Another School Year Ends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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????