no offense if you are one of THOSE people

The first Christmas after I was married I sent out one of those holiday letters. You know, the glorious list of newsworthy occurrences of our lives. In a nutshell, it said, "We remodelled a house. We got married. We have jobs." I felt like I had moved on to the next level of grownupness. I thought about getting back into yearly newsletters as our family began to grow. My husband, in one of his more insightful moments, changed my mind when he asked me, "Valerie, if a person doesn't know where we work or how many kids we have, why are we sending them a Christmas card?"

No offense if you are one of those people. A person who sends that letter. I actually enjoy reading those letters. The thing is, if I wrote one today, it would not really let you know what is going on in my life. So I sometimes try to read between the lines to try to see what's really going on in the lives of my friends and family. I mean, if I sent a letter out this year, I would rave about Jaron's love of "big school" and marvel about Madison reading the family favorite Little House books. I would describe Megan, born on Granny's birthday, and her siblings' devotion to her in excruciating detail. I would talk about Kevin and I celebrating our tenth anniversary. I might mention the dogs, cats, cattle...maybe sprinkle in a little vacation, fishing, and gardening. I would talk about little smiles that light up the county and little arms that fit perfectly around my neck.

I probably wouldn't mention that my kindergartener went to the Principal's office for neglecting to keep his hands to himself. I would not begin to get into the battle with worker's compensation we have been dealing with for the last 6 months with Kevin's back injury. I would not tell you that while having enough love for 3 kids comes more easily than I could have imagined, sometimes I think I am not as impressive as a mother of 3 as I hoped I would be. That my house has not been clean for at least 9 months or that I fell asleep feeding the baby in the early days and Madison told her teacher I did not have time to kiss her good night. I would not tell you about the time I cried when I realized Megan had outgrown her first outfit. And at the end of the first day I went without nursing her. I probably would not want to talk about the hard goodbyes that came this year. Grandad. Iris June. Scott.

I am not trying to dwell on difficult times. This is the time of year that I get painfully reflective. I have to tell you that for everything I mentioned that challenged me this year there were ten times more blessings. I have to tell you that I could not ask for a stronger network of family and friends that never hesitate to support me in all situations. This year has flown by faster than people warned me it would. So I am not writing one of those newsletters. Bloggers keep people updated on a regular basis anyway. But if I did, ten years later, it would go something like this: "I still like my husband of ten years and unto us three children have been born. We share our lives with many loving and loyal people. May God bless you and yours during this holiday season and always!"

The First Anniversary

November fifteenth is the first anniversary Kevin and I ever had. At this time every year I look back and think about the beginning of us. I think back and try to remember what led to the moment when he and I turned into we. How does a blushing teenager with a crush turn into a 31-year-old wife and mother of three children? This is the anniversary of a night spent watching basketball. It was a crowded night in the school I attended for thirteen years with whistles blowing, the score clock buzzing, and the crowd cheering. This is not the anniversary with the rings. This is the anniversary of the night when he turned three shades of red as he considered the best way to find out if we felt the same way about each other. He seemed to find the courage somewhere in his Mountain Dew when finally settled on, "Okay. Will you be my girlfriend?" And my life was changed forever.

As I consider the things I am most thankful for, my first thought is that of course the important things in my life are not things. I am thankful that I got to marry the only boy I ever loved. I am thankful for the families we came from, and the way they are surrounding our children with the same love we grew up with. I can't wait for this holiday season to spend time with all of those people who love us most as we count our blessings together!

Old Friends and New Toys

Over the weekend I got the opportunity to visit with an old friend. By old, I mean throughout the entirety of my childhood she is included in my memories. I am not trying to imply she is joining the ranks of the elderly or anything. We went outside to let the kids play in the leaves. They ran and dove into that mountain with reckless abandon. It was a beautiful day to be outside. I can still hear the laughter mixed with the occasional, "Make sure he can breathe!" when we lost sight of someone for too long. It was such a priceless intermission from the housework that consumed the majority of my weekend. My friend and I speak regularly on the phone but it was wonderful to see she and her handsome little men in person. Every time we get together I can't seem to understand why we don't find the time to visit more often. Oh, and by the way, this friend I got to see is my wedding photographer friend. And thanks to her I have an awesome new camera that I will be playing with on a regular basis. I am not sure if I am smart enough to use it properly or not, but it is so much fun to zoom in on my little subjects, and it makes all kinds of cool noises when I push buttons. Brace yourselves. You only thought I took lots of pictures before! I am just getting started.

Nostalgia

I think as moms we sometimes try to punish ourselves for no good reason. Megan is my grand finale baby. I am at peace with that decision, but on my last day of maternity leave with her, I constantly and tearfully reminded myself all day about the finality of it all. From the moment I woke up I tried to mentally document every second of the day. I cried when I rocked her. I cried when I fed her. I cried when I changed her little diaper. I did not realize I might need therapy until I found myself crying as I changed her at bedtime as I considered this last outfit on my last baby on my last day of my last maternity leave. Why do we do that to ourselves?

I love tradition. Simple things like carved pumpkins and cut out cookies and fireworks and Easter egg hunts. So I love that all three of my children wore the same costume for their first Halloween. It is warm and cozy and one small, fuzzy bundle of adorable. I found myself slipping back down that nostalgic slope when I heard myself telling people, "This is my last little froggie." And then I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with me. I had not yet come to any concrete decisions relative to my emotional stability when I met a coworker in the hallway going to lunch today. She told me she was going to her last parent teacher conference for her last high school senior after work. So I shared with her that I was going to be taking my last little froggie trick-or-treating this weekend. And I decided maybe I am going to be just fine.

Redemption

Our school has always made a big deal out of Halloween. There is a costume parade in the gym complete with prizes for all participants and awards for top costumes in each grade. The bleachers are packed with proud parents and grandparents. Like I said, it is kind of a big deal.

When I was in fourth grade I was an Indian. I was excited. Mom had this beautifully embroidered dress and my Granny was part Indian so I felt all authentic and important. Then I got the chicken pox. And I stayed home from school all week. And I missed my last parade at school. I was traumatized. Since I could not go trick-or-treating, Mom was gracious enough to braid my hair anyway. She let me wear my dress and pass out candy at our house on Halloween night. I do not remember a lot about my elementary years, but I have never forgotten when I was an Indian.

I was embarrassingly excited this year when Madison chose to wear the dress and be an Indian. The very next day I got online and ordered a few accessories to make it her own. As I watched her march by with her classmates, closure was mine at last! Sometimes simply watching my kids enjoy the holiday events can be so much better than any memory I posses from my own childhood. And then my daughter and my dress won third place in her class. Mom leaned in to me and said, "Oh, Valerie! The dress has been redeemed!" It was a proud moment in our family history.

The Family Award

"Lo, children are a gift of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is His reward" Psalm 127:3

I remember Madison and I attending her little Spring program at preschool when she was barely four years old. We went without the boys because little Jaron, almost 2, had a fever and cough and ended up staying home with his daddy. I was the traditionally proud mom in the metal folding chair with cameras in both hands. The kids sang adorable little songs in precious little outfits and the grandmas smiled at them and the dads nodded their heads at them. It is on my long list of treasured memories.

The time came for the teacher to hand out awards to the class. There were awards for the best listener, the person most willing to share, the best artist, and so on. The teacher had a perfect knack for choosing their little strengths and awarding them accordingly. Well, Miss Amanda began talking about a little girl who spent all of her free time talking about her family. She said, "Every picture she draws is of her family. Every story she tells is about her family. Every project we work on reminds her of her family. She tells me every day how she can't wait for her little brother to be old enough to come to preschool with her." You guessed it. The award for the Most Family Oriented went to my little girl.

I cried a little bit. I mean, I was never going to be that sappy mom who turned red at my child's every accomplishment, but how could I help myself? I worked full-time. I took vacations days for almost every preschool field trip and I made it to some of the holiday parties, but my treat bags were not full of homemade goodness. I bought stuff to go in there. And my contributions to the program refreshments that night? I bought those too. It felt like cheating. I did not give cute little homemade cards and gifts for the teachers. Working away from home most days has always made me wonder and second guess myself. I try to make the most of my evenings but the laundry and cooking and cleaning still have to get done sometime. Do the kids know how much I love them? Do I hug them enough? Do I spend enough time talking to each of them every single day? Are they going to remember the cupcakes I brought to their Halloween party or the one field trip I missed when they got to ride a horse? Do they truly understand that they are my first priority? The Most Family Oriented award made me think maybe, just maybe, I was getting some part of motherhood right. Maybe I was getting the message across about how much I treasured our family and maybe she felt the same way.

Three years later I believe Madison is still earning the family award. This week she brought home this picture. She drew it at "stations." She is a big kid in second grade now. My heart sings when I get these reminders that she thinks about us while she is away from home. I hope she understands that she, along with her brother and sister, will always comprise the greatest family award.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

One of my best friends came to me for speaking advice. Her mother is celebrating her 80th birthday this weekend and she was trying to decide what she should say in addition to thanking everyone for coming. She was thinking of talking about all she had learned from her mother and did not know what to incorporate. I told her maybe something short and sweet would be appropriate. I told her I would thank everyone for coming and sharing in this great tribute to her mother. I told her saying "Happy Birthday" and "I love you" would go a long way. I told her it would be neat to write a letter to her mom about all she had learned from her that she could place in her scrapbook that she is planning to make of the event. So that is the plan.

Today I wanted to write something to commemorate my own mother's birthday. It is coming up tomorrow. What could I say to thank her for the misery she endured when she was sick with the flu as she carried me? (She got down to 97 pounds. My grandma told her that her fever was probably cooking my brain.) How can I write a post that will do justice to the woman who gave birth to me without drugs? The woman with the band-aids and ear drops and ice chips who spent years reading books to me and waiting in the car for me. The woman who has always answered my questions without letting me think any of them were stupid. The woman who has always demonstrated what a loving wife and mother should be. The woman who has always cheered me on and been one of my biggest fans. Even when I did not think I was doing such a great job. She supported me when I was an athlete, a singer, a writer, and a college student. She supports my hobbies. She encourages me as a wife and a mother. We share authors and books and recipes and health tips and laughter and tears. She provides a positive, gentle touch to every aspect of my life. And she is loving my children and affecting their lives in exactly the same way. When I tell them we are going to Grandma Judy's they light up like I said we are going on vacation. So you see, paying tribute to my mom will probably take many posts over an extended period of time. I guess the only thing I can do is say Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!

The Joys of Motherhood

It's the way her sweet, round cheek fits perfectly against my chest as she drifts off to sleep.
It's the way her smile lights up the darkest night in these crazy hours that we keep.

It's the way her tiny hand grips my finger and it seems to make the whole world right.
It's the way she grabs my face with both little hands and tries to eat it in one slobbery bite.

It's the way I am the only one who can calm her when a loud noise gives her a scare.
It's the warm softness of her baby skin. It's the velvety feel of her hair.

It's the way those lashes provide an adorable frame for eyes that pierce my heart.
It's the way I can't quite seem to take a deep breath in the time that we spend apart.

It's the way she personifies love and hope and dreams in one bundle, adorned with a bow.
These are the joys of motherhood. I thank God these are things that I know.

Steak and Cake

Today is my husband's birthday. I would like to write about the elaborate gifts I have wrapped up for him and the detailed list of celebratory events I have planned. The truth is, yesterday I got him the biggest bag of DumDums you have ever seen at Sam's. He has a very serious need for football candy on Sundays. And this evening I will grill him a steak and bake him a potato. Afterwards he will have a small, beautifully decorated cake (that I plan to pick up at Wal-Mart after work). And that's it. Happy Birthday #32.

In considering what to say about him today I keep thinking of a song that was one I planned to have at our wedding. It is not a famous song. It is "I Do" by Paul Brandt and it is on my iPod. I listened to it today in a "remember to love and appreciate my husband" kind of way. I still like it. And I still feel this way about Kevin and I. And I realize how blessed I am that he is still having birthdays.

I've seen the storm clouds in your past
But rest assured 'cause you are safe at home at last
I rescued you, you rescued me
And we're right where we should be when we're together

I know the questions in your mind
But go ahead and ask me one more time
You'll find the answer's still the same
It won't change from day to day for worse or better

Will I promise to be your best friend?
And am I here until the end?
Can I be sure I have been waiting for you?
And did I say my love is true?

Baby I will, I am, I can, I have, I do

I know the time will disappear
But this love we're building on will always be here
No way that this is sinking sand
On this solid rock we'll stand forever

Will I promise to be your best friend?
And am I here until the end?
Can I be sure I have been waiting for you?
And did I say my love is true?

Baby I will, I am, I can, I have, I do

my attempt to refocus

I am mostly a glass half-full kind of girl. I would rather believe the best of someone and be wrong than to believe the worst of someone and be right. Life has been more negative lately, and I have not been able to shake it as I normally would. I have not been able to find the good that is promised to come from even the worst of situations. It's just that lately when I look around I see more valleys than peaks in the world. I am not proud to admit it. I know as a mother I should never be challenged to count my blessings and see the beauty in life. I mean, look at this fearfully and wonderfully made baby who loves me! I know there are very small things going on in my house that I should be able to brush off without effort or encouragement from my loved ones. The sleep deprivation that comes with a teething baby. The chaos that comes with ripping out the kitchen carpet. The inevitable concern that comes with an injured spouse and the uncertainty of our future. Those are things that wear on weak people. Or totally egocentric people.

.

I am that weak, egocentric person who sometimes lets petty, trivial things get me down. When it comes down to it, though, my life is a fairytale compared to many. My children are healthy. My husband is alive. We have a home and a family and meat in the freezer and hundreds of jars of vegetables in the pantry. I look around and see people with valleys so big that I do not understand how they are climbing back out of them. Death. Cancer. Illness. Divorce. Unemployment. And I see inspirational strength in those same people. They are the people who are encouraging others to stay positive. They are shining their light in a way that completely puts me and my dark little corner to shame. I want to be more impressive. I want to impact others in a positive way. So today when I get home I am going to dig out my gratitude journal. I am going to blow the dust off of it. And I am going to regroup. Refocus. Rethink my priorities. I am not sure what to do after that. I'm kind of hoping it will come to me.

saying goodbye

I will never forget the day my Granny died. My most vivid memories come from the biggest days of my life. You know, the best of times. The worst of times. I remember everything from that day. Everything from my righteous indignation towards the so-called doctors who could have possibly come up with such a misguided prognosis--to the waiting room at the hospital filled with tearful people that loved Granny and Grandad. You have seen that sign that says, "All because two people fell in love?" It should have been hanging on the wall in that waiting room. Looking back, there are two moments from that day that are crystal clear in my memory that I will carry with me always.

The first moment was when my sister and I arrived at Boone Hospital. I saw someone standing on the sidewalk and instantly knew it was my mom. She was waiting for us. She looked very small and isolated against that brick building. As we approached her I saw the waves of sadness in her red eyes and I felt the desperation in her warm hug. That was when I knew the doctors may not have been mistaken after all.

Granny and Grandad held hands. They walked with their arms linked together. I was not surprised when I got to her room and Grandad was holding her hand. I was not surprised to see his other hand gently stroking her hair. I remember hearing him say, "You didn't get too many gray hairs, did you, Sugar?" And my heart was broken. For myself. For my mom. And for Grandad. Her husband of fifty-six years. I remember thinking if my husband holds my hand that gently and speaks to me so softly after fifty-six years of marriage...then I will have lived a good life.

I was relieved when it was over. I never wanted to lose her, of course, but when someone you love is suffering and inevitably near the end, you just want it to be over. You want them to go on to glory where there is no suffering or crying or pain and it was a relief to know she was there. But it was not over. Losing a loved one is not a wound that ever really heals. I miss Granny during birthdays and holidays. I miss her when I see a lady in a skirt that reminds me of hers or smell perfume like she use to wear. I think of her when I am sitting beside my children and can't help but affectionately pat their little legs. I think about her big, tight hugs and wish she could have squeezed on my kids like she squeezed on me. But nobody missed her like Grandad.

While loved ones gathered again at the hospital to say goodbye to Grandad I couldn't help but consider how remarkable it was that he survived over nine years without her. They went everywhere together. They went camping. They visited family and friends. They attended my ball games and milestone events. Their love and devotion to their family was always obvious to me. I was blessed to be able to know and love my grandparents. To me, saying goodbye to Grandad is saying goodbye to all of my grandparents and their entire generation of people. Honorable people. People who stayed married. People who were honest. People who were kind, respectful, hard-working, content, and on time. People who demanded the best from you because they would always give you their best in return. People who were devoted to their families and to their country. I will always miss those people. And I will always miss Grandad. I was sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his hand, when he took his last breath. Megan was asleep against my chest, and I could feel his wedding band between my fingers. Thank God, it was the most peaceful thing I have ever seen. My comfort comes from my belief that he and Granny are together again at last. I can smile about that.

We made it!

I think sometimes as my children take turns reaching for those milestones I tend to let my focus shift back and forth between them. A friend told me she read that the only way to treat your children exactly the same is to only have one child! I believe that. Sometimes they need more from me than other times. More help. More worry. More praise. More attention. More discipline. And if all that fails and I finally realize YET AGAIN that I can't do it all by myself, more prayer. I think I have been so wrapped up in sending Jaron off to big, scary kindergarten that I may have neglected to share some priceless blogging material. I want to get this down before I forget about it.

I was glad for school to start this year. This has been kind of a crazy summer with splitting the kids between several babysitters and a crazy commuting routine. Megan did not start with her full-time babysitter until school started, and while I had awesome people stepping in to help me through the summer, I seriously had printed out a Microsoft calendar to help me keep track of where they were supposed to go each day due to the various vacations, camps, workshops, ballgames, and appointments that needed to be scheduled around. It was color coded(Madison Jaron Megan). I had an awesome friend helping with the baby and an awesome teenager with no baby experience that was more comfortable with just the big kids so it was a little bit of a juggling act. And I had grandmas for in between. I had severe apprehension that I would forget where to go to pick somebody up one day.

.

And then Kevin hurt his back. After a few weeks he took over as caretaker of Madison and Jaron most of the time but we kept Megan on her babysitter schedule. It was nice leaving the big kids in bed in the mornings, and while one would assume this change on the calendar would alleviate a lot of my stress, somehow it didn't. I came home to muddy Levi shorts I had bought for "school clothes" laying in a muddy heap in my laundry room(I would totally do a Shout commercial after that day if any Shout execs are reading). I came home to dirty dishes and exhausted children because Daddy time is fun time. I came home to stories something like, "My daddy was looking like a cowboy and swinging his rope and he got me!" or "Has anybody ever chased you with a lawn mower? It's really fun!" And my big kids, who remained best friends through the preschool years when I just knew they would feud, decided officially this summer to spend time every single day not getting along. I was unsure whether to blame the excessive time with their dad, their ages in general, too much quality time together all summer, or my own inadequacies, but I was glad for school to start this year. I have been looking forward to it. I wanted to take that deep, cleansing breath and say that we made it!

We knew it was coming and we planned for it and we shopped for it and we labeled everything and we were ready. Monday morning, aka day 1, I was awakened at 4:40 am by my baby girl who had decided breakfast would not wait until daylight. I snuggled up with Megan, feeding her and dozing a little, as I do a lot of mornings. I usually get up shortly after 5 anyway, so when I finished feeding her around 5:10 I headed to the bathroom for my usual morning routine. The TV was on in the living room. I heard, "Mom? Mom? I got up and brushed my teeth and brushed my hair and got all my new clothes on. I'm ready for the bus! I'm just watching a show about Abraham Lincoln while I wait."

It was true. Our TV was tuned to the History Channel and a very detailed Abraham Lincoln documentary. It sure looked like too much information for me, pre-daylight and pre-caffeine. I said, "Madison, I am pretty sure neither the bus or your new teacher are ready for you just yet!" Much to her dismay I made her go back to bed for a couple of hours. I was glad to see her excitement settle enough to let her go back to dozing peacefully sometime during my shower. All I could think was that presidential documentaries at 5 am and early morning bright-eyed children can only mean one thing. School is ON! With almost a week down, she is loving 2nd grade...and she is back to sleeping until I wake her in the mornings. And she loves her brother again. So I guess we did make it after all!

maybe I need more practice

Jaron has been ready to go to big school for a long time now. Last year, when we took Madison to first grade, he cried the entire 30 miles to preschool because he wanted to stay there with her. He said he was big. He tried to convince me that maybe he was 5 already and maybe he had already had his Spiderman birthday cake. Since I am the cake maker, I was confident that at that time, he had not yet enjoyed his Spiderman birthday cake. He had not blown out the 5 candles that would boost him to that long awaited age in which he could ride the awesome yellow bus to school. Well...as August rolled around this year...there was no denying the fact that he had.

I asked him last night if he was ready to finally go to big school and anxiously awaited the excitement that would follow when he realized it was time at last! He looked away from me and said, "Maybe I need more practice." He only learned to write his name this summer. He wanted to practice some more. This morning when I got him up he wanted to practice his name again. I never considered he would worry about his school work. All this time I have been nervous that he will be bashful. This is the boy who told me he is "shy of lots of people." I just want him to like school and like his teacher and like his new little friends. I want him to be able to get his chocolate milk open and cut up his french toast and not worry about the crowd around him.

I think I have done a great job keeping my poker face on as this monumental day has been approaching us. I have had big smiles for him. But when the big, brick building grew larger as we approached I felt my heart start to flutter. Not with excitement like when I was a student, but with anxiety and hope and dreams and wishes for him. This is my only son. If the world made any sense at all he would be a toddler dumping an entire box of Cheerios in the kitchen floor before throwing them in the air with glee. "Are you going to come in my classroom with me?" he asked with the big, brown eyes. Of course I was. Of course I was going to help him find his desk and find his breakfast and find his teacher and open his milk carton.

Kevin and I were kind of hovering in the doorway to make sure he went where he was supposed to. After he finished eating breakfast there was a moment of hesitation at the doorway as he decided which way to go. His little friend pulled him by the hand to lead him down the stairs to the gym where the students were gathering for an assembly, and he decided to follow her instead of coming back to his dad and I like I could tell he was considering. I felt my eyes start to sting as I walked down the long hall and out the door much more quickly than I had come in. Maybe I need more practice, too.

Just between us girls...

There is something about watching a big, tough man be gentle that melts a woman's heart in a way nothing else can. I was thinking about how funny it is that young men (actually men of all ages) try to show off their strength and abilities when they are trying to impress the girls. They want big muscles and big trucks and big houses and big wallets full of big bills. They want to find the biggest Indian artifact or catch the biggest fish or shoot the biggest buck or trap the biggest bobcat. They think those are the things that will impress the girl of their dreams. I really don't think we should tell them that they could make us proud with far less effort on their part. Just between us girls, I am appropriately proud of my big, strong man and all, but the most impressive sight I have seen in a long time has nothing to do with anything huge and manly. My big, tough man looks most impressive to me when he has a grip on one of his more tiny accomplishments. And all he has to do to impress her is watch her blow bubbles.

Prince Charming

My husband has never really been my Prince Charming. To begin with, I have never considered myself to be a damsel in distress. If you were to look back over my history, you would not find impossibly locked towers or poisoned apples or wicked step-family members. What you would find is a mom who was always supportive even when I did not make the most outstanding decisions. You will find a dad who always fixed whatever ailed my car, sometimes without my ever knowing anything was wrong first. You will find a sister who was always available to laugh or cry with me as the situation deemed necessary. You will find a brother who has always been the tiniest bit over-protective. Math has never really been my favorite thing, but when I add all of that up I get a girl who has always known that there were people who loved her.

Kevin is rarely moved to break out grand romantic gestures. He is not a guy who sends me flowers for no reason. His idea of helping around the house is to hire a teenage girl to come over and work for me. I pick out the majority of gifts I receive for the major holidays. I have friends who ask if this particular aspect of our relationship bothers me...and I can honestly say it does not. I like choosing things for myself that I know I will enjoy or use. Would I be pleasantly surprised to get flowers from Kevin on a Wednesday in January? Yes. Do I need them to know he loves me? No. He may not be my Prince Charming, but one thing I know for sure is that he is the love of my life.

I have loved Kevin since I was thirteen years old. I loved his smile and the way he stood out on the basketball court but did not show off in a crowd. On November 15, 1991, he bought me a Mountain Dew at a junior high basketball tournament and asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. He gave me a heart shaped ring with the tiniest diamond chip for my fourteenth birthday. He gave me a ring six years later with some bigger diamonds and asked another important question. I said yes again. I love him for holding my hand when I was struggling to say good-bye to loved ones. I love him for making every day things fun and for making me laugh. I love him for not letting me wallow in a bad mood. I love him for playing with our kids on a daily basis. I love how the kids light up when they see him and how he shows excessive enthusiasm over their latest accomplishments. I love how we can have entire conversations without saying a word. I love that he loves hunting and fishing and how he has started sharing that with the kids(remind me of this during a busy time when I haven't seen him for days due to his being gone shooting or catching something). I love his soft spot for dogs and how he always seems to know what they need. I love how it embarrasses him when I brag about him.

Tomorrow is our tenth anniversary. I look around at friends and family who are divorcing and I can't help but wonder...what makes us different? How do I know that is not going to happen to us? Marriage may not always be what we expected. We may not be impressed with each other every single day. You know those conversations without words? They are not always love and sunshine. I do know that his cheek was against mine on three very important days when I had three very important surgeries resulting in the three most intricate and beautiful gifts that could have ever been given to me. We rarely spend time alone together these days, but loving our three precious children together in that fierce, blind, and protective way that only parents can know, I have never been more content in my life. And I still love his smile. Ten years of marraige and three kids later, we may never know what I would have done for that man if he had splurged for a candy bar to go with that drink!

Just let me see how loose it is...

I think the way a person decides to pull a tooth says something about their personality. Kind of like the way a person chooses to remove their electrodes that go with their heart monitor or the way a person chooses to remove a band-aid. Some people gingerly pick all the way around it and gradually work them loose and some people just rip them off with a wince. It all boils down to one question. Would you rather have less pain over a longer period of time or would you rather your pain were a little more intense and brief?

I am more of a rip off the band-aid type. Get it over with and move on. When I was little, my dad pulled my teeth for me. I would rather let him yank it out than let it stay sore in my mouth all day. And I was very proud of Madison for choosing that same path. She asked me to pull her tooth on Saturday. I had the most distinct feeling of deja vu as I said, "Just let me see how loose it is." I can't tell you how many times my dad said that to me just before handing me a tooth to put under my pillow. Well, it must work well because she did not feel a thing and it was over very quickly. Somehow missing a tooth just boosts a kid up to a new level of adorable. I have asked to see her smile at least a dozen times in the last day and a half. And of course I got a picture of one of them.

Proud Mama

I have been such a proud mama lately. Megan has been sleeping all night for about a month now. She goes down anywhere from 9:00-10:30pm and sleeps peacefully until somewhere between 5:00-6:00am. It has been wonderful! She is such a content little baby most of the time and I am having so much fun with her!

Jaron has been riding his bike like a professional. While he still endures the occasional crash, hills cannot slow him down anymore, and he dodges obstacles in his path like a speed racer. He loves to entertain his baby sister and has been doing his chores like a big boy. What can I say? I am a proud mama.

Madison has chores also. She has been keeping up with them like a champ. I think she is playing house. Yesterday I came home to find her cleaning above and beyond her duties. She later decided to help me fold clothes without being asked. Yep. I was thinking about how much she has grown up this summer and how proud I was of her renewed desire to help mama out around the house. She held up a pair of underwear and said, "Mom, whose are these?" After being informed that they were mine, she replied, "I actually didn't know because they are enormous!" I guess I have always been proud of her large vocabulary too.

So thank you, Madison, for the reminder to get rid of my maternity granny panties. I am 7.5 pounds lighter than when I wrote my last post. I am on my way to being healthy again. Hopefully to avoid this confusion my underwear will be much smaller very soon!

Finally

We have a shiny 4x6 frame in our house that says "Family" on it. I keep our most recent family snapshot there. Usually that consists of a leftover Christmas card photo or a slice of summer fun. Madison has been concerned about that frame since Megan was born. Now that she reads, she takes issue with making sure things are as they should be. She keeps telling me, "But it doesn't have our whole family in it! That must hurt Megan's little feelings!" I am learning that with a family of five, the opportunity to get the family picture is not that abundant(That admission is for you, Mom!). When you think about having all members of the family awake and happy and clean and available at the same time without being in a hurry to get somewhere...well, that is not the sort of thing that happens every day at our house.

At long last (yes, four months is a long time to a 7-year-old and her scrapaholic mother), the holiday weekend provided such an opportunity for the Peavlers. I gathered everyone to Mom's swing and coerced Kristy into camera duty and the end result was our first family picture including Megan Joleen. I put it in the frame and Madison said, "FINALLY! Our whole family is in the family frame!" Yes. She speaks the truth. Looking at it I couldn't understand why I had put it off for four months. I have been waiting years to put a picture of my "whole family" in that frame. And now I have. Finally.

my favorite surgery

Five years ago today I had my favorite surgery. And my favorite boy. My pregnancy with Jaron went by the book. I did not have to do any additional non stress tests or ultrasounds as all was well in the womb. He patiently waited until my scheduled c-section to arrive, exactly one week prior to my due date. The surgery itself was the most smooth and least painful of them all. Kevin, who was hanging on the verge of a full blown panic attack and almost speechless with Madison's c-section, gave me a play-by-play of the surgery as I blissfully felt NOTHING until the slight tug that let me know he was finally here. The first thing Kevin said to me after the surgery was, "If Madison had been like this we could have two or three more kids!" I never included myself in that "we" he was talking about, but I admit it was my favorite surgery. Barely a year has gone by since we decided to try for baby #3. I remember thinking maybe I would be expecting at Jaron's 5th birthday party. I never dreamed Megan would be here celebrating with us. As we were getting ready to go Jaron said, "Guess what, baby? This is your brother's birthday party with cake!" And she smiled at him.

I love Jaron's deep, brown eyes and long eyelashes. I love his smile and cannot contain my own any time he flashes it at me. It is completely contagious. This works to his advantage when he is in trouble. He is a happy guy 99% of the time and goes with the flow. He loves his sisters and tractors and Spiderman. He loves to ride his bike and go swimming. He loves to go fishing and haul hay with Grandpa and he loves to ride in Daddy's fishing boat in the river. He loves chocolate and pancakes and meat (which does not include hot dogs). He is adorably bashful. He told me after his party, "I'm shy of lots of people. I'm not shy of one people." It is true. He is my sweet boy. He still hugs me without embarrassment. He melts my heart on a daily basis. Happy Birthday, Jaron! May you always have that happy, positive attitude that is such a blessing to our family!

stay-at-home dad

You know, my husband has never really been the primary caretaker of the children. If we were to tally up baths given, diapers changed, and meals prepared, I am confident that the majority of the little marks would register to my side of the paper. And he does not believe in putting Band-Aids on boo-boos that cannot be seen with the naked eye. And he does not require them to use sunscreen to step outside the door.

He likes to be the fun one. The one who does not enforce bedtime and lets them watch Spongebob. He has a large reserve of patience, most of the time, and as the kids get bigger they go with him more and more often to help him with anything and everything, as long as it is not dangerous. He does not mind that, while one would assume help would speed up his work, sometimes that "help" ends up making projects go much more slowly. At the same time, as I believe many men do, he has his own agenda. He tends to assume everything should take place in the time frame that he deems necessary and he believes that (dare I say it?) everything should, for the most part, revolve around his schedule. I once held up one hand and said to him, "This is not a universe where this is you and (while circling my other hand around the first one) this is the world!" to which he replied, "Oh, but it should be!"

Kevin hurt his back a several weeks ago at work. The first week he was off was rough. He was hurting bad. He was having back spasms. I threatened to obtain some big strong men to take him to the ER to get relief ASAP! At one point he was unable to get up and all I can really do for him in a situation like this if bring him something to eat or drink. He is 6'4" and weighs 240 pounds. There is no picking him up myself. The first few days he would tell me which channels were going to have the best movies on that day. I remember it was TBS one day and USA the next. He has been required to stay home for almost a month now. Gradually he has been getting better.

After that first week I started leaving the big kids home with him to let them have some quality time with Dad, and to save some of those babysitting dollars. I have to admit I was apprehensive. I also have to admit I sort of like things to be my way when it comes to the kids. There were a few things I noticed right away that were different than when I stay home with them, of course. A few extra bumps and bruises here and a slight sunburn there. Jaron's brand new Levi shorts, mud covered, in the laundry when his drawer is full of play clothes. Dads just do not do things the same way that moms do. I chose to ignore these things because there were additional matters to be noticed as well.

I came home one day to a swing hanging in the tree. With my kids sitting on it. Our swing set had been broken for awhile. I did not realize he had saved a swing to put up someday. I came home one day to find the swimming pool being set up in the yard. The kids LOVE to play in the water and jump in with reckless abandon. One day this week, our dog Max died. We think he had a heat stroke. Kevin set up the slip N slide that evening to help the kids cheer up a little bit. It worked. Kevin took the training wheels off of Jaron's bike and taught him to ride it without them. A couple days later he was pushing off without help.

They have helped him pick cherries, take care of animals, and put gutters on their great-grandma's house. He has taken them to the park. And he cooks for them. Not frozen dinners but bacon and eggs, pancakes, hamburger helper, and tenderloins. One night this week he has grilled steak and hot dogs for supper. Another night he fried chicken and made mashed potatoes and gravy. I think maybe I could get use to his being off work. He has been so carefree and relaxed that it makes me wish he could have more time off on a regular basis. I love being able to leave the kids in bed when I go to work instead of getting them up early. I love them being able to stay home and play. And swim. And ride bikes. I love that they are having a real summer vacation at home. I would love to be the one staying home with them for the summer. But I do not begrudge Kevin for having this opportunity. I can see the relationship between them solidifying before my eyes and it melts my heart. The card Madison made for her daddy for Father's Day says it all.

Iris June

I met Iris June when I was 17 years old. She was introduced to me as "Kevin's old babysitter." I was naive about a lot of things when I was 17. Okay, almost everything. I did not possess one solitary memory of having a babysitter. I had no concept of what that could mean. On the rare occasion that I was left with someone, my mom left me with my grandparents. I remember three very distinct first impressions stemming from this first meeting with Iris June. First, this woman was actually shorter than me! It is something you notice when you are 5'2". Second, she seemed like a nice lady(another point chalked up for my first impressions being so right on!). And third, it was obvious to me that she loved Kevin.

I was a teenager and I loved my boyfriend and I thought everything he said was funny and everything he did was impressive and adorable. Meeting his childhood babysitter, and seeing her look up at him and call him her "little Kevie" with a quiet, warm smile...well it made me wonder about all the things I did not know about him. All the cute little things he did growing up that made him into the person who would be the love of my life. She was there for most of that. And the more time I spent with Iris June, the more stories she told me. And the more I understood that "babysitter" was a very insignificant title for the role she played in his life. I started to understand that family is not something that requires blood ties and matching noses and eye color. She was a grandmother to him. She was a mother to him. She was a friend to him. He spent most days with Iris June and her husband, Joe, and spent the night often, too. She was monumental in his upbringing and could not have cared for him more lovingly if he had been her own baby.

She told me a story about how at bedtime she would snuggle Kevin up and knock on the headboard and say, "Go away, Sandman, you can't have my little Kevie! He's my boy!" She had to do it every time he spent the night. One night he decided he would protect her, too, and he knocked on the headboard and said, "Go away, Sandman, you can't have Iris June! She's my boy!" And she laughed. Her laugh could fill a room if not the entire house!

Another time she and Joe were teasing him by fighting over whose boy he was. Joe's boy or Iris June's boy. He finally said, "OK, Iris June. You can have my top half and Joe can have my bottom half!" She told him that would be good because she didn't want his stinky bottom anyway!

She and Joe taught Kevin a lot. He gardened with them. He went to church with them. He milked cows and put up hay with them. She got him to do things like sing solo in church, play the guitar, and crochet an afghan. He cooked and baked with her. Kevin loved them both very much. I have never heard him say a cross word about Iris June in the 18 years he has been in my life. She was his soft spot. His expression always melted into a whole new level of adorable when she was around. Over the years when I thought Kevin was misbehaving I would tell her maybe she should have spanked him more when he was little. She always said, "Oh, I never spanked Kevin! He never needed a spanking!" Just as she loved Kevin as a son, she loved my kids as her own grandchildren and did not miss any of their birthdays or Christmases even though I know she has not felt very well for some time now. When I told her I was expecting baby #3 she said, "Good. Two kids are not enough!"

I don't know what else I can say to do justice to this woman who, while she never delivered a child of her own, loved many children wholeheartedly. I have given birth to three of those children she loved, and I am married to another one of them. She loved people and baking and telling stories. And she was loved and treasured by all of us. I think the people who treasured her the most were the ones she cherished from the time they were babies. We visited Iris June in the hospital on Mother's Day. She was holding Megan when the nurse came in to check on her. The nurse asked if her lunch was okay and Iris June said, "It was fine, but this baby is my dessert!" Iris June was the dessert in my husband's life for his entire childhood. I am grateful for the love she has shown my family and I over the years. I am grateful for her contributions to the man I am sharing my life with. We will miss her always.

*********************************************************************

Madison

Jaron

Megan

diary of a mad fat woman

I know there are women out there who are naturally and beautifully skinny. I know that when they get pregnant and have babies they get that glow that you hear about. They can walk around the week before delivery looking like they swallowed a basketball, or sometimes even a volleyball. They wear their wedding rings to the hospital and their regular shoes and most people would not even notice their pregnancy at all. If you are one of those women, you can stop reading now.

I am not one of those women. I have never been able to wear my wedding ring into my last trimester. I have gained 54, 57, and 40 pounds with each pregnancy. I look like I swallowed a pilates ball. And I swell. My most recent pregnancy caused the most swelling. I bought shoes that were two and a half sizes larger than normal for me. I had no rings to fit. I could not even wear my watch. I know that I was very supersized and did not need to be reminded on a regular basis as I was--you may remember my post on things you should consider NOT saying to a pregnant woman. I lost 25 pounds after I had Megan, before I left the hospital. And not much since. I have not really actively been trying to lose the weight yet. And I am only 5'2". I know this.

I am breastfeeding. I will just tell you that my chest size causes some clothing issues. It makes any regular shirt too short on me so I realize I am still wearing a lot of my maternity shirts. But overall I am feeling so much better than I was before I had Megan and I am starting to take what little self-esteem I had left and pick it up off the floor and venture out in public again. Or at least I was. Until yesterday.

I passed someone in the hall at work, just going about my usual business. It was a girl I do not know well. I knew what department she was from but I did not know her name. So I was almost by her when I heard her say, "Still no baby, huh?" I looked around the empty hallway to discover it was just she and I and she was speaking. To. Me. I realize the Wii Fit told me I was obese but do I seriously look like I AM ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH???

I promptly walked to her department to ask them if they could fire her, please. And I know her name now. And the diet is ON.

Happy Birthday, Madison!

This picture was taken this morning before school. Of my 7-YEAR-OLD! Today is the anniversary of my becoming a mom. Seven years ago today I had a horrific and excruciating c-section to cap off a day and a night of labor and anxiety. Kevin and I were scared to death. It was my most traumatizing delivery. It was my most emotional delivery. And it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. When it was all over they brought me the most beautiful baby I had ever seen in my life! And she was mine.

She is still beautiful. She is dramatic. She is independent. She is stubborn. She is full of love. She got out the sidewalk chalk a couple weeks ago. She drew a beautiful picture of our family in the sunshine with trees, flowers, and butterflies on our back steps, and she wrote on all of our stepping stones. She wrote,
"I love Mom."
"I love Dad."
"I love Jaron."
"I love Megan."
"I love my cat."
"I love God."
"I love nacher." (nature)
"Zoe is my friend."
"I love the world."
That's a lot of love. She loves earrings and animals and her bike and her family and her friends and swimming and shopping and the Wii. She has been the best big sister. She is protective and nurturing and breathtakingly gentle and sweet with Megan. Her vocabulary has always had a way of keeping me astounded and laughing on a regular basis. So what I am surprisingly saying is that I think this little girl is pretty special. Seven years ago today a mom was born. I am grateful for every memory of her and plan to cherish every new experience we share together. I make my own calendar for the house and on this month it has Madison's picture and it says, "Daughters are the flowers of life." She has been our bright and beautiful flower for seven wonderful years. Happy Birthday, Madison!

bye, baby, bye

Visiting a loved one in the nursing home is not the easiest thing to do. Grandad moved into the nursing home the week Megan was born. It is not the visiting itself that is difficult. Grandad likes not having to cook and seems to enjoy his new life and new friends. The first lady I met told me what a sweet gentleman he was. The difficult part is accepting how fast that sand seems to be flying through the hourglass and how quickly time is passing. When I think of Grandad, I still picture him holding the lawn chairs, waiting for Granny to get done talking so he can take her home from one of my ball games. I picture him just 10 years ago walking all over the farm and running and jumping around like he was decades younger. I picture him napping in the middle of Mom's living room floor after one of his hikes. At 91 he may have lost some of his agility, and he may be using a walker now, but Grandad is still the same Grandad. The visiting was not difficult. We discussed the weather, farming, fishing, Kevin's work, and how our new wood stove is working out. We discussed his "neighbors" and his brother and his health and the food. We discussed my work and he asked about the family. Grandad still has a very sharp memory. He still asks about all things outdoors. He still sings, "Bye, baby, bye, baby, bye," while rocking a new baby. He still gives hugs and kisses for hello and goodbye. His place of residence has changed. But he still walks me down the long hallway to the main front door, waits as I get in my vehicle and get buckled up, and waves with both hands as I drive away. The visiting was not difficult. I have to admit the driving away was.

She Completes Me

I hate to go all Jerry McGuire here. While I loved Tom Cruise at the time the movie came out, I was disappointed overall. There were only two things I really enjoyed about it. I loved the adorable performance by the little boy playing the stepson, and I appreciated a tearful Tom Cruise saying the famous line in a room full of man haters. Those were my favorite things. And that is how I feel about Megan. She completes me.

I am not saying she is my favorite child and the others are small potatoes. When my kids were born, they were each born into a different family. Each child has a different role and fills a different place in my heart. Before Madison was born, Kevin and I were high school sweethearts that had been married for a few years. Her birth instantly catapulted us from a young married couple to a family. My universe revolved around that baby. I told everyone that I could not believe how blessed I was to have given birth to the most beautiful baby I had ever seen in my life! I watched her for hours and marveled at the wonder of the miracle of her creation to the extent that Kevin began to question the dosage of my morphine. I could not help smiling. I remember being with my mom when someone asked if Madison was a good baby. My mom answered, "She seldom cries, but I don't think Valerie lets her cry!" I remember wondering why a mother would ever consider letting her baby cry? And since I was right there watching her every expression anyway, why not pick her up at the first little peep? I thought I could never love another person as much as I loved my firstborn baby girl without taking some love away from her. I was wrong.

I was unable to spend such lengthy interludes in admiration of Jaron's beauty following his birth into a family with a 25-month-old sister. One of my favorite things about Jaron is the fact that once he started to smile it seemed like he never stopped. And it is contagious. I never wanted to have an only child, so I relaxed and felt I had done my parental duty by making sure my children had a sibling. I remember the first time I saw my two children interact in the hospital. Madison, 2 years old, walked in and softly said, "Oh, baby brother." She touched her cheek to his and he squirmed in my arms from being disturbed. My breath caught in my throat. I did not want to interrupt. To this day I feel all warm and content every time I see my kids lovingly relating to each other. Like the first warm day in the Spring with the sun on my face, breathing in country air and a freshly mowed lawn. And that describes Jaron in a nutshell. A breath of fresh air. To this day when he enters the room I can't help smiling.

Megan was born to a slightly more laid back mom. I always felt like I would not be finished having babies until I had three. I know most people say in today's world that two kids are enough. I know many people feel if you can have a healthy boy and girl it is a good place to count your blessings and call it good. I know we are going to have five more years to pay a babysitter. I know she will require love and attention and money for the rest of my life. I know having her means Kevin and I are officially outnumbered by our children. But I needed her. As grateful as I have always been for my older kids and as much as I love them, I always had a slight feeling that something was missing in our family. I always knew that if I did not try to have just one more baby I would regret it later on in life. I felt like I would always wonder what our third child would have looked like. I would have wondered about her favorite foods and personality traits. I would have wondered about Jaron as a big brother. The first time we loaded up the van, complete with the infant seat and two booster seats, I thought for the first time that my entire family was together at last. And I could not help smiling.

I do not sleep much. My mom told me that bringing home the third baby was like bringing two kids home. She was right. My house gets messy. My laundry piles up. We don't always have a vegetable with dinner. But she is beyond worth it. And every person in my house gravitates toward this baby girl. Madison cannot function without knowing her exact whereabouts at all times. Jaron believes it is completely unacceptable to ever let her cry for a moment. Kevin is particularly proud of the way everyone comments on how strong they think she is. I am more content with my life, chaotic and sleepy as it may be, than I have ever been. Every member of my family loves Megan even more than I thought possible. She completes me. I think maybe she completes us all.

One of Those Days

From my title it could easily be assumed that this will be one of those "someone has a bad case of the Mondays and is grieving the rapid loss of yet another weekend" kind of posts. If that came to mind, you are forgetting that right now I am being paid my regular wages to stay home with my kids. Nothing can rain on that parade! What I have to say is the exact opposite of that.

Yesterday Madison told me, "Mom, I just don't know how we ever got along without Megan!" I had one of those days yesterday that made me wonder how I ever got along before I was a mother. How did I ever get along without Madison, Jaron, and Megan? What did I worry about? Dream about? Plan for? I have no idea. It is like my life is divided into two segments--before kids and after kids. I have no idea how I ever survived that first segment.

I had one of those days where I had to thank God for making me a mother. Repeatedly. Jaron, Megan, and I went to my work to visit and we ran a few errands. I decided we should take a Happy Meal picnic to the park. Taking my kids to the park is one of the simplest things in the world. All I have to do is say the word "playground" and Jaron illuminates like a Christmas tree. We can come and go as we please. And it is free. Why don't we go the park every single day of our parental lives? We had never gone to this particular playground and Jaron decided it was built especially for him. "You know why, Mom? Because it is dark blue! You know what's my favorite color, Mom? Dark blue! You know what, Mom? My baby sister can play on my playground when she is bigger. You know why, Mom? Because someday my baby sister will learn how to walk."

When I was little my mom asked me why I talked so much and I told her I just had a lot to say. While Jaron chattered and played and chattered and played I just sat there, holding my bundled up baby girl, and watched him. I found myself speechless. It was one of those days high up on my list of treasured memories. One of those days when my kids are still my biggest fans. One of those days where there is no room for worries about jobs or babysitters or housework or bills or the size of denim capri's I had to buy last week. There was only room for blissful contentment, gratitude, and happiness.

I read once that being a mom was like making the decision to let your heart walk around outside of your body. As I watched my heart go up the ladder and down the slide and up the ladder and down the slide and up the ladder and down the slide, I decided the one thing I know for sure about my life is that I was meant to be a mother. I also decided that this was one of those days worth blogging about.

Man of Leisure

I am down to two more weeks of maternity leave. I keep saying, "It is almost all over but the crying!" And I am not talking about Megan's tears. I wonder if anyone will be more upset about this change in our routine than Jaron. I am afraid I have created quite the man of leisure. When we first got home from the hospital with Megan, I started letting him stay up as late as he wanted. I am talking 11 o'clock or midnight. I mean, I was up anyway. I was either feeding the baby or pumping or taking pain meds or something. You mamas know the drill. Megan's biggest sleep windows were always during the day then. So Jaron would sleep until 10 in the morning, and after getting Madison on the bus at 7:30, so would I. We would have brunch. It was what I needed at the time or I would have never gotten any sleep in the daylight hours!

I did not realize how comfortable he had gotten at home until I realized that I had not seen him in actual clothes for a couple of days. I realized that 90% of the time that boy was either wearing his Spiderman costume or he was running around in his underwear. Sometimes he goes to sleep playing the Wii. One morning I found him playing the Wii as Spiderman before breakfast. And here I am, planning to send him off to kindergarten where routine is essential. I had to form a strategy. He likes to do flashcards to identify all the letters, shapes, and colors, but he has them all down so it does not take up much time. I recently got him a Spiderman workbook. We started having "homework time" where we have been practicing writing letters and drawing shapes. He is not always dressed for homework time. And he always wants to draw Spiderman webs when we are finished.

These last two weeks I am going to focus on homework time AND wearing clothes all day.

Historic Presentation

I always knew I wanted to try to scrapbook. I saved everything with the intentions of taking it up one day. I was not confident that I was artistic or crafty enough but I sure wanted to try it. I have always loved pictures. I am never going to be a seamstress or a painter. My attempts at crocheting were less than impressive and while I am capable of cross stitching, it will never be a passion of mine. When Jaron was 4 months old I went to my first scrapbook class/party hosted by a friend. I was amazed by all the tools. You do not have to be artistic, people. The tools do everything for you. Quickly, too. And it was a blast. And I was hooked. I made two pages in that hour. And I spent some money on those glorious necessities I got to play with that day.

I remember going to my mom's to pick up the kids afterwards and proudly presenting those first two pages to her. I remember announcing, "I am a scrapbooker!" I took those pages everywhere for weeks and showed them to anyone who would look at them. I was so shocked that I had actually done something creative. I now have many albums in progress: Madison's third album, Jaron's second album, a vacation album, Kevin's hunting and fishing album, a Christmas album, a sports album. I would like to do an album for Kevin and I but have not started it yet. I don't get to do it as often as I would like but I still love it. I love getting together with friends to preserve our memories together. It is fun to catch up through visiting and collectively poring over our pictures. I also love the end result. So I would like to present to you Megan's very first scrapbook page. And the birth of my album #10. At this time I will begin her training on looking at and smiling for the camera, or maybe we can start with waking up for photo opportunities. It is a process.

as inspired by Serenity

Ok, this is my very inadequate attempt to keep up with Serenity. I feel compelled to write this post even though it is midnight and all of my children are sleeping and if I were a sane mother I would be joining them in their slumbering bliss.

I started blogging because I like to tell stories. I am an outgoing person and I like to know someone hears me. And gets me. I love looking back and remembering feelings and memories that I probably would have forgotten had I not commemorated those experiences through my blog. And I use to hate it when I would get around to scrapbooking a birthday party from two years ago and I would struggle to know what to write about it. That is why I started blogging. I have never thought that I was a writer or really had serious aspirations to be published or anything. This is like my family's journal to me.

My mom, on the other hand, is a writer. She has been published. I will make sure all of you get the chance to read her poem, "Love Poem to my Farmer" that was published in Woman's Day magazine. She has written creative stories and autobiographical stories and poems and research papers and speeches that she has delivered at graduation ceremonies before hundreds of people. She loves writing. And reading. I mean, you realize she is an English teacher, right?

She believes everyone would love to read if only they had the right book. She read the Little House on the Prarie series, in its entirety, to us on our porch swing every summer. And she took us to the library often. She is the reason I love to read. She made sure I had the right books.

She stayed home with my brother and sister and I until I was in junior high and then she went to college. Where she earned A after A after A after A. She graduated from college the same year I graduated from high school. She put her family first and then embarked on her career. I have always admired her for that. On our birthdays she made and decorated our cakes and prepared our favorite meals. She took us to the park. She rocked us when we were sick. She helped make our Valentine's Day boxes and our Halloween costumes and hid our Easter baskets. She took us to visit our grandparents. I can still picture her sitting in her car by the school, reading a book, waiting to pick us up from school or practice.

She can find good in any situation. And she can break into song in almost any situation. If a song will not do it, she always seems to know the right words to say to make someone feel better. She and my dad hold hands when they walk to the car from a ball game. She pays attention to her grandchildrens' interests and tries to encourage them to pursue those things. She knows how to be supportive and encouraging long after hanging up her pom poms. She consistently spends time with her dad. She knows how to bring out the best in those around her simply by being her best. I guess I am saying she is pretty impressive. And she is my mom. And now she has her own blog. I would like to invite you to visit Country Confessions. Check in often. I am sure she will have a lot to say. I had to get it from someone, right?

Our First Official Girls' Day

On Saturday Madison, Megan, and I had our first official girls' day. We left the boys at home and went shopping and did lunch. Megan was exactly one month old. I love the boys in my life, but as I realized the significance of this fabulous event I could not help but daydream about all of the fun things my girls and I can do over the coming years.

When I was a kid it was understood that 13 was the magic age to get our ears pierced. I remember being beyond excited when my mom surprised me by letting me go and get mine done for my 12th birthday. It was the best present ever. At least it seemed that way to a 12-year-old. Madison has been begging for earrings for awhile now and until now I have reminded her repeatedly that she is only 6 and I was 12 when I had it done. I have lectured her on the care and maintenance required and described the painful pinch involved with the actual piercing itself. She did not waver. I did.


I had a change of heart following Megan's arrival into our family. Madison has been such a super big sister. She loves our baby with all of her heart. The first thing she does when she gets off the bus after school is run to the bathroom to wash her hands so she can go find her baby sister. She gets her anything she might need. She is personally offended if I give Megan a bath when she is not here to supervise and assist. So Saturday I told her that because she is such a great big sister, we will go and get her ears pierced as a big sister present. She was such a big kid. While she did want me to hold her hand, she did not make a peep and did not shed a tear. She and I were both very proud of what a tough big kid she was. As we were strolling through Wal-Mart she said, "I am kind of like an adult now, Mom. You know, a lot of adults have their ears pierced and now I have my ears pierced." She could have pierced my own heart with that pink sparkly earring! Sometimes I look at her and feel like she has aged years instead of months but I have plans for her journey into adulthood taking several more years! I have many more childhood plans for girl fun. I plan to have girls' days when she is a grownup as well but I sure would appreciate a very lengthy transition into that next place in our lives!

Would a Megan by any other name be as sweet?

I have liked the name Megan for years. The name I had picked out for Jaron if he ended up being a girl was Megan Lynn. When I asked the kids what they wanted to name their baby sister, Madison opted for Valerina and Jaron said, “Let’s call her Pearl.” Megan means pearl. I feel like it was meant to be. Towards the end I started second guessing myself and I toyed with the idea of Morgan instead. I was trying to be more contemporary and was afraid Megan would be too old-fashioned. I finally decided to go with my gut and use the name I had chosen first. After seeing her in her perfect, tiny little form in the delivery room, Morgan just didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. Megan was the perfect, delicate name for my perfect, delicate baby. For her middle name I wanted her to have a namesake but was not convinced by any of the names I wanted to choose from. When I first combined my mom’s names, Judy Coleen, and came up with Joleen, I laughed about it and sang the Dolly Parton song in my head and wrote it off. The more I said it in my head, though, the more I liked it. It grew on me quickly and I decided it would grow on everyone else too. The fact that it represents the most important woman in my life…you know, the one who gave birth to me, made the decision irreversible. That is how we came to name our sweet baby girl Megan Joleen.

I went to my Tuesday appointment on March 3rd to have my ultrasound and non-stress test. Megan passed them both again so I was off to my doctor appointment with the reports. My blood pressure was high at the doctor’s office, and she sent me to Labor and Delivery and told me I would not go home until I delivered the baby. I wanted to have my baby on March 4th, as it was my Granny Bane’s birthday, but my doctor did not seem to think that was a good enough reason to deliver a baby 3 weeks early. She wanted to keep me in the hospital until March 11, 38 weeks gestation, on strict bed rest with bathroom privileges only. My blood pressure did come down after a few hours in bed so I prepared myself for the hurry up and wait game. The morning of Granny’s birthday I was having contractions every 5-7 minutes, and my water had broken overnight. Those were the reasons that led to two very special people sharing a birthday. Megan Joleen was born on March 4th at 2:10 pm. She weighed 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and was 19.5 inches long. She in no way looked big enough to be the cause of all the chaos in my body these past few months! I can never adequately describe the gratitude that I have in my heart for this tiny, healthy, beautiful baby girl that our family has been treasuring. Today is the day she was scheduled to be born. I should have known she would have her own plans. Kevin videoed the nurse taking Megan to the nursery and the kids looking at her for the first time. I absolutely love the video footage of moments I never could have seen otherwise. The first thing Madison said was, “I think I am starting to love her already.” Jaron said, “OK, which way is the ice cream?” Both of them love her above and beyond my expectations and have been fantastic as a big sister and a big brother. So here we go as a family of five. I will keep you posted on our new life as we are now officially outnumbered by our children!