. Something about chasing babies really takes my vanity away, in fact, I barely noticed it. But when Bitzy and Brother went to sleep I remembered.

Oh, did I remember.

I said to Zach, “So did you notice that I’m a brunette now?”

Zach: “Um, yes. It looks, um, great.”

Me: “Oh, come on! It looks nasty. Just admit it.”

Zach: “It’s not brown, it’s just darker. You’re so dramatic.”

Me: “I’m so not dramatic! Ah! It may not be brown, but it’s BY FAR the darkest it’s ever been.”

Zach: “I’ll give you that. But you look beautiful no matter what.”

Me: “Now that’s convincing. I’m going to The Wal-mart, be back soon.”

This time around I didn’t even take a coupon. It’s true, I admit it. Granted I still had a price-match, but I was on a mission to lose the brown, I could not be bothered with a coupon.

I found the most expensive box they had. It was $7.97, which in the world of hair coloring is a lot. And it was gold. It looked very fancy. It was the one.

It does say it’s “Superior” and “Luminous” after all. Granted, I have absolutely no idea what luminous means, but it sounds delightful.

Then, I did the whole routine and WALLLLLAHHHHHAAAAA, I’m blonde again.

Hallelujah!

I’m not cut out to be a brunette friends.

Long live the boxed blondes!

Have you ever had any hair dye disasters? Care to share?

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!

I’m a little late to the party on the whole 2012 thing.

What a surprise, I know.

You see, Zach is on “staycation” this week, which is honestly the greatest, greatest, greatest thing ever. Why must he work I ask? Why can’t we just live on love? Why can’t be heirs to a bazillion dollar inheritance?

Questions for the ages I tell ya.

That said, things like writing a little story have been far from my mind. I’ve been too busy playing peek-a-boo and tea party. Which in my opinion are activities far more important than writing.

Does that hurt your feelings? Don’t take it personally.

So now that I’m officially four days overdue in writing the obligatory New Years Resolutions blog post, I figure that I’ll just skip it. I mean, clearly I want to lose weight (who doesn’t?), pray more, love harder, be better. Of course. But, resolutions just seem so, how you say, cliche.

Last year at this time I wrote this post. While we haven’t written a children’s book (yet!), we have successfully accomplished all of our other goals which makes my heart happy.

Some highlights from 2011:

We birthed the worlds most precious son. He is truly a blessing straight from the hand of God. To say that we are in love with him doesn’t do our deep love justice. He is truly amazing.

Our Bitzy has grown and changed so much in the last year. She is incredible. Last year at this time she was grunting and pointing, now she is singing songs and counting to 25. She’s simply a miracle.

In the past year our house payment has doubled and our income has been cut in half, yet we have still managed to not go into debt. This to me is a major accomplishment.

I have begun what I like to call, “The Great Coupon Adventure” and I love it. It’s saved us a bundle and it’s very, very, very fun.

But more than anything, I am grateful that in 2011 God taught me so much about who He is. About what a loving Father He is, how much He loves us all and how available He is to us. I am so amazed that I get to be His daughter.

So friends, as we begin the journey into 2012 I wish you all good health, happiness, and more than anything, love. Sweet precious love.

Thank you all for helping make 2011 amazing. Here’s to making 2012 even better!

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 a bit of a quandary. A dilemma if you will.

As you may know, I am a lifelong lover of candy.  I love everything about it.

The taste.

The texture.

The aftertaste.

In my day, I have consumed more candy than I care to admit. It’s true, I have a bit of an obsession.

I may go a whopping 2 days without a piece and then eat a whole bag.

I’m really healthy like that.

The whole “everything is moderation” is crazy talk.

Back to the dilemma.

A few years ago I was really into making lists. Don’t worry, not like “to-do” lists, please. Me? I’m not really a to-do list kinda gal. My lists were more like my top 10 favorite foods, candy, movies, songs…ya know, important stuff.

I encourage you to do this, it’s a fun exercise that will really make you dig deep for answers.

For example, my favorite candy.

Who am I kidding? Top 10? Try top 50, now that I could do.

And I didn’t even separate the lists. I really should have. But alas, I’m much wiser now than in the days of my youth. I thought I could simply lump them all together…but no so, my friends, not so.

So now, a few years later, the list still plagues me. I totally didn’t do it right.

Here was my list of Top Ten Favorite Candy (in no particular order):

1. Sour Gummy Worms (still true. I do love them. But top ten? I’m not sure. This is why it’s important to have separate lists).

2. Milky Way

3. Snickers

4. Candy Pumpkins

5. Coconut Cream Pie

6. Homemade Carmel Icing

7. Yellow Cake Mix Batter

8. York Peppermint Patties

9. Banana Pudding

10. Samoa and Spumoni Ice Cream (the love is separate, but equal).

As you can tell, this is a totally bogus list. How in the world can York Peppermint Patties be on the same list as Coconut Cream Pie? It’s like apples and oranges. Even as I type this little story I’m so annoyed with myself that I so haphazardly made these lists.

Perhaps back then I wasn’t as in touch with my total and complete love of candy.

Now that I am free to shout it from the rooftops and sing to the top of my lungs, “I love candy! We are best friends forever!” I feel more inclined to take things like this list seriously.

Let’s take Milky Way and Snickers.

My first instinct is to always go for the Snickers.  But then if I eat a Milky Way I am reminded of the vast goodness of the combo pack of chocolate, carmel and the yummy goodness of nougat.

The same goes for peach rings and sour gummy worms.  I think I want peach rings, but then I long for the sourness of the worms.

I cannot be satisfied.

All this to say, I am going to spend some time considering my new and improved lists. This time, I’m going to separate the lists into much more manageable categories. And I think you should too. This is an exercise for us all. It’s really important for us to get in touch with our sweet tooth.

List One: Top Ten Sugary Candy (example: Gummy Worms & Peach Rings).

List Two: Top Ten Chocolate Candy (example: Snickers & Milky Way).

List Three: Top Ten Desserts (example:Coconut Cream Pie & Banana Pudding).

List Four: Top Ten Ice Creams.

So there you go. Your assignment my darling friends is to also consider these lists and let me know your favorites too. Surely I’m not the only one that could live on straight up sugary goodness.

Can’t wait to hear your responses.

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…

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?

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.

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?