Shameless Bragging

Aaaaaannnnnd...We're Back

2012-02-10T12:19:00.000-08:00

Same goofy kids. More consistent blogging. Get excited.

Excessive Heat Days Look a lot Like Snow Days Around Here

2011-08-03T14:23:00.001-07:00

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It's Probably Time to Do Something About This

2011-06-12T19:40:00.001-07:00

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Another School Year Ends

2011-06-11T13:24:00.000-07:00

Amelia loved Sonshine School, mostly because her favorite babysitter, Miss Callie, was also her teacher. She was able to remain on Miss Callie's hip throughout most of the school year, thus securing her place as "most spoiled third baby--ever".

For the first time ever, Arden loved school this year. She made sweet friends and had wonderful teachers. She never had to sit in time out and was a big fan of quoting her teacher's mantra "If you hit, you sit". She asked to stay late every day and got mad if I picked her up early. We couldn't have asked for a better year!

Claire has declared her first grade year "The best year ever!!!!", although that kid loves school so much, I suspect she'll be saying that every year. She especially loved Science, Reading, and socializing with her girl friends.

After a great school year, we are ready for a fun summer. Thanks to all the snow days we had this winter, it will be a shorter than normal summer, but we plan to make the most of it!

And Then A Whole Year Passed

2011-05-02T19:43:00.000-07:00

Last year, I was a little emotional around this time of the year. The one year mark of Amelia's diagnosis was looming over me and I realized I hadn't allowed myself to fully grieve and process what that meant. Some of that was because I simply didn't want to, but, in retrospect, it was largely because I didn't feel entitled to.

I knew of so many others who were dealing with very traumatic losses and life-threatening illnesses that I felt it wasn't OK for me to grieve. I mean, Amelia has ONE good eye, right? You can certainly live life with one eye. What's the big deal?

I see now that this logic is flawed. There is no litmus test for pain. If your child is hurting, you are allowed to hurt along with them. If your child has been given a challenge, it's OK to grieve for that. It's OK to feel like they got ripped off. It's OK to wonder why it happened to them.

It's OK to be sad.

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

When Amelia was two months old, Jason and I noticed that she didn't seem to focus on anything. I noted that she always looked to the left when she was laying on her changing table or on the floor. Her eyes seemed to cross a lot. We were midly concerned.

I mentioned our concerns at Amelia's two month check up and was told by the doctor (NOT my beloved Dr. J or Dr. P)that she was fine and it was normal and I was over-analyzing things. I left her office feeling uneasy.

They don't call it mother's intuition for nothing.

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

A week later, I made an appointment with Dr. P. Normally, Dr. P is a boisterous, funny guy but that day he was very serious. He laid Amelia on the exam table, took one look at her eyes and said, "I'm very concerned. I'm going to make a phone call."

Less than ten minutes later, we were sitting in Dr. H's office hearing him diagnose Amelia with a rare eye condition practically NO ONE has ever heard of.

Less than ten minutes after that, we were in a retina specialist's office, listening to him confirm the diagnosis and trying to get our brains around the idea that our infant was blind in one eye.

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

Easily the worst day of my life. But two years later, I can honestly say that the fear of not knowing what to expect was much worse than actually experiencing it.

Not that it's been a picnic. Did you know my toddler wears a contact? I probably don't need to spell out what a nightmare that is. But we manage. Sometimes I have to take her to the doctor just to get her contact back in. This doesn't seem strange to me anymore.

It's just what we do.

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

Some days, I still feel sad. I feel sad that my baby has to wear a contact in an eye that can't see. I feel sad that she wears glasses as protection for her good eye rather than for vision correction. I feel sad that her eye isn't growing normally and that she's at a high risk for complications like glaucoma. I feel sad that other kids notice her difference. But mostly? Mostly, I feel just like I did when the other girls were toddlers.

Tired. And so in love.

And compared to a year ago, that's major progress.

There Will be Mud

2011-04-26T11:09:00.001-07:00

I love Easter. I especially love it when it falls in late April, because I love celebrating the resurrection of Jesus against the backdrop of nature reawakening from its winter sleep. Also, it means the girls won't freeze in their cute Easter dresses, which I realize is NOT what Easter is about, but you have to admit, is a nice bonus.

This year, after several weeks of beautiful weather, Easter fell in the middle of a monsoon. Oh how I wish I were exaggerating when I tell you that, but I'm not. Well, it's possible that the amount of rain we had over the last week doesn't quite reach monsoon status, but it must be close.

After church, we headed to Grandma Becky's house for lunch. We got lots of play time with one of our favorite cousins, Samuel. Isn't he the cutest?

And we had an indoor egg hunt.

Eventually, the indoor hunt extended onto the front porch.

And that's when things started to get messy. Literally.

It seems no child can resist the pull of muddy grass and puddle-filled sidewalks. At least no child of mine.

Chips Off the Old Block

2011-04-25T19:38:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, the girls ran their first real race--a one mile fun run at a local park. Before the race started they were both pretty nervous. Arden because she was afraid she was going to get run over and Claire because she was afraid when she won all the people would stare at her (she really needs a little more self-confidence, that girl).

They both loved it, which came as a complete surprise to me because the eldest child is not a fan of sweat or exertion and the middle child has a low threshold for pain/discomfort/face-planting ten yards from the starting line (that could've gone really badly).

They both ran hard and did really well. No need to dwell on the fact that both girls ran the mile in less time than one of their parents typically does, or that the younger sister came from behind to beat the older sister to the finish line.

We all know they'll be plenty of time for that in the next 15-20 years.

These Girls

2011-04-07T19:22:00.000-07:00

These girls. Sometimes, they fight. About what TV show to watch, who gets to sit in the very back of the van, who ate the last package of mini muffins. Sometimes, they get mad at each other and stomp their feet. Sometimes they get frustrated and exclaim "it's not fair!". Sometimes, they yell. Sometimes, they slam doors. They've even been known to hit/bite/pinch each other.

Shocking, I know.

But sometimes. Sometimes, these girls are pure sweetness. Sometimes, they are so in sync with each other that my heart feels like it will burst out of my chest watching them together.

These girls. These girls are sisters.

This is Me, Eating My Words

2011-04-06T18:22:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, Amelia figured out how to climb out of her crib. And by climb, I mean hoist herself to a crouching position on the crib rail and then launch herself into the middle of her room. You can imagine how awesome that sounded coming over the baby monitor.

Since neither Claire nor Arden ever figured out how to escape the crib, we weren't sure what to do. At first we thought maybe it was time for a big girl bed. Claire was exactly Amelia's age when she moved to one, but that was necessitated by the impending arrival of Arden. Since there are no more Bramlett babies coming, I had fully intended to leave Amelia in her crib until sometime before Kindergarten.

After a few sleepless nights, waking up to find Amelia playing with her babies in the playroom, we knew something had to give.

Go ahead. Judge me. I once equated crib tents with those teddy bear leashes you see on unruly toddlers at the mall. But that was before my two year old learned to do acrobatics out of her bed. And now that I think about it, those leashes don't seem like such a bad idea either...

They Said He Would be 55 Pounds

2011-04-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

Last summer, we thought it would be fun to get a dog (yes, if you want to get technical, we already had a dog. She just lives with my parents. On their land out in the middle of the woods where she is free to torment deer and not small children). Having already saved one psycho dog from the animal shelter, we decided to go a different route. After a great deal of research, we decided that a labradoodle was the way to go.

A mix of the fun-loving, family friendly Labrador retriever with the intelligence and non-shedding properties of a poodle? Yes, please.

Jason drove to central Arkansas to pick up the newest member of our family. He brought home the absolute cutest, sweetest, sleepiest puppy you've ever seen.

We were in love.

Since this dog was Jason's only shot at a son, I let him pick the name. He chose Hootie. As in The Blowfish. I silently said a prayer of thanks that God had given us girls. And that Jason had let me pick their names.

Hootie's initial sleepiness turned out to be due to a parasite in his belly. After a few doses of medicine, he proved himself to be a typical puppy. Chewing, nipping, peeing on the rug, tormenting the girls (and their mama). Everything a puppy is supposed to do. Including grow.

And grow.

And grow.

At his last visit to the vet, he weighed in at 78 pounds. His breeder told us he would max out at 55 pounds. That's a 23 pound difference, for you math majors out there. That's a whole 'nother dog.

He turns one at the end of the month. Surely he's gotten as big as he's going to get, right? Right????

2011-04-03T18:47:00.000-07:00

My baby got new glasses. She looks adorable in them, of course, but way to big, in my opinion. She's supposed to look like this, after all.

Depite oozing adorableness in her new specs, she happens to hate them. She doesn't like the way they hook behind her ears. She is not a fan of the nosepiece on them. She prefers her "baby glasses" (yes, I tried to make the new glasses seem more appealing by calling them her "big girl glasses" and the old glasses her "baby glasses". Unfortunately, my baby likes being the baby and is not swayed by efforts to shame her into trying new things in the name of being a "big girl". And yes, now I'm talking about potty training. And giving up the paci.).

For now, we're back in the baby glasses and working our way towards the big girl glasses. Could be a long road ahead for potty training...

Seven

2011-02-11T19:54:00.001-08:00

Exactly seven years ago, I was laying in my bed in a sweet little house in Dallas, trying in vain to go to sleep because the next morning I would be having a baby. My first baby. The one who would make me a mother. My Claire.

Sleep was impossible, especially once the contractions started sometime in the middle of the night. I didn't bother timing them since I already had an induction scheduled for the next morning. I just laid awake, feeling the baby move, wondering.

We had to be at the hospital early. 6:00 a.m., I think. I didn't realize the enormity of what we were doing, bringing another soul into the world. I didn't realize, walking through the hospital doors that day, that I would leave a different person. That I would be changed, forever.

The early part of the day was filled with laughs, visitors, excitement over a first baby, a first grandchild, another baby to love. A constant stream of people flowed in and out of the room as we waited for things to progress.

Finally, it was time.

My doctor told me most first time moms push for an hour. An hour seemed doable to me. So I pushed, or at least I thought I did. My epidural, that blessed medical miracle, was turned up so high that I couldn't feel anything. Jason and Dr. Hays watched the monitor closely and told me when I was having a contraction and when it was time to push.

An hour quickly turned to two hours. I was becoming exhausted. At one point, the nurse brought a mirror into the room, thinking that would motivate me to push harder. I don't think I have to tell you that it had the exact opposite effect. My doctor brought in a knotted bedsheet and we played tug of war for a while. Still, no baby.

We approached the three hour mark. Things were getting stressful in the room. An internal monitor had been placed on the baby's head and she was being carefully watched. Dr. Hays told me if I didn't get the baby out right then, I would be having a c-section. A nurse even began putting a surgical cap on my head before Dr. Hays shooed her away.

A team of doctors entered the room. Two nurses from the NICU came in with an isolette. A precaution, Dr. Hays told me. Sometimes babies born with the use of forceps have difficulty breathing. It will be fine. Just a precaution. A blue curtain was draped over me. The anesthesiologist told me he was giving me something that would make me feel loopy.

The next moments are just blurry snapshots to me. Vague memories of what I think happened mixed with more accurate accounts from those in the room. My sister-in-law, who had initially agreed to man the video camera once the baby was out, got way more than she bargained for that day. She later told me one of the interns in the room sat behind me and pushed me forward while another doctor pushed down on my uterus. All this while Dr. Hays sat behind the blue curtain using what are essentially enormous salad tongs to pry my baby from my body.

I don't remember these things.

I remember only the newborn cry. The relieved look exchanged between the NICU nurses as they wheeled the isolette out of the room. The team of doctors filing quietly out of the room. My husband rushing over to the scale and declaring that our baby--our Claire Anne--weighed a healthy eight pounds, six ounces.

I remember the nurse placing her in my arms while she was still wiping her clean. I remember crying and telling her I thought she'd never get here. I remember staring into her eyes, wide open and murky, wondering what secrets of the universe she knew.

I remember being so overcome with love. And now, seven years later, it's even more true.

happy birthday, big girl! We love you so much!

So, it snowed this week.

2011-02-10T13:59:00.000-08:00

I wish my sweet old neighbor still lived next door so he could put out his sign again this year. If 4-5 inches of snow prompted him to call out Al Gore and his global warming theory, imagine what he would think of 20 inches.

We spent the day playing the matching game and watching old Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen movies on Netflix. We ventured out in the snow for a little while but the girls quickly discovered that 20 inches of snow is taller than their boots and thus creates a situation involving wet pants. My children do not enjoy wet pants, or really any form of discomfort in general.

An FYI

2011-01-14T11:45:00.000-08:00

If your child ever bites into a Cascade Complete dishwasher packet, the following is a list of actions you may want to take:

1. Wipe blue and green gel from child's mouth and tongue.
2. Force child to drink a glass of water.
3. Wipe up all the water that just flooded your kitchen floor because you forgot to put a lid on the cup.
4. Give her more water, this time in a sippy cup.
5. Read the back of package to make sure it is ok to give child water.
6. Assure your other children that their sister's tongue will probably not remain blue and that no you do not need them to call 911. Or daddy. Or Aunt Missy. Or Grandma.
7. Fret for 10 minutes about whether or not to call poison control.
8. Call poison control and get confirmation that the packets are not toxic but may induce vomitting.
9. Awesome.
10. Wonder how much your third child will age you in the next six months.

Bye Bye Baby

2011-01-06T11:23:00.001-08:00

It's this girl's last day as a one year old and I just don't know if my heart can take it. Also, I think it means I will have to stop referring to her as "the baby," as in, "Can someone go check on the baby?" or "Shhh! The baby is sleeping!"

If I could freeze time right now, I would. The girls are all at such a fun age and I have to say that I am loving Amelia's new found independence and spunkiness. That's the thing with third kids--you've already been through the whole toddler scene twice before and know that is a just a phase. So when find your little one sitting naked on your bathroom floor painting her toenails, it's more funny than infuriating. Or when she starts screaming because she can't keep her six year old sister's shoes on, you know it's just because she's frustrated. When she yells "TOP IT!" to you or her sisters, you have to keep bite your lip to keep from laughing because it's just funny.

Side note: what's not so funny is when your baby--excuse me, toddler--tells you she just pooped and needs a new "biaper". OK, maybe it's a little funny. And possibly a sign that you should invest in a potty seat.

Happy last day of babyhood, Amelia! Could you please try to grow up a little slower?

Arden's Prayer

2011-01-05T19:25:00.000-08:00

Dear God,
Thank you for everything in the whole wide world.
I like my family.
I hope you're having fun.
I love Jesus.
Amen.

In Case You Were Wondering...

2010-11-25T19:20:00.000-08:00

...yes, I ran the marathon. And no, I didn't win. But I didn't die either, which, given the extreme heat on race day and my lack of training, I consider a win. Here's a little glimpse into what the experience was like.

“Only 24.7 more to go—it’s all down-hill from here!”
Miles 1-5: Feeling great, running great, looking great (what? my fuel belt was hot). Mandy (my running partner) needs a potty break—decides McDonald’s is a better choice than the port-a-potties. Take a leisurely stroll through the first aid station while she goes. Consume some Chomps and Gatorade. Continue running. Laughing and talking—oh, this is so easy. Am no longer worried about IT band or the fact that my training essentially ended at 14 miles. I am obviously a natural—maybe I'm part Kenyan?

“You are all crazy”
Miles 6-10: Still feeling good. Not too hot yet. Am vaguely aware of the tightening of my right IT band. Wait. It’s my left one that’s been flaring up for the last four weeks. Why is my right one so tight? Commence stretching. Mimic Mandy’s street light stretch (grab pole with both hands, plant feet on ground, lean back and lower booty towards ground). Try to ignore the guy who tells me not to pull the street light out of the ground. Need to potty. Mandy suggests going behind a fence. Explain that my southern upbringing makes it physically impossible for me to urinate in public. Really. Physically impossible. It’s not like I haven’t tried before. Sheesh. Will wait a little longer. More Gatorade. More water. More Chomps.

“Hey John, Braden and Dylan said it’s OK if you crap your pants”
Miles 11-13: Must pee. Veer off to a port-a-potty and lock myself inside. Make mistake of looking into potty. Instantly curse my southern upbringing and vow to try harder to urinate in public next time. More water, Gatorade and Chomps. Realize that the professionals are already done with their race and I haven’t hit the halfway point yet. Am not Kenyan, after all. Am hot. Run through some water hoses. Dump Gatorade in my shoe. Slip on the wet pavement. Am getting even hotter.

“Suck it Up”
Miles 14-20: Tell Mandy to go on without me. Turn on my ipod. Maybe Justin Beiber will motivate me to run. No. Maybe Led Zepplin. Nope. Maybe Pearl Jam. Uh-uh. Ice Ice Baby? Not even close. This is a very dark moment. Turn ipod off. Run through more hoses. Soak hat with water. WHAT IS UP WITH THIS WEATHER?! Double up on the Chomps. More is always better. Convince myself that after mile 17 I only have 6 more miles to go. Wonder if my math and statistics degrees should be revoked.

“Embrace the Suck”
Miles 21-25: Glance around and notice that everyone is walking. Begin to regret writing my name on my bib. Do not want to be encouraged. I am NOT almost there. Still have a long freaking way to go. Start to hate Chomps, Gatorade, water, water hoses, and everyone who didn’t try and stop me from running a marathon. Have an overwhelming desire to sit down and quit. Walk by an event photographer and glare at him as his camera captures me walking.

“You’re a rock star! Please don’t die!”
The last mile: Oooh, look! A jumbo-tron! That must be the finish line! Eyes fill with tears. I did it! Wait. That’s not the finish. What kind of sick joke is that? That’s just mean. Final little hill to the finish. IT flares and knee does not want to bend. AM NOT WALKING INTO FINISH LINE. Begin Lamaze breathing and am glad that those child birth classes finally got put to good use. Cross finish line. Want to lay down and die. Spot Jason just in time and am so happy. Eat some carbs and pose for a finisher's picture. Am slightly delirious but so glad I did it. Even if I did come in 28,354th place.

Round One Goes to the Monkey Bars

2010-09-28T19:35:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, Claire fell off the monkey bars in our backyard.

We gave her an ice pack and a dose of motrin. Then we went out to eat.

About a week after the fall, Claire mentioned that her arm "kind of" hurt when she went to gymnastics a few days before. I noticed that she couldn't open the clasp on her backpack and that she wasn't able to put any weight on her right arm.

I took her to the doctor. She ordered x-rays. The x-ray technician asked me if the doctor wanted me to wait at the lab or go back to the clinic while they read the x-rays. I told him the doctor said we should go home and she would call me if the bone was broken.

The tech said I might want to just wait there.

The next day, I took Claire to an orthopaedic surgeon. More x-rays. Talk of going to the OR. Verification that the bone was 80% broken through and was slightly displaced. Validation that, yes, it's completely common for a broken bone to go undiagnosed for a week or more. I suddenly felt nauseous as I pictured her doing cartwheels and swinging from the uneven bars just days before.

I kept saying, "I can't believe your arm is broken."

Claire kept asking, "Why do you keep saying that?"

Finally, a hot pink cast. The doctor pressed hard on Claire's arm as he casted her, trying to get the bone to line up as much as possible. Claire didn't even flinch while I practically broke a sweat just watching. More x-rays were ordered for later this week, to make sure the bone hasn't shifted anymore. If it has...possible surgery. Let's all pray it hasn't.

In the meantime, Claire is enjoying the celebrity that comes with being the only kid at school with a cast. And as for the monkey bars, let's just say their time with us is limited.

Marathon-arella

2010-09-14T06:05:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a girl* who had a blog. One day, the girl and her good friend, B**, decided to run a marathon. The two friends decided to register for the race right away so they wouldn't change their minds. They even went so far as to post it on Facebook, which is the modern day equivalent of signing your name to a contract in blood.

The girl started training for the race in March, a mere two weeks after surgery to remove an internal organ or two***. She faithfully followed her "Novice Level Marathon Training Plan" all through what would turn out to be one of the hottest summers in recent years****.

Somewhere along the way, the girl's blog became neglected*****. Many, many events went unrecorded. Events that were definitely blog worthy. Events like: that time the girls fell off a horse and Claire got some teeth knocked out and her face all beaten up, and the time Arden may or may not have had viral meningitis but either way, ended up in the ER. And then there was a trip to Disneyworld, the end of Kindergarten, the end of preschool, the arrival of a new family member (a dog named Hootie) and an impromptu trip to the beach.

Sometimes, while the girl was running, she would compose blog entries in her head. This foolishly led her to believe that she was actually updating her blog, because HELLO? she totally wrote about that already. But then she would glance to her neglected blog and realize that she hadn't, in fact, updated it. She would briefly consider doing so, but would ultimately decide against. The running, man. It was so consuming.

Training was going just fine until one day, the girl felt a painful twinge in her knee during a long run. She instantly knew what it was. The dreaded IT Band******. Not wanting to admit it, she continued running until she couldn't take it anymore and ended up walking nearly six miles back to her car. The long, cold walk allowed her plenty of time to think about her neglected blog. She vowed then and there to sit down and update her blog*******.

Ultimately, the girl would recover enough to limp through a few runs and revise her marathon goal from a 4:30 finish to a 5:00 finish to a 6:00 finish*********. Although she was a little down about her injury, she realized that easing off the training would allow her ample time for other activities, including blogging.

And she blogged happily ever after.

*The girl realizes that at some point, she will have to stop referring to herself as a "girl". That time has not yet come.

**The girl would like to hold B, and her fun birthday weekend at Big Cedar Lodge, responsible for making her commit to running a marathon.

***The girl failed to mention her surgery on her blog because it contained words such as "ovary" and "fallopian tubes".

****Of course it was the hottest summer in recent years.

*****The girl would like to note that, while the blog may have been neglected, her children were not.

******In this story, the IT Band will play the part of the wicked stepmother.

*******She, of course, didn't update her blog but instead sought means to heal her injured knee. This included taking copious amounts of anti-immflamatories, lots of stretching, and a visit to a massage therapist who will from here on be referred to as "Patty Pain".
*********The girl now just hopes to finish the race before the streets open back up.

I Think This Means I Should Cook More

2010-05-19T12:17:00.001-07:00

As we were leaving the park yesterday afternoon, Claire asked me if we could order some Japanese food for dinner. She really meant Chinese food but I didn't bother to correct her because that would have led to a whole other conversation about the differences between the two cuisines, and frankly, after an hour and a half of chasing my wild one year old up and down the stairs to the slide, I wasn't up for that discussion. Instead, I just told her no, that we had eaten out the night before and we were going to eat at home.

"Oh man," she whined. "I don't want a sandwich."

The Saddest Note to the Tooth Fairy Ever Written

2010-05-01T18:46:00.000-07:00

In case you don't read kindergarten phonetic spelling, it says:
Dear Tooth Fairy,
I fell off a horse and lost my tooth. We couldn't find it. I am mad. I hope you give me some money and a prize. I am brave.
Love, Claire B.

Touched By An Angel

2010-04-16T11:15:00.000-07:00

When you have a baby who wears glasses, you get a lot of attention from strangers. Most people comment on how cute Amelia is in her pink plastic glasses (can't argue with that one) and sometimes they ask how we knew she needed them. A lot of times they'll want to know how we keep them on her or how the doctor knows what her prescription should be. Occasionally, a person will tell me about their nephew/neighbor/grand-daughter/brother's best friend's cousin's baby, etc... who has a lazy eye and wears glasses. One time a waiter at TGI Friday's told me about the time he took a firework to the eye during a bottle rocket war and had to wear a patch for three months. He said he knew EXACTLY how Amelia feels. Because, clearly, a grown man getting injured during a fight with pyrotechnics is very similar to a baby being born blind in one eye.

Anyway. The point is, we get a lot of attention.

So today, when we were leaving a restaurant after lunch, I didn't think it was strange when a man got up from his table and stopped my mom, who was carrying Amelia. I paused, expecting him to ask one of the typical questions we get. But he didn't ask any questions. Instead, he laid his hands on Amelia's head and prayed for her vision to be restored in the name of Jesus.

So. Yeah. Did not see that one coming.

At first I was completely weirded out by the whole thing. A stranger touching my baby? And praying over her as if he knew her? It was just too much. But at the same time I was also deeply touched. Moved to tears, even.

You see, it was a Friday morning, exactly a year ago that we sat in Dr. H's office and heard the term "PHPV" for the first time. It was exactly a year ago that our fears that something was wrong with Amelia's vision were confirmed. And today, a year later, I found myself driving to Dr. H's office for yet another appointment for a contact that doesn't fit right. It was the last place I wanted to go today.

I mentioned previously that I had been growing anxious as this day approached. Anxious because it brings back to the surface all those feelings and emotions that we experienced that day and in the weeks that followed--shock, sadness, anger, confusion, disappointment, worry, grief. And lately, we've been coming to terms with the fact that Amelia's vision is just not improving. And, according to her doctor, most likely won't.

But today, a stranger reminded me that in spite of medical evidence that says otherwise, I can still hope for something better for Amelia. I can still pray for something better. I'm ashamed to say I had forgotten that.

So to the man who prayed over my baby in a crowded Mexican restaurant today: Thank you. But dude, seriously, next time give a little heads up before you touch a stranger's baby.

Hello...Hello...Hello... Is There Anybody Out There?

2010-04-02T19:04:00.000-07:00

Sooooo....It's been a while. I'd love to offer up all the usual reasons for a blogging lapse--busy, busy, oh so busy!, sick kids, school demands, Spring Break, marathon training, preschool teaching, soccer, tennis, gymnastics, teething baby, the final season of Lost, etc...--but the real reason is actually harder to pinpoint. It's just that...I haven't really wanted to write much lately. And it's not because of a lack of material (anyone interested in hearing about our two trips to the ER in two days? What about our family vacay at Disney World? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?). I think I've just been processing a lot of things lately.

Not to be dramatic (oh, who am I kidding, of course I'm being dramatic), but as the one year mark of Amelia's PHPV journey approaches, I find myself increasingly anxious and prone to the teary-eye. Just thinking about that day causes my heart to race. I can remember every detail, from what I was wearing to what the weather was like to what I said when I called Jason at work and told him to meet me at the eye doctor. I recall all the minute details of that day, yet I kept the hard stuff--the emotions--locked away.

In the last year, I don't think I have fully let myself grieve over the enormity of what Amelia is facing. I think I have denied myself that because, as so many well-meaning people have pointed out, at least it's not cancer! She still has one good eye! What's the big deal?? To some extent (maybe a great extent), they're right. But the fact of the matter is, pain is pain. And if "is it cancer?" is the litmus test by which we allow ourselves to feel pain, most of us would fall short. Thankfully. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Trust me when I tell you that nothing will shake you to the core like hearing your child has been given a "challenge". Your mind will go places you don't want it to go. You will google the same thing over and over looking for more, better, different, information. You will constantly question whether you are doing enough, whether you have the right doctors, the right treatment, the right plan, and, if you are a mother, if you somehow caused it. You will ask hard questions. You will look for answers that don't exist. You will worry. You will wonder...

But then you will look at your child, and you will forget. You will see only her joyful spirit and not her "challenge". You will see the way she adapts to her surroundings. You will note that she doesn't consider herself "challenged". You will be thankful.

And you will finally decide it's no longer time to grieve.

Six

2010-02-14T18:45:00.000-08:00

My first baby is six now. SIX. Not to be dramatic, but this fact astounds me. I see her growing and changing every day but I can't seem to get my mind around the idea that just the other day I was rocking her to sleep and now she's rocking out to Hannah Montana. Excuse me, make that Selena Gomez.

Claire has changed so much this year, toeing the line between "little kid" and "big kid," that nearly every day she surprises me with some new trick or mannerism that she's picked up. Just this morning, she came running into my room to tell me she learned to tie her shoes. And she had. After trying to master this task for months, she finally picked it up by watching a bigger kid tie her shoes the night before. If that's all it takes for Claire to learn something new, please remind me of that when it's time for driving lessons.

She has recently discovered sponge rollers and asks me to roll her hair every night. Every night. Every. Single. Night. And I do it, because it makes her happy and confident to see herself with curly hair and if I can relate to anything, it's having good-hair-induced self esteem.

She wants to pick her own clothes and is a big fan of any article of clothing that bears a peace sign. She has turned her back on the beautiful smocked dresses I love so dearly and instead wants to wear leggings and scarves and zebra striped tennis shoes. She has a very clear sense of who she is and I love that.

She is a reader. Junie B Jones is a particular favorite, but she loves all books, preferring them to toys and games. She has always been this way. Even as a toddler, she would gather a huge pile of books, find a quiet spot and "read" to herself. Now she can actually read the words, instead of just making up a story to go with the pictures. I find this, in particular, to be one of the most bittersweet parts of watching her grow up this year.

She is a writer. If we are leaving the house, even for just a quick errand, she makes sure she has a tote filled with notebooks, pens and books (these, in addition to all the other random things she fills her bags with--magic 8 ball, McDonald's toys, playdoh). She writes sentences that aren't quite stories. She writes apologies after she has misbehaved. She writes notes to an imaginary classroom of students and signs them "Mrs. Claire". She sounds out her words, pressing her pen heavily on the paper as she phonetically spells what's on her mind. I will grieve when this stage of haphazard spelling and misshapen letters passes.

She is growing up, no doubt about it, but at night, after the last prayer has been said, she always asks me to tickle her back and tell her a princess story. It's my favorite time of the day with her, and you can be sure, long after she stops asking for the stories, I'll still be telling them to her. That's one stage I'm not willing to let go.

Happy birthday, Claire Bear!

2010-02-02T19:45:00.000-08:00

Tuesday is gymnastics day. I hate gymnastics day. Not because I don't love watching my girls do crooked cartwheels and swing from the uneven bars, but because it means that I spend an hour corralling at least one of my kids while another one gets to have fun on the gym floor. Now that my big girls are in the same class, that hour is so much better since I only have to keep up with Amelia. She's starting to become a handful, but yesterday she was happy to sit in my lap and stuff herself with yogurt puffs and stare at the little girl sitting next to us who kept saying "Mama...that yittle babe-ee has glassessss..." (her mom, by the way, pretended not to hear her daughter, which just made her say it again and again and louder and louder which totally cracked me up, because how many times have I done that very thing when Arden has said something completely inappropriate to a stranger?). I took the opportunity of a content baby to send a few text messages when the next thing I knew, Amelia had dumped my hot tea all over the floor.

As I was mopping up the floor with the most NON-absorbent paper towels in the history of man, I had a flashback to a day just over a year ago...

Claire was at dance class and I was doing the Arden-rodeo outside the studio, one eye on my twirling four year old and one on my wild two year old. I somehow managed to convince Arden to sit still for a few minutes (I'm pretty sure there were smarties involved) on an ancient wood pew underneath the window to the studio. All of a sudden I was aware of a dripping noise and looked down to see liquid falling through a crack in the pew and onto the concrete floor below.

Weird. Arden doesn't have a drink. Wonder what that is....

Pee! It's pee! OH MY WORD DID YOU JUST WET YOUR PANTS WHAT ON EARTH YOU'VE BEEN POTTY-TRAINED FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS AND YOU JUST PEED ON THE BENCH WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T WANT TO QUIT EATING SMARTIES AND GO TO THE POTTY????!!!!????!!!!

After the initial shock wore off and I realized that there was actual urine falling on the ground, I sprang to action and ran to the bathroom for paper towels. Unfortunately, the paper towel dispenser was one of those automatic motion-sensor ones and only spewed out a tiny square of recycled paper at a time. I must have spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom, waving my hands like a mad woman in front of the sensor, before I gathered enough towels to mop up the puddle underneath Arden.

Once I had the floor and bench cleaned, I had to deal with the toddler. Her clothes were soaked and I, of course, had brought no spare clothes with us since she had been potty-trained FOR FIVE MONTHS. Claire's dance class still had forty-five minutes left and I hated to make her leave early just because her little sister didn't want to quit eating Smarties long enough to go to the bathroom. I'll admit that I briefly considered letting her go pantless since her shirt was on the longish side, but it was 20 degrees outside and that seemed like a good way to get a call from DHS. Instead, I walked into the dancewear store located next to the studio. I picked up the smallest pair of dance pants they had and took them to register, never looking at the price tag.

Ya'll.

They were forty dollars. FORTY DOLLARS. And I paid it because 1) my two year old was naked from the waist down and 2) I was too embarrassed to admit I hadn't looked at the price tag. I would like to tell you we've gotten a lot of use out of those forty dollar jazz pants, but, sadly, they haven't been worn since. Forty dollars down the drain because my kid chose Smarties over personal hygiene.

And the moral of the story is: never give your two year old five packages of Smarties and expect her to make sound potty-related decisions. Or maybe it's: always bring a change of clothes for any child under the age of three. But most likely, it's: the hour spent at gymnastics/dance will, without a doubt, be the longest hour of the week.

Party Pics

2010-01-11T19:10:00.001-08:00

The birthday girl. With a fresh bruise smack dab in the middle of her forehead. The hazards of walking....

Opening presents...

The smash cake

The smashed cake.

2010-01-07T04:48:00.000-08:00

Amelia is one today, and I'll be honest, I'm a little sad about it. "One" marks the end of infancy. "One" is the beginning of toddlerhood, which, as you may know, inevitably turns children into preschoolers and then grade schoolers and then before you know it, my last baby is packing her bags for her study abroad at Oxford before she completes her fellowship in rocket science at MIT. And then goes on tour with her sisters a la The Partridge Family. Only a LOT cooler. But still with a van.

Anyway.

It's hard to believe we've had Amelia for 12 months. Those 12 months have flown by at an unbelievable rate, but still, I'm shocked at how slow some of the moments have been. Today, I was flipping through last year's calendar (looking for the number of our heater repair guy--don't get me started) and came across three phone numbers for our beloved Dr. J on April 17. That's the day we found out about Amelia's PHPV. That's the day we sat across from a man we'd never met and he told us our daughter had been given a challenge. That's the day we sat in frozen fear, Jason asking for more information, me motionless in a brown leather chair, clutching Amelia, too scared, too shocked to move. That's the day we cried a thousand tears, unsure of what our baby's future held.

And now look at her. She's walking EVERYWHERE. She gets into EVERYTHING. She says "Mama" and "Baa" and "Ah boo!". She giggles at her sisters and loves to be tickled. She has a certain fondness for grilled cheese, chocolate, and strangely, Arden's flip flops. She stops and dances whenever she hears music and she has recently discovered the joy of screaming.

She is doing exactly what she should be doing and you have no idea how grateful we are for that.

Happy birthday, my sweet, sweet baby girl!

This One's For My Sister

2010-01-05T09:58:00.000-08:00

So This Is Christmas

2009-12-31T12:46:00.000-08:00

I started to do a big Christmas recap the other day, then got sidetracked when I saw Stanford Blatch from SATC on Disney's Imagination Movers. For some reason, I felt compelled to write a post about how bizarre that seemed to me, but when I got to the end of it, I realized I really had no point other than: it was bizarre to see Stanford Blatch on Imagination Movers.

So. I scratched that one and will now commence with the Christms Story of '09 (in pictures, because I have a sore throat and cough and am not feeling the Christmas spirit so much now).

Christmas Eve at Nana and Grandad's House

Christmas Eve--Getting Ready for Santa
Jason put out reindeer food in the freezing rain. The next morning, Claire really really REALLY wanted to see if the food was gone but it was unfortunately covered in four inches of snow (lucky for us because who would've thought to actually remove the reindeer food?).

Cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. Claire realized the next day that we neglected to leave milk for Santa. You have no idea how much this troubled her, but I assured that other kids with more thoughtful moms left him some.

Claire's letter to Santa.

The tree with a few presents under it (not all ours--also Grandma's and Ashley's loot too).

Coming down the stairs on Christmas morning. Claire later admitted that she came down in the middle of the night "just to make sure Santa came".

Hello, Elmo. I think I love you.

Arden with her Barbie dress. The only thing she asked for this year.

Claire with her Just Like Me American Girl doll (who would look a lot more like Claire if she were from Latin America).

Sweet Samuel Cade. My girls couldn't keep their hands off of him.

The cousins.

A white Christmas meant that as soon as the presents were open, these crazy girls were ready to head outside. In their pajama pants. They only lasted about 30 seconds before they came back in and put on some warmer gear.

This girl was smart--she stayed inside where it was warm.

Arden and the Huly Hoop

2009-12-14T19:29:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentleman, This is Reindeer # 4

2009-12-13T18:36:00.000-08:00

We got the good news several weeks ago that Claire had landed both a speaking part and a singing part in the kindergarten rendition of "Holiday Moosical". I was much more excited about the news than Claire, who felt more than a little slighted that she had been passed over for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy. Despite my best efforts to convince her that a reindeer was waaaay cooler than a Sugar Plum Fairy (who drives Santa's sleigh? Who? That's right. Reindeer. NOT fairies.), she remained skeptical about wearing antlers and singing in front of an audience.

I can't say that I blame her, especially since I had to be an elf in my own kindergarten musical when what I really wanted to be one of the presents. Because when you're five, wearing a box covered in wrapping paper trumps pointy-toed shoes any day.

But even though I understood where Claire was coming from, I did my best to psyche her up for her musical theatre debut. Because, I'll be honest with you, I've never had a singing part OR a speaking part in any kind of on-stage production and this was kind of exciting to me. Not that I'm living vicariously through my five year old. Because that would be weird.

I guess all my pep-talking worked, because by the time the night of the musical rolled around, Claire was full of nervous energy and couldn't wait to hit the stage. There was no more talk of Sugar Plum Fairies. Reindeer #4 was in the house.

I played the part of the proud mama, simultaneously filming and snapping pictures as Claire said her line (Flying is our job alone. Flying is our gig.) and sang her song. The other moms and I congratulated each other on how good our children were doing. Wait a minute. Is Claire grabbing the microphone? Like a rock star? Perhaps she's watched one to many Hannah Montana episodes. Oh, look. They're done. Here they go, marching sweetly off the stage. Wait a minute. Is Claire dancing? Where did she learn that Beyonce-esqe "Single Ladies" move? I swear she gets this from her dad.

After the show, Claire was on some kind of post-performance high. "I love the stage!" she proclaimed. "Yeah," I said, "I kind of noticed that."

There Are No Stupid Questions

2009-11-17T12:23:00.000-08:00

Top Ten Things Strangers Have Asked or Said About Amelia's Glasses(and the responses I would like to give)

10. Are those real glasses?
No--I just like putting Mr. Potato Head glasses on my baby.

9. Is she wearing glasses?
No. You must be seeing things.

8. How did you know she needed them?
This is actually a legitimate question, and one that I totally don't mind answering. So no sarcastic response is necessary.

7. Does she wear those to help her see?
No....I just think they make her look smarter.

6. Does she keep them on?
Again. Completely legitimate question, thus no internal eye-rolling on this one.

5. Marge! Get over here! You gotta check out this baby with glasses.
Yeah.... This is for real. I wish I were making this up, but we were approached by an older gentleman in Branson who got such a kick out of Amelia's glasses that he called over his wife to share in the fun.

4. Those are REAL glasses? SER-iously? They're REAL? How can they even TELL how strong the glasses need to be on a BABY?
I sense your skepticism, teenage girl, but I'm guessing you're not an EYE DOCTOR. My daughter's EYE DOCTOR is pretty adept at this sort of thing, what with all his MEDICAL TRAINING and EXPERIENCE.

3. Where did you get those precious glasses??
Are you familiar with Forever 21?

2. DUDE! Nice Shades!
Um...technically they aren't shades, pizza guy. But I like your enthusiasm.

And the number one question I get asked about Amelia's glasses...

1. Are those REAL glasses????
They're real. And they're SPECTACULAR.

This will make you smile

2009-10-31T06:35:00.000-07:00

And if watching a baby laugh hysterically doesn't make you smile, well, then we probably can't be friends.

It was a party in NLR

2009-10-26T18:42:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday night, #1 on Claire's top ten list of things to do before she's 12 was checked off (not really--I made that part up about the list but if she had one, this would've been #1 for sure). What did we do, you ask?

Yes. I took my five year old to see Miley Cyrus. She had a blast and, thankfully, is too young to realize that her beloved Hannah Montana has now morphed into a 16-going-on-21 year old rocker wannabe who worked the stage in bootie shorts and tall boots and, frankly, was dancing waaaayyy to provocatively for a teenager (I just read that back and would like to announce that I have officially turned into my mother).

She did, however, announce to her kindergarten class that Miley's brother (the opening act. Don't ask. Please. It's too painful to recall) took his shirt off at the end of his set and that it was inappropriate. I would also like to announce that Claire has officially turned into my mother.

It really was a great time and we loved spending some big girl time together with our friends, Bethany and Elizabeth.

Ready to see Miley!!

Too bad I didn't know I could take my camera inside the arena. You can't tell from the picture, but that's Miley up on the stage.

Post concert.

p.s. Dear Miley: If you're reading this, please don't take this the wrong way but you have to ditch your brother. Seriously. Just.....Seriously.

p.p.s. Dear Billy Ray Cyrus: Your daugther is 16. Six. TEEN. I'm just sayin...

I Wish She Had a Little More Confidence

2009-10-21T15:05:00.001-07:00

Why You Will Never Win an Argument with Claire

2009-09-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

The following conversation took place last night...

Claire: Stop doing that, AR-DEN!
Arden (doing her best bobble head): You're a baby, Clay-yer.
Claire: No, I'm not! MOM!! Arden called me a baby!
Me (to myself): She also called you poo poo but you apparently didn't hear that part.
Me (to Claire): Remember what Little Bill says when someone calls him a name? So?
Claire: Yeah. So, Arden? So?
Arden (head still bobbling): So? So?
Claire: Stop copying me! You're not a big kid!
Jason: Relative to the second graders at your school, you're not a big kid either, Claire.
Claire: Well, I'm almost a first and second grader.
Me: I don't think a month of kindergarten qualifies you as almost a second grader.
Claire: Yes, it does. And I'm almost six.
Me: Uh, yeah, like in SIX months.
Claire: I'm almost six. We just have December then January then ha! MY BIRTHDAY!
Me: Also all of October, November and half of February.
Claire: No we don't. Just December then January.
Me: Claire. Seriously. We have October, November, December, January and half of February before it's your birthday.
Claire: See! You said December and January! I told you so!
Me: I didn't--oh never mind.

All About Amelia

2009-09-27T19:02:00.000-07:00

I've done a horrible job documenting sweet Amelia's life on this blog. At least I've got her baby book all up to date. No wait. That's a lie. I only have her name written in it. Well, there's always those thousands of pictures I've taken. No wait. That's a lie, too. Video? Not so much.

I know it's lame, but here is my attempt to catch up...

Milestones.....
*She rolled over for the first time at three months, started the army crawl at five months, sat up on her own at six months, mastered the "real" crawl at seven months, pulled up at seven months and started cruising at eight months.

*Her first "word" was mama and she's been saying it pretty consistently since around five months. Now, ya'll know I'm not one of those crazy moms who think their babies know how to read or solve quadratic equations or make a creme brule at three months old, but come on! "Mama" at five months? That's pretty impressive, right? No? Your baby could speak in sentences at three weeks? In French? Oh. Well, she also says "Bababababa" and "Dada," if that helps.

*She had her first taste of baby food at six months old. She was not impressed (and who can blame her--have you tried rice cereal?). She loves green beans and is not a big fan of fruit.

*She loves to feed herself. Puffs, yogurt melts, tiny tiny tiny microscopic pieces of bread that are actually more like crumbs than bread but she loves them just the same and it makes me freak out less about choking hazards.

*She got her first (and only, so far) tooth at seven months.

Favorite Things
*Bathtime is a big hit with Miss A. Especially since she gets to share the tub with her big sisters. She gets so excited when I turn on the water and starts yelling until I put her in.

*All toys that are not approved for children under age 3. If it is a baby toy, you might as well put it away.

*Paci. In our quest to fund the retirement accounts of all the local orthodontists, it looks like we're raising another gal who loooooves her paci.

*Mommy, or you know, "Mama".

Eye Update
*After months of trying to find a contact that would fit her eye, we finally have one that is a perfect fit. The only bad news is that it doesn't come in her prescription (of course). So now Amelia wears a contact AND glasses. I know I'm her mom, but I have to tell you that you've probably never seen anything cuter than my baby in her pink glasses. Seriously. Much cuteness.

*We continue to love Amelia's eye doctor. He has given her a level of care that we never could have expected. House calls, text messages, writing appeal letters to the evil insurance company that wants to deny coverage of A's contacts... We are thankful to have Amelia in his care and have complete faith that he is doing everything possible to help our sweet girl see.

*Because Amelia's "bad" eye doesn't see much, it has a tendency to turn inward (aka: lazy eye). This will probably require a muscle surgery later on, but first, her doctor wants to try botox on the eye muscle. Yeah, you read that right. Botox. Would it be inappropriate to see if he could touch up my forehead while he's at it?

General
*Amelia is still just as sweet and mellow as she's been since day one. I'm not sure if this is her personality or just a function of being forced to go with the flow, but I'm really holding out hope that this is her personality because, well, goodness knows I need ONE laid back kid.

And That's When I Knew I'd Failed Her

2009-08-29T08:50:00.000-07:00

Claire's new soccer team is called "The Beat"--a name which I find equally amusing and stupid. When I told Claire the name of her team, she had a confused look and said, "That's a weird name."

I nodded in agreement, "But at least we can sing 'We've got the beat, we've got the beat, we've got the beat...yeahhhhh!!!' when you score a goal."

"What song is that?"

"It's the Go-Gos," I replied. She still looked confused so I launched into a few bars of "Vacation" and "Our lips are sealed".

"The Go-Gos?" she asked skeptically.

"Uh, yeah. Only one of my favorite 80s bands, like, ever."

She thought about it for a second and then her face lit up. "Oh! The Go-Gos! They're from Diego, right?"

"Um. No. Those would be the BoBos."

Because I Know You Love a Good Arden Moment

2009-08-25T19:31:00.000-07:00

Today at (where else?) Wal-Mart, Arden was mad because I wouldn't let her buy (1) Star Magazine (2) a Dr. Pepper (3) a bleach pen (seriously. Who stocks those shelves near the check-out? Do they hate all parents, or is it just me? Are they TRYING to set my kid up for failure? Could they not fill those shelves with broccoli or cantaloupe or toilet paper?). Not recognizing Arden's bad mood, the sweet checker made the mistake of telling Arden her dress was pretty. This innocuous comment set off a string of rude remarks from AK, most of which were (thankfully) unintelligible thanks to the combination of her southern accent and inability to pronounce the letter r. I think the checker got the general idea, though, what with all the forceful finger pointing and furrowed eye brows going on.

In the car, I asked Arden why she was so rude to the checker.

"Because she said my dress was pity. It's not pity. You're pity, Mommy."

Well. What are you supposed to say to that?

Apparently, not "It doesn't matter if you think I'm pretty (which, by the way, thanks) you're still going to Time Out as soon as we get home. And you can forget about that ice cream cone you wanted."

Because, if you say that, all of a sudden you're not so pretty anymore. At least according to your three year old.

Claire goes to Kindergarten

2009-08-23T18:40:00.000-07:00

Interview with a Kindergartner....

Did you have a good day?
It was gooooood times.

What was your favorite part?
Well, the most funnest part was lunch and recess. But you didn't let me eat in the cafeteria today.

You didn't eat in the cafeteria? Where did you eat?
I ate IN the cafeteria but I didn't get a tray. I want to get a tray tomorrow.

You actually want to eat school food?
Yes. I want to get a tray.

Well, tomorrow's lunch is hamburgers. You hate hamburgers. You throw an enormous fit every time your dad grills hamburgers and demanded a hot dog instead. Last time I didn't have any hot dogs and there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Well. Now I like hamburgers. And I want to get a tray.

Ooookaaaay...Besides lunch, what else did you like?
I liked recess. But it was only, like, five minutes.

I think it's a little longer than five minutes--
You also didn't let me ride the bus.

Trust me, Claire. You don't want to ride the bus.
Yes, I do. The big kids ride the bus and I'm not a little kid.

So you're saying you wish I hadn't made your lunch or picked you up from school?
Yes.

Awesome....What did you learn about today?
Ohhhh stuff like how not to spread germs and have good manners. We didn't learn to read yet.

I'm sure you'll get to that soon. Did you meet some new friends?
Yeah! There's this boy Oliver from the purple room last year he's in my class but he likes to be called Ollie just like I like to be called Claire Bear.

Did you tell your friends to call you Claire Bear?
Noooo....that's my FAMILY nickname, Mom.

Got it. Sounds like you had a good day. Are you excited about tomorrow?
I have to go back tomorrow?

Yes, sweet girl. Tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the next day....So many days that will fly by until the next thing I know, I'm taking your picture walking into your first day of college instead of kindergarten.
What are you talking about?

Proofs (not the mathematical kind)

2009-08-03T19:30:00.000-07:00

Proof that I use bribery as a parenting technique far too often:

Me: Claire, please go clean up the toys in the playroom.
Claire, eyes locked on the TV: I'll give you 15 bucks if you do it.

***********

Proof that you never know what Arden will do next:

She got sent to time out during dinner tonight for putting green peas down Claire's shirt.

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

Proof that having a baby who wears a contact has an upside:

When I ran out of saline solution yesterday, I borrowed Amelia's.

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

Proof that I am entirely too sleep deprived:

When Jason asked me how many times I got up with Amelia last night, I couldn't remember.

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

Proof that I'm not as cool as I think I am:

I got mad--really, really mad--that my DVR didn't record So You Think You Can Dance for the THIRD WEEK IN A ROW.

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

Proof that there is no substitute for life-long friendships:

Friends who haven't seen each other in weeks (love you, Ash!) or even months (love you, Gretch!), pick right back up where they left off last time they saw each other.

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

Proof that my first baby is growing up too fast:

Claire starts kindergarten in two weeks. Two weeks! I feel sick just thinking about it.

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

Proof that my last baby is growing up too fast:

Amelia is doing that "get up on all fours and rock back and forth a few times before face planting into the carpet" thing. I fear this means crawling is coming sooner than I'd like.

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

Proof that I am a glutton for punishment--and also probably delusional:

I'm contemplating another half marathon--and have only run once since Amelia was born. Quick, someone talk me out of this--please!

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

Proof that I DO get paid for this stay-at-home gig:

Arden: Mommy, I like you.

Claire: Mommy, you look so pretty today. Can I have all your clothes when I'm old?

Amelia: Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma

In Which I Regale You With Tales of My Awesome Parenting

2009-07-19T11:01:00.000-07:00

At least two nights a week, Claire loses her blankie. She hasn't had it all day, has no memory of when she last saw it and is so distraught at the idea of actually sleeping without it that she can't help look for it. She must remain in bed (which is where she always is, tucked in and bedtimes stories already told, when she discovers the blankie is gone), crying and whining and lamenting the unfairness of her blankie-less existence. Jason and I begin frantically searching for the lost lovey, knowing that as soon as it's found, Claire will go to sleep and we can finally sit on the couch and watch So You Think You Can Dance.

But the other night when Claire discovered her blankie was missing, I had had enough. Instead of looking for the blankie, I began to lecture her about keeping up with her things and how it wasn't MY responsibility to find HER lost objects and if it was really THAT special to her then SHE should get out of bed and look for it HERSELF. I told her that she couldn't expect me to drop everything to look for her blankie and I may have even thrown in something about kindergarteners taking care of their own things. I gave her another kiss and told her she could help me find the blankie tomorrow. Sniffling, she agreed and said good night.

I went downstairs to watch TV, congratulating myself on teaching Claire a lesson in responsibility. Next time, I thought to myself, she'll remember to leave her blankie on her bed so it won't get lost.

An hour later, I remembered I had left wet clothes in the washing machine. As I began transferring the towels to the dryer, I noticed something pink and silky at the bottom of the machine. I reached in and pulled out Claire's beloved blankie.

Here's where I would like to tell you that I went up to Claire's room right then and there and apologized. But I didn't. I tossed the blankie in the dryer and finished watching Anderson Cooper (yeah I'm old, so?). Before I went to bed, I tiptoed into Claire's room and laid her freshly laundered blankie by her pillow.

The next morning she came downstairs, holding her blankie triumphantly over her head. "Mom! You found it!"

"Oh, yeah. I knew that thing would turn up somewhere..."

B--Double O-- T--Y, Oh My!

2009-07-17T05:07:00.000-07:00

At her three year check up, Arden's pediatrician thought we should go ahead and do a vision screening on her. After covering Arden's eye, the nurse walked over to the vision chart and pointed to one of the shapes, "What is this shape, Arden?"

Arden, who was doing a little dance this whole time, paused for a minute. "Bootie."

The nurse pointed to the next shape. "What's this one?"

"Bootie."

"And this one?"

"Bootie."

By this time, Dr. P was laughing really hard. Never one to let an opportunity to be the center of attention pass, Arden seized the moment. "Bootie! Bootie! They're all bootie!"

I finally intervened. "Maybe we should just wait until her four year check up for the vision screening."

Total killjoy, I know.

After that day, Arden has put the word "bootie" in her daily vocabulary rotation. She works it in whenever she can--even when it makes no sense. Oh, wait, it NEVER makes sense. I'll give you some examples...

"Arden, would you like peanut butter or turkey for lunch?"
"Bootie."

"Arden, go put your swimsuit on so we can go to the pool."
"Bootie."

"Arden, what should we get Ashley for her birthday?"
"Bootie."

The other day I even caught her singing "Bootie, bootie, bootie, bootie," to the tune of "Jesus loves me." Frankly, I'm not really sure what to say about that.

The Patch

2009-06-29T18:45:00.001-07:00

We started patching Amelia's good eye last week. I have been dreading this particular part of her treatment since the day she got diagnosed. I know it's for the best. I know it's her only shot to gain some vision in that eye. I know she'll be fine. I know that, eventually, this will be just a small blip on the radar for her. I know.

But for now, it's agonizing. When she wakes up all smiley and bright-eyed, it feels wrong to patch her one good eye, knowing that I'm essentially making her blind by doing it. It's frustrating for her, not being able to see. She lasts about an hour with the patch on, then goes to sleep. I understand this fight or flight response. Sometimes I wish I could just go to sleep too.

There have been some glimmers of hope though. When her good eye is patched, she reaches for toys held up in front of her. She smiles at me and laughs at her sisters. She seems to see something, although her doctor doesn't seem quite as impressed by this as Jason and I are.

Claire and Arden don't like it when Amelia's eye is patched. They want to be able to see all of her sweet face, as do I. I think it bothers them to see her having to do something that is difficult for her. Claire told me not to take Amelia's picture when she's wearing the patch. She said people would laugh at her. I told her they wouldn't. She asked what if they did. I said I would punch them in the face.

And I wonder where Arden gets her aggressive streak from.

I've had several kids ask about the patch. The first, a precious preschooler with pigtails that looked like pom poms, was fascinated with Amelia's pink and green camo patch. She wanted to know what was wrong with Amelia's ear. Claire, with the authority that only comes with being five years old, rolled her eyes and said, "it's not her EAR. It's her EYE. And there's nothing WRONG with it. It's learning how to SEE."

Not quite right, but I appreciated her enthusiasm. At least I won't have to worry about Amelia's sisters taking up for her.

Free

2009-06-22T19:39:00.000-07:00

My second baby is three, or in her words, "free". I know it's cliche to ask this, but seriously, how have three years gone by already? Someone please tell me why my babies keep growing up on me.

Arden has been anxiously awaiting this birfday (her words) for weeks. It's as if she knows that "three" graduates her from the toddler category and places her firmly in the preschooler category. She is eager to get older, desperately trying to catch up to Claire, not understanding that she'll always be on a two and a half year delay.

She choose her potty (party) location herself. Chuck E Cheese--a location I agreed to only because Claire also celebrated her third birthday there. She was clear about wanting Tinker Bay-yell (Tinker Bell) on her cake and a new bike as her present. She decided on these details weeks ago and never once waivered from them.

That's one thing about my Arden--once she's made up her mind, she's made up her mind. This isn't always a good thing, as it makes for one very stubborn kid, but it does mean that she's not going to waste 30 minutes in the toy aisle at Target trying to decide what to buy with the $5 she got last week and then change her mind in the checkout line (claire).

She enjoyed every minute of her party--playing with her friends, meeting Chuck E Cheese, blowing out her candles three times, opening her presents (especially opening her presents) and having a day that was all about her.

Free years old. Can you believe it? I guess this means it's time to give up the paci. Also the biting. And, probably the hitting and pinching. Hmmm...Looks like we have a big year ahead of us.

Big Girl Stuff

2009-06-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

So. It seems I have a couple of other kids who, over the past few weeks, have been sidelined (at least in terms of this blog) due to that four letter word called PHPV. They have remained blissfully unaware of what's going on with Amelia, other than to mention her in their nightly prayers, and I'm grateful for that. But, because time marches on, my big girls continued their normal activities and had a lot of fun in May.

The Dance Recital That Almost Never Was...Arden decided at the rehearsal that she "hated that stage," "hated that tutu," "hated that song," "hated those shoes"... You get the point. It took major coercion to get her there, and then there was a brief heart stopping moment when her class took the stage and we heard a familiar "HEEEYYYYYYYY...." coming from the dark stage. But once the lights came up, Arden seized the moment and took command of the stage.

Claire, of course, was excited to be on stage and looked beautiful in her big pink tutu. Because she doesn't like to do anything incorrectly, she had her head turned to the side almost the whole time, watching her teacher performing the moves in the wings.

Summer gymnastics started and my little Mary Lous were so excited they could hardly stand it (could someone please tell Claire that the hang loose sign is
1987?).

Mother's Day Tea at Claire's preschool. Claire's class put on a performance for all the moms and then presented us with gifts and tea and cookies that they had made. It was soooo cute!

Arden's End of the Year Program. She had the same feelings about this stage as the one at the recital, but again, once on stage, she totally hammed it up. And she kept her hat on the whole time--a big surprise.

Last Day of School. And Claire's last day of preschool. Ever. I don't have to tell you how sad that made me, although I know she's so ready of kindergarten.

May was a complete blur, for so many reasons. This year, we're particularly thankful for lazy summer days.

Where We're At

2009-06-01T10:35:00.000-07:00

*****UPDATE*****
Yesterday, we took Amelia to Little Rock for a follow-up appointment. The news was good! Amelia's retina has improved beyond what her surgeon had expected could be possible based on what he saw during her surgery. Don't misunderstand--her condition is still far from good, but this small victory feels huge to us. Dr. B was hesitant to tell us what this means in terms of her prognosis, but said "Let's just see what the Good Lord does with her."

Sounds like a good plan to us.

Over the last several weeks, I've started at least five posts on Amelia's eye condition. They all remain unfinished, and all signs point to them staying that way. For some reason, I've found it much harder to write about this experience than to actually live it.

The short story is that, while Amelia handled the surgery very well (probably better than her parents), her eye was in much worse shape than her doctors had originally thought. Some day, I'll recount the horror I felt when her surgeon emerged from the OR not 15 minutes after taking her back and asked me where Jason was (um.... Starbucks?) because he needed to talk to us. I think I'm still suffering from post traumatic stress disorder from that one, so I'll save it for another post.

For now, Amelia's prognosis remains uncertain. Her lens had to be removed and her retina was partially detached. These two unexpected events open up a new set of possible complications for her and make it difficult to know what her long term vision will be. We will hopefully find out more when we go back to Little Rock later this week.

The good news is that our sweet girl is as sweet as ever. And, other than a red, irritated eye, she's pretty much back to normal. Now we wait, which is proving to be the hardest part of all.

Happy Day

2009-05-23T06:25:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was a good day. No worries about eye drops, eye pressure, or the contact lens that my four month old will start wearing next week. No stressing out about eye patches or glasses, no freaking out about swelling and redness in Amelia's eye, no tears (from me or Amelia) when she got her four eye medications.

Instead, it was a day filled with sunshine, spent playing outside from lunchtime until bedtime. Bikes, scooters, Barbie Jeeps. Bubbles, chalk, cartwheels. Honeysuckle and wild flowers, picked by my biggest girl and placed carefully in the vase she made me for Mother's Day. And lots and lots of giggles.

It was one of those days when everything feels right with the world. Where you find yourself taking mental pictures instead of digital ones. Where you breathe in the life of your children and feel, in that moment, more blessed than you've ever felt before.

Life is good. Not always easy, but so, so good.

Surgery.

2009-05-17T13:32:00.001-07:00

Amelia's surgery is tomorrow morning. Please pray for our sweet girl. We'll keep you posted.

A Reprimand

2009-05-12T12:33:00.000-07:00

Last night we had dinner with my parents and siblings. We spent half the time trying to get my brother to tell us who would be headlining the walmart shareholders' meeting--to no avail. We spent the other half talking about what we've been reading lately.
When my sister asked me which book in the Twilight series I was on (I know. I KNOW.), I told her the third one. My mom, in all seriousness, looked at me and said, "If you have time to read, you have time to blog."

Disney World

2009-04-27T19:26:00.001-07:00

It really is the happiest place on Earth.

And Magic Kingdom is...well, it's pretty magical.

And those princesses are everywhere. And by "everywhere" I mean "at the end of a very long line in which you will wait at least thirty minutes in the blazing sun in order to get them to sign your child's autograph book and take a blurry snapshot".

The girls loved the rides...

Well, except for It's a Small World. Arden had mixed feelings about that one.

Amelia even got in on the fun.

That last picture is just because there's nothing cuter than chunky baby legs.

We had a wonderful trip and the girls were so good. Of course, Grandma Becky was a huge help with that! We can't wait to go back--Claire is already plotting our return.

Untitled

2009-04-19T19:43:00.001-07:00

Time stood still on Friday.

That was the day that we were told Amelia has PHPV, a congenital eye disease that has left her with little, if any, vision in her right eye.

Time stood still.

Surgery will be performed in the few next weeks. Surgery on the beautiful brown eye of my precious baby. Surgery that may or may not improve her chances of ever having useful vision in that eye. Yet, surgery that we have to try because if we don't, we'll never know.

Time stood still.

After surgery, Amelia will begin an aggressive regimen of eye patching and glasses. She will most likely have to wear a patch on her "good" eye for 6-8 hours each day in the hopes that her "bad" eye will regain some vision. She will also wear glasses from now on. This therapy may or may not improve her chances of ever having useful vision in her right eye.

Time stood still.

Children with PHPV are predisposed to glaucoma and cataracts, things we will have to watch for over the years. She will also be at risk for retina detachment.

Time stood still.

We don't know what to expect. We don't know whether Amelia will ever see more than light and shadows in her right eye. We don't know if she'll have glaucoma, develop a cataract, or experience any other complication. We don't know so many things.

But we do know this: we will do whatever it takes to ensure that Amelia has the best treatment and the best chance for usable vision. We know that Amelia is loved by and being prayed for by so many people. We know that she is exactly the way God intended her to be, that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, and that God has a plan for her that is much bigger than this eye disease.

As we await our consult at Arkansas Children's Hospital, please pray for the following specific things:
--That her lens will not have to removed during surgery
--That we will make the best choices for her treatment
--That we will have peace through this process

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well.
Psalm 130:14

I Think She's On To Us

2009-04-05T12:52:00.000-07:00

With our Disney trip just weeks away, Jason and I have been using Mickey's name in vain to get our children to behave. Over the past month, we've been known to say things such as: "If you do that again, I'll call Mickey Mouse and tell him you can't come to Disney World." Or "If I hear you say that again, I'm telling Mickey and he won't let you ride any rides." Or, perhaps taking it a bit too far, "If you can't be a good girl, Mickey Mouse will not be your friend. He only wants to hug nice girls."

Today as Arden was misbehaving (what?! Arden, no not her!), Jason told her that he was going to call Mickey Mouse if she didn't straighten up.

Arden looked him straight in the eye and said, "And Santa and the Easter Bunny too?"

To Be Filed Under What in the World???

2009-04-03T12:24:00.000-07:00

Today as I was about to back out of a parking space, a woman knocked on my window. Thinking I must know her from somewhere, I rolled down the window and smiled politely.

"I don't know if anyone has told you this before, but you look JUST LIKE Cynthia Nixon," she said.

It took me a minute to place Cynthia Nixon--Miranda from Sex and the City. Miranda? Seriously? I mean, let's be honest, Miranda is attractive, but who wouldn't rather be told they look like Charlotte, or even Carrie? So I sat there in my seat, staring at this stranger, trying to determine if this was meant to be a compliment or an insult.

Noting my silence, she went on. "I mean, when I saw you come out of that store, I did a doubletake. You look JUST LIKE her!"

I continued to stare, wondering if Cynthia Nixon ever had to drag a forty pound baby carrier into a blinds store. Also, did she ever do it wearing jeans that were at least two days past due for a wash and a two year old running shirt that may or may not have spit up on it?

"OK. Um, thanks?" I shrugged, still unsure of the appropriate response.

She smiled. "I did the whole mom thing, too," she said, nodding to my mini van. "And I always looked frumpy. So I wanted to tell you that you look JUST LIKE Cynthia Nixon!"

Now, see, that's the part that really confused me. Did I look frumpy too? Did she feel a special bond with me with the "whole mom thing"? Was she trying to rally me out of my frumpy mommy existence by comparing me to a famous actress? And if so, couldn't she have told me I looked JUST LIKE Scarlett Johansson?

Pictures. In Case You've Forgoteen What My Kids Look Like.

2009-03-30T19:53:00.000-07:00

In nearly three months, this is the only decent picture of all three of my girls. How cute are they in these matching dresses my friend Sarah made? Bragging, I know, but hello?? Have you noticed the name of my blog?

Someone likes her play gym...

Arden's haircut--the aftermath

Let's see that a little closer, shall we?

Claire--my camera shy child. Seriously, can I get her picture when she's not striking some ridiculous pose? This week's favorite is giving me a hang ten sign (or is it I love you or possibly even a rock on?).

There Once Was a Girl

2009-03-09T19:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Arden,

I am so thankful for you. You light up the room with your sweet dimpled smile and big blue eyes. Your laughter is infectious. You are naturally funny and so, so silly. You say "Ahhh, she's cute" as you peer over baby Amelia and you give frequent, uninvited hugs and kisses. You make us laugh everyday and sometimes, when I look at you, my heart feels too big to fit inside my chest. You are a sweet, special gift from God.

But you are also a turd.

Someday, I'm sure I'll look back on this time in your life and chuckle at your antics. I'll smile fondly as I recall the time you bit the sweetest boy in your class at school. And the time you bit his eight year old sister at a church gathering. I'll giggle as I retell the story of you shouting "GO AWAY" to an elderly man at Red Lobster and the time you said "I hate that girl" to the unassuming checker at Old Navy. I'll laugh nostalgically as I remember the way you used to steal things from Claire and then run away, laughing hysterically as she collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap. All the times you had to sit in time out at dance and school, all the times you humiliated me by saying hateful things to strangers, all the times you made Claire cry, all the times your defiant behavior sent me to the brink of insanity, all these times will make me laugh and long for the old days.

But now is not that time. Now is the time to order parenting books off the internet and ask random strangers for advice. Now is the time to pray that you make it through a school day without biting, hitting or scratching another child. Now is the time to make sticker charts and reward good behavior while punishing bad behavior. And now is the time to realize that this, too, will pass.

And when it does, at least I'll have some good stories to tell at your wedding...

The Last Laugh

2009-03-01T18:42:00.001-08:00

Scene: Jason and girls waiting in mini van while I run into store to buy a baby gift.

Claire, whining: Why do we have to wait in the car? It's so boring.
Claire, whining louder: I don't want to sit here. It's booorrrring.
Claire, whining even louder: This is sooooo boooorrrrriiiiiinnnnnggggg!

Arden: Blah, blah blah....

Claire: Stop it it, Arden.

Arden: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah

Claire, whining: Stop it, Arden.

Arden: I not crying.

Claire: Well, you pee in your pants, AR-den.

Arden, passing gas and laughing: I just bookied.

Something to Blog About

2009-02-26T18:55:00.000-08:00

I like to blog. I really do. It's just that lately things have been getting in the way of my blogging. Things like an ice storm that knocked out our cable modem for two weeks--but not our neighbor's (I'm still highly suspicious of this, Cox Cable). And then there was Claire's super cool roller skating party. Followed by the pneumonia. Oh, the pneumonia. And let's not forget the Great Hard Drive Crash of
'09.

Now that we're all healthy (knocks on wood and looks suspiciously at two year old with finger in previously infected ear) and have a functioning computer with an internet connection (knocks on wood and looks suspiciously at corrupt hard drive waiting to be mailed back to Dell), I hope to get back on board with blogging. Because I don't want you to miss out on this...

Or this...

And certainly not THIS...

Pictures...

2009-02-13T09:01:00.000-08:00

<

Lots to catch up on, but for now, how 'bout some pictures?

Amelia really liked her first real bath and Claire was so glad that her cord fell off that she kept asking to see her belly button to make sure it was still gone.

Amelia's first Sunday at Church. Everyone was all dressed up in their matching dresses that my friend Sarah made for them. This, unfortunately, is the best picture we were able to get that morning (thanks, Arden).

During the ice storm, we spent a lot of time playing our new Wii (once we got our power back). The girls were in denial that it was icy and freezing outside, hence the swimsuits.

Amelia enjoying some time under the play gym. This is not something she gets to do often, as it tends to be a little hazardous (thanks, Arden).

Does my head make this flower look big?

My one month old!

My FIVE year old!

My two year old who just realized that it's not her birthday too.

Five going on Fifteen..

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

2009-01-23T09:50:00.000-08:00

If you are a new mom, operating on a total of about four hours of sleep a night, you might be tempted to buy yourself five minutes of peace and quiet by giving your 2 1/2year old a pair of safety scissors, a stick of glue and a stack of construction paper. You will tell her to "go to town" and watch as she cuts and glue to her heart's content. You might see this as an opportunity to take a potty break and leave her unsupervised for about ten seconds.

You will regret this.

It will take you a few minutes to realize that you are looking at a pile of hair. Real hair. Not Barbie hair or My Little Pony hair. Arden's hair. You will begin to exclaim, "OH, Arden!" as you try to process what's just happened. The 2 1/2 year old will think she looks very beautiful and will tell you over and over, "I so pitty," as you frantically search her head for the origin of all that hair. You will find it directly on top of her head, about half an inch from her scalp.

You will eventually realize there is nothing you can do about the bald spot on her head so you will take a picture and put it on your blog. Then you will hide all the safety scissors in the house--and the glue, just in case she decides to get creative with all that hair.

Pictures--Because Words Require More Sleep Than I'm Getting

2009-01-13T09:05:00.001-08:00

Look, Ma! No wheels!

Have you ever seen anything sweeter? You'd never know that just minutes before she was screaming so loud that Arden ran and hid in her room and Claire asked if I was going to do anything to make her stop.

Arden may not be the youngest anymore, but you can be sure she'll find her own way to be in the spotlight...

Kid's Say the Darndest Things--Post Partum Edition

2009-01-11T16:41:00.000-08:00

Arden, upon seeing Claire getting to hold the brand-new baby sister first: Hhhhheeeeyyyy! I want to hold that!

Claire: Mommy, did you get some stitches after they took the baby out?
Me, hesitating: Yeeeeesssss....
Claire: In your belly button?
Me: Is that what you think?
Claire: Yeah.
Me: OK
Claire: Then did they have to push your belly button back down when they were done?
Me: Ummmmm....That's pretty close to how it happened.

Claire, looking at my tummy: I thought they took the baby out.
Me, surprised: They did. She's right there.
Claire, poking my tummy: Then what's this?

My nephew, Connor, looking at my tummy: Is your baby still in there?
Me: No. Your daddy is holding her.
Connor, poking my tummy: What's this?
Me: Well, unfortunately it just takes a little while for big baby tummies to go back to normal.
Connor, looking skeptical: So you don't have another one in there?

Claire, getting too up close and personal while I was nursing Amelia: What's she doing?
Me: She's eating.
Claire: No, she's not. She doesn't have teeth.
Me: Well, she's having milk.
Claire: From where?
Me: From me.
Claire: Yeah, but where does it comes from?
Me: From Mommy. She gets her milk from me.
Claire: I know. But where does it come from?
Me, sighing: Claire, it just comes from Mommy's body. When you're a Mommy, you'll have milk in your body too.
Claire, impatiently: I know it's from your body but WHERE is it coming from?!
Me: From my boobies, OK? She gets it from my boobies.
Claire, smiling triumphantly: I knew it!

Introducing Amelia Brooke

2009-01-08T19:33:00.000-08:00

After a longer than anticipated labor, Amelia Brooke was born last night at 5:03. She weighed in at 8 pounds, 8 ounces and was 20 inches long. She looks a lot like Claire did as a newborn (a fact that makes Big Sister Claire very proud).

Speaking of Big Sisters...They thought she was pretty cool.

I happen to agree. Welcome to the world, sweet girl!

Ten Plus One

2009-01-04T12:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Jason and I celebrated 11 years of marriage. How is it possible that we're old enough to have that many years behind us? Oh, right. I was a child bride.
This year, with the impending arrival of the child-who-won't-leave-my-womb, was a little more low key than last year's celebration.

Still, dinner and a movie and a quiet house without the girls was more than enough this year (thanks, grandparents!).

Happy anniversary to my best friend! Every year is better than the last. I love you!

Perfect Timing

2008-12-31T12:20:00.000-08:00

I am sitting at my kitchen table, trying to enjoy a healthy snack of an almond chocolate bar, goldfish crackers and a dr. pepper (no, I have no idea why my belly is measuring two and half weeks ahead, why do you ask?), listening to my two year old screaming in her room and kicking the headboard on her bed. It's been going on for an hour.
If she hadn't been doing this every afternoon for the last week, I'd brush this off as a random event. However, I fear she might be trying to make a habit of this. Given that baby #3 is set to arrive a week from today, I find this worrisome. I need naptime, people. Any suggestions?

Christmas 2008

2008-12-29T18:48:00.000-08:00

Just like birthdays, we like to drag our Christmas celebrations out as long as possible. We started on Christmas Eve and decked the halls until Saturday afternoon. The girls had a really great time this year and we loved watching them experience the magic and joy of Christmas.

Our first stop was at Nana and Grandad Jack's house on Christmas Eve.

Claire was super-excited to receive this gift, which she wanted last year but was recalled before Christmas.

Arden can't get enough of the princess experience, and really, who can blame her?

After the festivities at Nana's, we went home and got ready for Santa. The girls were extra excited because cousin Connor got to spend the night with us this year. The kids wrote a note to Santa and got busy setting out carrots for the reindeer and a plate of (store-bought, kind of stale) cookies for Santa.

Claire was extremely worried that Arden would get out of bed and Santa wouldn't come. I guess I over-emphasized the whole "Santa only comes after all the children are asleep" thing. Luckily, everyone went to sleep and the grown-ups were able to assemble all the fun things Santa had selected for the kids, including a four foot wooden dollhouse that came with two pages of instructions. Two pages of steps 12-20 of the instructions. No 1-11 to be found anywhere in the box. Santa seriously needs some quality control up there at the North Pole.

Later that day we were off to "The Farm" for more Christmas fun, including a hay ride (I did not participate this year), skeet shooting (didn't participate), four-wheeler riding (also did not particpate) and lots of trampoline jumping (again with the non-participation). Now that I think of it, maybe I should've joined in on some of those activites. Maybe I'd be holding the new baby by now...

We continued our Christmas experience all the way until Saturday, spending time with Aunt Ashley and Uncle Thad and Aunt Darla, Uncle Butch, Alsion and Nana Vel.

We had a truly wonderful Christmas this year. The girls were gracious with their gifts and only asked for additional presents a few times. I consider this a big accomplishment for a two and four year old. And, in case you were wondering, Santa came through for Arden with the makeup...

What a Difference a Year Makes

2008-12-16T13:05:00.000-08:00

Last year's visit with Santa did not go so well. This year, Arden has been really excited to sit on Santa's lap and tell him that she wants him to bring her make-up for Christmas. Claire, of course, has always loved Santa and has never had the kind of freak-out that Arden had last year when she came face-to-face with the man in red. Since both girls were so eager to visit Santa, we bundled them up last night and braved the freezing temperatures to go see Santa.

We picked a perfect night. There was no line at all and the girls walked right up and got to spend several minutes with Santa without having to hurry through. Arden took full advantage of this, telling Santa over and over that she wanted him to bring her some make-up. Claire was very polite and asked for a two wheel scooter and a baby doll (not the dollhouse that she told me she was going to ask for).

All in all, it was a successful visit. Now "Santa" just has to come up with some non-toxic, stain-free make-up and figure out what to do with the dollhouse he has in his trunk.

Flip Flopper

2008-12-14T11:44:00.001-08:00

Is it possible that all those crazy contractions last weekend were Baby Amelia trying to turn herself over? If you said "yes," you would be right!

I went to my regular doctor appointment on Thursday who confirmed that Amelia is not only head down, but is also low enough that she shouldn't be able to flip back over. Actually, what he said was she is "locked and loaded," a phrase that conjured up some not-so-pleasant imagery but ultimately translates into "your internal organs will not be laid bare on an operating table any time in the near future."

Now that the fear of a c-section is gone, I feel ready to have this baby. Well, actually I need to get my hair cut and colored one more time and then I'll be ready.

Even My Uterus is Irritable

2008-12-07T16:53:00.000-08:00

After a weekend filled with contractions and back pain, I found myself in Labor and Delivery yesterday, hooked up to monitors and blood pressure cuffs and answering weird questions like "Do you have stairs in your home?"

I was monitored for several hours before it was determined that I have an "irritable uterus". Although I suspect this might be a made-up diagnosis that they tell over-reactive paranoid moms, it makes perfect sense to me: everything else about me is irritatble these days, why not my uterus too?

One Little Indian

2008-11-18T04:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the Thanksgiving Feast at Mother's Day Out. Arden's class dressed up like Indians and, as you can see from the pictures, she thought she was pretty cute. Not sure about the historical accuracy of a blond haired, blue-eyed Indian at the first Thanksgiving, but who cares about details when you look that cute with a headress on?

Heads Up

2008-11-12T13:28:00.000-08:00

In case anyone missed the news, I'm pregnant. 32 weeks pregnant, which looks about 65weeks pregnant in "third pregnancy years". Yesterday Claire asked me if my tummy would get even bigger. When I said yes her eyes got really wide and she said, "How?". A valid question, I must admit.

Note: the above photo was taken by Claire (which is why I look like a giant) and is being posted at her request.

It's hard to believe that in eight weeks we'll be holding a new Bramlett girl. I think about her all the time, wondering who she'll look like, what her personality will be like, whether she'll be a good sleeper, and most pressing of all: will she flip herself over before delivery?

Yes, friends, my third baby has decided to go her own way and has been in a breech position for a while now. Her little coconut head is lodged firmly under my rib cage and when she kicks, I fear that a foot might come out. Although there is still a decent chance she might flip over, she seems all too comfortable right where she is. I can't blame her for wanting to stay in the upright position but from a purely selfish perspective, this complicates things.

A breech baby equals a c-section. I've never had a c-section before, or any other surgery for that matter, so I'm a little freaked out at the idea. Plus, I've seen a c-section delivery on Discovery channel and I'm pretty sure they laid the poor woman's intestines right there on the delivery table (I could be wrong about this part, as I watched most of the show in horror with my hands over my eyes).

If she stays in the breech position, my doctor will attempt to flip her manually sometime in December. This involves a great deal of pushing on the outside of the belly and has been described to me as feeling like an "Indian burn on your insides." What's not to love about the sound of that?

Whether she flips or not, I know that I'll be holding my sweet precious in less than two months and that is almost enough to calm me down about all this. Almost.

I Would Like to Be the New Spokesperson for Dell

2008-11-10T14:11:00.000-08:00

I don't want to brag, but since my blog is called "Shameless bragging," I guess you kind of expect it. So here goes. I got a new laptop and not only does it have an operating system that was developed in this decade, it also has something I didn't even know existed: a memory card reader. Right there on the computer. No cords required. Do you know what that means to someone who broke her camera and can't upload her pictures???

That means I can show you this

And this

And this

Not to mention this (which has nothing to do with Halloween but is too cute not to post)

Three cheers for technology!

Do Not Allow Me Near Expensive Appliances/Electronics

2008-11-05T12:53:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty much the only loser mom in the blogworld who hasn't posted super-cute pictures of her kids in their Halloween costumes. For now, you'll just have to take my word that the Bramlett girls were the prettiest Little Mermaid and Cinderella around.

It's not that I didn't take plenty of pictures. I did. I got lots of good shots of the two of them enjoying our WEEK long Halloween festivities. It's just that, well, there was an unfortunate accident involving my new-ish camera at the fall carnival at church and now said camera is rendered unusable. Since the cost of repair is somehow more than the cost of a new camera (defying various laws of economics or gravity or something), I guess I'll be buying a new one. Until then, no pictures.

On a slightly related note, I dyed the inside of my dryer orange last week. The good news there is that it doesn't seem to be effecting the performance of the appliance. It does, however, seem to indicate that I am single-handedly ruining every big ticket item in our house.

I Should Feel Bad About This

2008-10-29T14:35:00.000-07:00

While Arden was napping this afternoon, I raided the treat bag she got at her Mother's Day Out Halloween party today. I ate all the chocolate. I sense that I should feel badly about this, but come on, she's two. She still thinks smarties are just as good as mini milky ways. Amateur.

How We Spend Our Evenings

2008-10-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

Alternate Title: Because the Razorback Fight Song sounds so much better when sung with classical music playing in the background

Have I mentioned this?

2008-10-13T12:11:00.001-07:00

Arden started a ballet/tap class this fall. She loves it and, like everything else she does, goes at it full force. Unfortunately, her future in the class is a little uncertain after she pummeled another little girl during last week's session. If we do stick it out, mark your calendars for late May. That receital will be a must-see.

GOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!!!!

2008-10-07T11:33:00.001-07:00

Last Thursday night, Claire scored her first goal ever (assuming you don't count the one she scored for the other team a few weeks ago). Since then, she's been on a scoring rampage. On Friday night, she scored five goals and couldn't wait to call someone to share the news that she got the "high score".

Jason and I, who normally consider ourselves to be highly reasonable people, have turned into those parents. You know, the ones who are jumping up and down on the sidelines and yelling "Stay with it, Claire! Straight to the goal! Wooo-hoooo!!!" while the other parents think to themselves, "They do realize this is four year old soccer don't they?"

Yes, we do. But it's so fun to see your little one accomplish something and be so proud of herself that we're willing to sacrifice a little of our dignity to celebrate it with her. However, f you see us on the soccer fields and we're a little, um, over the top, please feel free to tell us to tone it down...

Things I Want to Remember

2008-09-29T12:57:00.000-07:00

I looked at my girls yesterday and was hit with the sudden realization that they are getting bigger by the second. When did Arden start talking so much? How long has Claire been refusing to wear bows? Weren't those soccer shorts a lot longer last spring? Why does that dress seem too small (oh. it's an 18-24 months)?
I know once this new baby gets here the girls will seem even bigger and before I know it, I'll have forgotten what this stage in their lives was like. So here are some things I don't want to forget...

Claire
*Says "willn't" when she means "won't"
*Totally obsessed with jewelry--at any given time, she's wearing several necklaces, a few rings and an armload of bracelets
*Can't wait for kindergarten and asks nearly everyday how much longer it will be until she goes to her "Big Girl School"
*Runs around the soccer field with a huge smile on her face
*Is just as happy to have "almost" scored a goal than to actually have scored one
*Loves to perform and can't wait to be a grown-up so she can be on stage somewhere
*Spent thirty minutes trying to master the monkey bars at the park on Saturday
*Wants to pick her own clothes and accessories and does not limit herself by adhering to fashion boundaries such as "plaids and stripes do not go together" or "if the back of your heel is hanging over the edge of those Hello Kitty wedge sandals you love so much, they're probably too small"
*Can't wait to be able to read
*Thinks the big girls across the street are totally cool
*Likes to kiss the baby in my tummy
*Sleeps with a blankie, a puppy named pup-pup and three princess dolls
*Doesn't nap anymore

Arden
*Repeats everything Claire says, even if she has no idea what it means
*Loves her "pappy" (that's what she calls her paci and yes, she still has it. Want to fight about it?)
*Thinks using the potty means sitting on it or standing in front of it
*Cries when I leave
*Loves to give hugs and kisses
*Gets so excited when someone comes to the house that she runs into the living room and does somersaults
*Loves to sing back-up for Claire, although I'm sure she'll want to take the lead before too long
*Calls my dad Jack instead of Grandad
*Terrifies me when I take her to the park
*Loves to eat olives
*Thinks she is just as big as her sister
*Loves to paint and use glue sticks
*Tried to feed baby in my tummy chips by laying them on my belly
*Sleeps with two lovies, two blankets, three princess dolls, one puppy and, of course, her beloved pappy
*Says "Ontchoo" when she means "I want you"

A Confession

2008-09-17T13:12:00.000-07:00

I just made a box of brownies for the sole purpose of having something chocolate to eat this afternoon. I purposely left a generous amount of batter in the mixing bowl so that I could have something to snack on while I was waiting the excruciating 25-29minutes for the actual brownies to bake. I opted not to let the brownies cool and instead, dug right in for a huge, gooey, falling apart piece of chocolaty goodness. And then I had seconds.

And I wonder why this baby is measuring two weeks ahead of schedule?

Outliers

2008-09-11T12:14:00.000-07:00

I'm not a political person. I sit on the fence a lot. I like to tease my sister about her thoughts on global warming, but the truth is, I'm a global warning agnostic. I feel that way about a lot of issues. Things are rarely black and white for me, although sometimes I wish they were. Life seems simpler for those who see only two colors.

Today as I was driving home, I passed two men standing at a busy intersection holding signs that claimed "9/11: Bush did it" and "9/11 was an inside job." All I could do as I drove slowly past them was roll my eyes and say, "Seriously?"

As I drove away, it occurred to me that they were serious. And that there were probably more just like them. That realization got me thinking about outliers.

In statistical analysis, it's common practice to remove any "outliers" before attempting to analyze data. Outliers are data points that fall way out of range with the rest of the data. By removing them, you get a more accurate analysis.

Those guys today? Outliers. Those people on the web who actually think that Obama was calling his opponent a pig? Outliers. Those other people on the web who think that Palin is somehow an unfit mother/unacceptable candidate because her teenage daughter is pregnant? Outliers.

Someone please tell me that those folks, although I'm sure well-intentioned, don't represent the whole of America. Please tell me that if we remove those extreme views to the right and left, what's left behind is a group of people who can at least entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, the other side has some valid points.

Change is the word this election year. But I think the change America wants has far less to do with what our politics are than the way that we practice them.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Right. I have a blog.

2008-09-10T12:31:00.000-07:00

So I haven't blogged in a while. And since this blog is my way of documenting the girls' experiences, I always feel guilty when I fall behind. Here is my penance--lots of pictures!

We made a quick trip to Dallas and stayed with Grandad and Mimi. That means there was lots of swimming and good food. The girls would've stayed in the water all day if we'd let them.

First Razorback game of the season. We left the girls at home for the game but game day always provides a good excuse for wearing your cheerleader outfit and striking some poses outside the stadium.

First Day of School. This is Claire's last year of preschool and Arden's first. Guess who wasn't that thrilled to be going (hint--the one with the paci and blankie). Claire is going to the same preschool she's been at the last three years and Arden is going to Mother's Day Out at our church. Oh, and did I mention that I'm the director of that Mother's Day Out? That might help explain my recent blogging drought.
So far both girls are enjoying their schools, although Claire is torn as to whether she wants to stay with her buddies at her "old" school or come with me and Arden. I'm letting her chose, which means a lot of running around for me.

Fall soccer started and Claire's team is named "Fire". Not "The Fire". Just "Fire". For some reason, this really bothers me. But Claire is excited because they get real uniforms and she is number 5. She considers being five years old to be the pinnacle of existence, so getting wear 5 on her back makes her day.

I'm not sure that soccer will turn out to be Claire's calling in life. She has fun playing, but seems to have inherited my level of aggressiveness (none). I overheard her coach telling her to try and take the ball away from the other team and Claire replied, "But I could share it with them and that would be so nice". Not sure how Coach answered that one.

And finally, here is what Arden looks like at Claire's soccer games. She is having a hard time grasping the concept of being "too young" for certain things. We spend the entire game chasing her off the field. When it's her turn to play next fall, I don't think we'll be worrying about her level of agression though.

His and Hers

2008-08-28T14:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at the grocery store a lady approached me and asked if my girls were sisters. When I said yes, she exclaimed, "I can't believe it! They don't look anything alike!" I just smiled and nodded politely. "Yes, they do have different features."

She went on and on about how she'd never seen two sisters look so different and look! one has blue eyes and other brown! And this one has blonde hair and that one brown! It's so strange!

I considered telling her they had different dads, just to shut her up, but was afraid Claire would repeat it--probably in Sunday School.

***for the record, they do have the same dad.

The Good Fight

2008-08-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, Jason's Papaw went to Heaven. That's how we explained his passing to Claire. She thought for a minute and then asked if Grandma Norma was sad. When we said yes, we were all sad, Claire looked puzzled and got quiet. Then with great confidence she said, "We don't have to be sad. Papaw is in Heaven with Jesus and God."

Thank goodness for children, who see so clearly what we as adults often complicate and ultimately screw up. Yes, Papaw is in Heaven with Jesus and God. There is no doubt. He was a man of great faith who was fully devoted to his God and family. All you have to do is look at his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren to see that.

My girls probably won't remember Papaw. That makes me sad. But his great influence on their dad will carry through to them. That fills me with joy. As Jason said at the funeral, Papaw didn't leave behind riches or material things, but his legacy of faith and love will be felt for generations to come.

I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me a crown of righteousness.
1 Timothy 4:7-8

Arden vs. The Potty--Round 1

2008-08-12T13:59:00.000-07:00

Round one goes to Arden. She is a stubborn girl and has completely refused to have anything to do with the potty. Occasionally, she will sit on it for a millisecond and then jump off, proudly proclaiming, "I did it! I did it!" Um, not exactly.

Arden's current strategy of potty training avoidance involves shifting the blame.

Me:Arden, are you stinky?
Arden (wide-eyed innocence): No, sissy.
Me: Sissy is not stinky. She goes on the potty.
Arden: Daddy.
Me: Daddy is at work. It's not Daddy.
pause
Arden: Cow poop.

Efforts to shame her into going on the potty have failed as well.

Me: Arden, big girls go on the potty.
blank stare
Me: Sissy goes on the potty.
Arden: Daddy?
Me: Yes, Daddy goes on the potty.
Arden: Mommy?
Me: Yes, Mommy goes on the potty.
Arden: Nana?
Me: Yes, Nana goes on the potty.
Arden: Jack?
Me: Yes, Grandad goes on the potty.
Arden: Maw-Maw?
Me: Yes, Grandma goes on the potty.
Arden: NO!
Me: Yes, she does.
Arden: No! No No Maw-Maw potty.

Round one may go to Arden, but we're not out of the fight yet. I do have a bad feeling I may be buying one of those musical potties soon though.

No Boys Allowed

2008-08-06T11:22:00.000-07:00

I think this must be posted somewhere in my uterus, because baby #3 is a GIRL!!!!

Three girls. That's going to take some time to sink in. But who wouldn't be excited about the thought of all those sweet sisters and a houseful of hot pink tutus and ribbons and barbie dolls?

Jason, of course, is already fretting over financing three weddings, but not to worry--we've arranged their marriages to the Bowman boys.

Claire is disappointed that she won't be getting a brother after all. She said she has enough sisters already.

And Arden is too busy wreaking havoc to care too much about the baby in my tummy.

Three girls. Sounds just about perfect to me.

Oh, The Irony

2008-07-29T12:10:00.000-07:00

So remember how last week I threw kind of a tantrum about not getting scheduled for an ultrasound? No? Well, don't read the previous post. But if you do remember, I have an update for you.

I am fortunate to have married into a family with connections--medical connections. And when they heard about the Great Ultrasound Fiasco of '08, they got riled up. And started making things happen. Now, I'm not saying we're like some kind of rural health care mafia or anything, but--badabing--the next thing you know, I'm getting an ultrasound at an undisclosed location (I just said that to make it more dramatic)this morning and the new OB clinic is calling to schedule one for next week.

So I got my way. The Big Ultrasound. The Am I Keeping All This Pink Stuff or Buying New Blue Stuff? Appointment.

Unfortunately, I did not get an answer to that question. Seems Baby #3 is a bit modest and wasn't too keen on the invasion of his/her privacy. Baby even flipped all the way around during the ultrasound, keeping his/her legs tightly closed the entire time.

The good news is that all the important things looked great and baby is healthy and growing. Just very uncooperative.

The Problem with Being Pregnant

2008-07-24T13:09:00.000-07:00

I'm normally a pretty nice person. At least, I think I am. Although after seeing a picture of myself in a local magazine, I have some serious doubts about the perception I have of myself and reality (side note: how long has my hair been that dingy color and why didn't anyone tell me? also, do I have a lazy eye?). I have my moments but generally, I'm nice enough.

I'm not always the most rational person, especially in situations that aren't going the way I'd like them to go. But luckily, the "nice" factor keeps the irrationality in check.

Unless I am pregnant. And unless the situation at hand is in reference to my pregnancy.

Several months ago, the geniuses that run the hospital where I delivered Arden concluded that all women are morons who don't know how to choose their own health care providers, because clearly, if we knew what we were doing we'd choose a female doctor. This conclusion prompted the severing of ties with all the male doctors in the women's clinic affiliated with the hospital (incidentally, the practice was started many years ago by the very doctors they let go).

I have nothing against female doctors, obviously. The OB who delivered Claire was a woman and I absolutely loved her. She is, without a doubt, the most dedicated, patient, kindest doctor I've ever known. If anyone has ever met their calling, it is Dr. Hays. But the fact is, I didn't choose her simply because she was a woman. I chose her because she was dedicated and patient and kind (also incredibly smart and had very cute hair).

When we moved here, I was very newly pregnant with Arden. I had to chose a new OB and I found one that I liked very much--who just happened to be male.

When word of the hospital's forward-thinking new policy on women's health choices spread, I knew what my choice would be. When the day came, I would follow my OB to his new practice, even if it meant driving an extra 20 minutes out of my way.

That day has come and I found myself calling the new clinic this week to schedule an appointment. The Appointment. The Ultrasound appointment. The Am I Keeping All This Pink Stuff or Buying New Blue Stuff appointment.

I was mildly (extremely) disappointed when the receptionist informed me that the first available appointment was a month away. If this were my first pregnancy, I'd be panicking at the thought of going six weeks between appointments, but this time around I'm just irritated at having to wait an extra two weeks before finding out the gender of this baby. After making a few grumbling comments about how I was glad I called the clinic instead of waiting around for them to call me like they were SUPPOSED TO TWO WEEKS AGO, I decided to let it go. On to more important details.

Me : So this will be my ultrasound, right?
Her, surprised: No, we've never seen you before. I can't schedule an ultrasound for you without ever seeing you.
Me: But I'll be twenty weeks! It's The Appointment.
Her: Well, we've never seen you before. And we don't even know Dr. P. We can't do an ultrasound until we have a diagnosis.
pause
Me, confused: Diagnosis of WHAT?
Her, pausing slightly as if I should already know this answer: Pregnancy.
Me, laughing hysterically and looking at my soccer ball belly: You want me to take a pregnancy test?!
Her: Well, we need to see you before we schedule anything else.

I won't recap the whole thing here, but let's just say the conversation went downhill from there. Add to that the fact that I called again today to rehash the whole situation and I'm sure I have a big "CRAZY PREGNANT LADY" (or worse) stamp on my chart now. I definitely didn't come across as nice. Or rational.

But at least I can blame it on my hormones. Wonder what HER excuse is?

Whatever Happened to Plain Ol' Barbie?

2008-07-14T11:17:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Target, where the girls picked out a birthday present for one of their friends. I was pleased with how quickly Claire picked the toy, as she usually spends twenty minutes showing me everything she'd like to have before finally remembering that she's there to buy something for someone else. She showed me the Barbie and pet dogs that she picked and I agreed that it was a great choice.

Once we got in the car, Claire announced, "These dogs pee."

What?? I snatched the box away from her, and sure enough, it said right there on the packaging "Puppy is thirsty...Then makes a puddle!"

The dogs pee. I don't know what disturbs me more: that there are actually toys that pee, or that I just bought one.

Destin 2008

2008-07-11T11:53:00.000-07:00

Alternate title: "That Time We Went to Destin and Everyone Got the Stomach Virus (or Possibly Salmonella)"

Another Destin vacation with the Bowmans has come and gone and I've found myself already counting down the months until next year's trip. Although, seriously? We'll have six kids between us by then and that's a little scary. Maybe we should just ditch the kids and go back to Iberostar. Kidding! I kid. Sort of.

It was a great week, even with the stomach situation that quickly took down the condo on Thursday/Friday and carried over onto the ride home on Saturday (good times). We hit all our favorite restaurants and added a new one to the rotation as well (note: Pompano Joe's, you are officially on probation). We hung out at Destin Commons, rode rides and go-carts at The Track, fed the alligators at Fudpucker's and got in plenty of beach and pool time.

Here are some other highlights of the week:

Claire didn't love the beach at first, but finally warmed up to it once the waves died down a little. She fancied herself to be quite the surf girl.

Arden didn't really love the ocean, preferring to have snacks under the shade of the umbrella instead.

Eating at Fisherman's Wharf--a new fave on our list.

Bowman and Bramlett kids

Fun at the Track

Claire was so excited to get a hair wrap just like one of her friend's at school got over spring break. We took her to a local souvenir shop on the our last night in Destin and obliged her. Too bad we didn't know it was going to cost $30. She loved it though and couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror.

I know it's a completely touristy thing to do, but we can't resist dressing the kids in all white and letting them run around on the beach while we snap a million photos in the hopes of getting that one perfect shot.

There's Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You

2008-06-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

Good news for everyone out there who was worried that there just aren't quite enough Bramletts in the world. Another one will be making his/her debut in January.

Get ready people, we're taking over the world, Brad and Angelina style.

Arden is Two!

2008-06-15T12:10:00.000-07:00

6-16-08
Dear Arden,
Today you are two. I know this is the way it's supposed to happen, but can you please explain to me how you went from this

to this

overnight?

You are such a joy to us. From the moment you wake up, you're in a good mood and ready for the day ahead. You run and laugh and entertain all day long until finally (mercifully) you crash in your crib at naptime. I hope that you will always have your sunny disposition, that you will look upon each day as a fresh start.

To say you are spirited is an understatement. You are a girl with a mind of her own, certain that you are capable of doing whatever you feel like doing whenever you feel like doing it. Most of the time, you can. I hope that you will always be confident in your abilities, that you will stretch yourself to try new things and that you will not be discouraged when things don't work out the way you planned.

You love your big sister. She is your best friend, although you don't always show it in the most conventional way (note: biting is not an appropriate way to show affection). I hope that you two will always be close, that you will lean on each other as you get older and that the teenage years don't cause too many wrinkles for me.

You are loved more than you can ever know. Never forget that. Never forget that.

Happy birthday, sweet AK! We can't wait to see what this year has in store for you!

Scenes from a birthday party:

On a Scale of 1 to 10

2008-06-10T13:33:00.000-07:00

How bad is it when your (youngest) child's pediatrician tracks you down as you're leaving his office to hand you a handwritten list of suggested discipline/parenting books? Yeah, that's what I thought.

In unrelated news, Claire just got a popcorn kernel stuck up in her nose. For future reference, tweezers are NOT a good option.

You Can Dance, You Can Jive, Having the Time of Your Life

2008-06-01T11:34:00.001-07:00

Observations from a Dance Recital:

**One of the best parts of being in a recital is getting lots of flowers. Claire started receiving flowers before we even left for the show (thanks, Grandad and Mimi!) and ended up with so many flowers and sparkly wands and cookies that she couldn't even hold it all. Thank goodness her assistant (me) was there to keep up with it all.

**Another great thing about dance recitals is that you get to put on makeup and if you decide you want your hair curly, it's going to be curly (even if it takes over half an hour with a curling iron) because it's your recital, after all.

**Aside from being on stage, Claire's favorite part of the recital was hanging out backstage in one of the dressing rooms. Given that the recital was two hours long and Claire was only onstage for maybe five minutes total, you couldn't have paid me enough to be the one entertaining 20 four-year-olds in tutus and lipstick for an hour and 55 minutes.

General Observations:

**White, preteen girls + sideways hats + hip hop dancing = hysterical laughter

**If you have a young boy and insist on putting him in a hip hop class full of young girls, please also insist that he be excused from wearing a gold lame' shirt.

**If you have a young girl who is in said hip hop class, please exert your parental rights by refusing to make her dance to "Ice, Ice, Baby" (or any other song by Vanilla Ice) while wearing gold lame' shirts and gold dollar sign necklaces.

**If you have a young girl in the tap/ballet combination class, she will automatically assume that the hip hop girls are "cool". She will tell you, as you're tucking her in at night, that she, too, wants a gold dollar sign necklace.

**Fathers of young girls (and grown up girls, for that matter) will comment excessively on the inappropriateness of some of the dance moves. They will vow that their daughters will never participate in such a bawdy display of hip shaking.

**There is nothing cuter than watching your sweet girl be excited to sing on stage. Wait, did I just say sing? Wasn't this supposed to be a dance recital? Well, don't tell Claire, because you could hear her singing along as she was tapping and arabesque-ing her way across the stage.

School's Out

2008-06-01T11:30:00.000-07:00

Claire had her last day of school on Thursday and was sad to see the year end. She has turned into one of those kids who really love to go to school, which is a huge change from last year, when she cried nearly every time I dropped her off.

It's crazy to think that she only has one more year of preschool left. If it were up to her, she'd start kindergarten tomorrow. She just can't wait to be one of the big kids. Judging by how much she's changed in just the past 9 months, it looks like she's well on her way. And I can't seem to stop it.

Why I Love the Disney Corporation

2008-05-20T11:34:00.000-07:00

I know there are plenty of people out there who think that Disney is an evil empire, selling their princess propaganda and that whole "happiest place on Earth" business to our unsuspecting children. But I, for one, wholeheartedly LOVE Disney for a couple of reasons.

Exhibit A:

For the first time ever, Arden sat still for 30 minutes and watched this entire video. Unless you know Arden, you can't fully appreciate that sentence.

Exhibit B:

So, have you read Hans Christian Anderson's "The Little Mermaid" lately? Claire found it at the Library last week and couldn't wait for me to read it to her. It's been awhile, but how could I have forgotten that in the non-Disney version of this story, the Little Mermaid doesn't marry the prince and is instructed to kill him or else turn into sea foam? As you can imagine, I had a bit of a hard time explaining to Claire why her beloved Ariel was wielding a knife over a sleeping Prince Eric and his new bride.

As one who is still scarred by "The Little Matchgirl," I will take the Disney version of these so-called fairy tales any day.

Next Stop, Comedy Central

2008-05-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

Claire told her first joke today:
"There was a bug on a sack. Why was the bug on the sack? The sack was closed and he could never get out."

Her second joke:
"Knock knock who's there?"
pause
"Watermelon!"
hysterical laughter from her buddy Isaac

Her third joke:
"Knock knock who's there lemon head!"
more hysterical laughter from Isaac

As you can see, she has a very sophisticated sense of humor.

Tiny Dancer

2008-05-13T11:34:00.000-07:00

Last week, Claire had a dress rehearsal and pictures for her upcoming recital. To say she's excited is a bit of an understatement. She can't wait to be on stage and "have everyone watching me and then they'll bring me flowers and clap and yell 'whoo-hoo' when I'm done dancing!"

2008-05-11T13:29:00.000-07:00

Last year, I posted my favorite quote on motherhood. I still love it, so I think it bears repeating.

"Every mother has the breathtaking privilege of sharing with God in the creation of a new life. She helps bring into existence a soul that will endure for all eternity."
--Father James Kelly

I've been thinking a lot about the awesome responsibility we have raising our kids. Not just the nurturing, the disciplining, the educating, the giggling-tickling-dancing-til-you-fall-down-ness of it, but the real gravity of helping shape another person into someone who, hopefully, is a much better version of the parents whose DNA they share. It's by far the most important thing we'll ever do. To paraphrase Jackie Kennedy, if you screw up raising your kids, nothing else you do matters very much.

Honestly, if you think about it too much, it will scare the pants off you.

When Claire was just minutes old and the nurse handed me my swaddled bundle of baby, I stared into the murky blueness of her newborn eyes and wondered how in the world a being so fresh from God was now my own. It was almost too much and I very easily could have gone into full freak out mode. But then Claire began crying and I began mothering.

And that's the way it's been for the last four years. Some days I question every parenting decision I make. Did she watch too much TV today? Was I too tough on her? Did I let her get away with too much? Did they have enough fun? I cringe when I see too much of myself in them. Other days, I marvel at the grace and goodness of a God who has given me two beautiful, lively girls who bring out the best in me. But always, I wonder: am I doing this right?

Maybe we don't have to know what we're doing all the time. Maybe that's impossible. Maybe the best we can do is hit our knees and pray that it's enough. For that moment, for that kid, that what we're doing, that our best efforts, are enough.

She May Never Be a Music Critic

2008-05-02T11:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as the girls and I were running some errands, Miley Cyrus's new song came on the radio (SIDENOTE: I sort of love this song, which I realize is weird because it's totally teeny-bopper music and kind of vapid, plus we're supposed to hate Miley now after her strange pseudo-topless/backless photo shoot and what kind of parent lets their minor daughter pose like that, etc...I still find it infectious). Where was I? Right, the song. So Claire recognizes it instantly and gets all excited because it's Miley Cyrus! On our radio! How did the radio know that we love Miley/Hannah Montana/I'm so confused which one is she??

After the song was over (Don't sing, Mom! I want to sing...she's just being Miley...), Claire said, "Mom. That was Miley Cyrus. She's a very good singer."

"Hmmm," I agreed.

"She's a really good singer, just like Elvis but he died. And John Lemon--he died too. But I like Elvis and John Lemon but I like Miley the most. She's the best one."

I'm guessing this will be the first and only time that Miley Cyrus is compared to either Elvis Presley or John Lennon and comes out the winner.

Quite Possibly the Stupidest Injury of All Time

2008-04-28T11:25:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I mentioned to my mom that we were taking the girls to see the Naturals (the new minor league baseball team) that night. A little while later, she called me back and said "You know, I was thinking... Jason used to play baseball--has he ever thought of trying out for the Naturals?"
After I finished laughing hysterically, I told her that no, Jason had not considered trying out and hadn't played baseball in about 14 years.

The next night, we were playing outside with the girls, Aunt Ashley, Uncle Thad and Grandma Becky, when Jason (possibly inspired by the previous night's ball game?)picked up a plastic bat and ball. THWACK!!!

I heard the sound of plastic on plastic and, with my cat-like reflexes, turned and ducked. The line drive off my husband's oversized plastic bat hit me squarely on the left ear and my immediate reaction was to start crying because 1) I'm kind of a crybaby 2) It hurt really, really bad 3) I couldn't hear anything and 4) I was sort of mad.

After I quit crying, I examined my bright red ear and determined that the pain was coming from the inside. I couldn't hear, felt a lot of pressure and there was this weird ringing sound inside my head. I spent all weekend talking about it, just to make sure Jason felt sufficiently guilty. He did.

This morning I went to the doctor, as a precaution, since my ear is still hurting. You may be surprised to know that it's possible to rupture your ear drum with a Little Tikes plastic ball--well, if the ball is coming towards your ear at a rapid speed from about four feet away.

In addition to the ear drum rupture, my jaw is also swollen and slightly displaced. From a plastic ball, people! You really can't make this stuff up.

So now I've got ear drops, an anti-inflammatory for my jaw and two weeks of not washing my hair in the shower ahead of me. If you think I'm going to let this go easily, you're wrong. I intend to milk this for at least a few weeks of special treatment.

And as for the plastic bats and balls we have lying around here--I'm thinking of replacing them all with nerf balls.