I wish I could say this post was about my two adorable nephews and something equally adorable they did and shared with their Aunt DeeDee, but unfortunately it is not. It is the story of two brothers, but not them. And these two men are not brothers to one another, but rather brothers to us all. It is heavy and it is sad, but it has been on my heart all night.

Friday was my friend Jamie’s birthday. She is my oldest and dearest friend and though there have been times in our lives that we took very different paths and would lose touch for weeks or months, she always inevitably got ahold of me. When I was pregnant with my youngest and her father was lord knows where and my parents were in Wisconsin awaiting the arrival of my sister’s youngest baby, Jamie went to the doctor with me. The doctor’s appointment that was suppose to be routine and just a 36 week check-up. The doctor’s appointment that led to my doctor saying to me “hope you don’t have plans on Wednesday, because you are having a baby.” See I had very high blood pressure and placenta previa, and well that whole ordeal is a story for another day. But this doctor’s appointment also turned in to a cry fest wherein I blubbered and blowed my nose while trying to convince my doctor I could not have a baby because my mom was out of town and I had two other toddlers at home and their dad had turned out to be an A1 loser and was a little busy fleeing the state to be there when his third daughter was to be born.  When the doctor left the room to schedule my induction, she squeezed my hand and told me she would be there for me however she could. And that she was. She took care of my other two kids when I was admitted into the hospital that Wednesday morning and she was the only other person in the room with me the first time I heard Emma cry. She cried and I cried and she held my baby daughter for the very first time. I would have been alone in the world giving birth if it were not for her. For that she will forever be my very best friend. I too was there when she lost her first baby to emergency surgery and spent just last night kissing the beautiful chubby cheeks of her 9 month old daughter Jalynn.

When I called her on friday morning to wish her a Happy Birthday, she sounded melancholy. I asked her what her plans were for the day and if we could get together later. She explained that her family was going to travel to Louisville for the day. “They are honoring my brother today,” she said sadly. “He is getting the bronze star.”

We talked for a few more moments and I let her go to finish getting herself together with a promise that we would get together soon. I felt for my friend and my heart started to hurt. Her brother was a man I knew. A man that would scare the bejeebies out of two 12 year old girls watching scary movies on Friday nights when he was 6 years older. A man that would drop us off at the movies and be sure to embarass us in front of all the cute boys. A man that would slip us each a 5 dollar bill when we ran into him at the county fair. We were very young when he joined the army and went to war for the first time, fighting in the Gulf War and quickly climbing the ranks to Sergeant. I remember the stickers he would send to Jamie in the mail and the patches we would iron on our backpacks. I remember the pictures of him in his uniform at Jamie’s house and how I felt pride for him like he was my own brother.

When Jamie called me at 2am on January 1, 2006, I almost knew what she would say. I almost felt that this was not a phone call over a breakup with her boyfriend or a fight with her mom. Before I could even say hello I could feel her pain. “They got him, Mandy, he’s gone.” She didn’t have to tell me anything more. I knew what she meant was that her brother had been killed in Iraq on the very first day of the new year. I cried silently as I listened to her wail in agony for her brother. For his one year old son and 12 year old daughter. For his wife. For her parents and her two younger sisters. I listened as her grief turned to anger and things started crashing to the floor. I wanted to reach through the phone and grab her up and hug her as tight as I could.

Days went by and more and more information came out about his death. Uniformed officers came to her parents’ home and the President of the United States paid his respects at his funeral. He was a hero. He had saved his entire group from a suicide bomber and kept the entire town from certain destruction.

Jamie visited my house yesterday to see the little girls that adore her and squeal “Aunt Miiiiimmmmiiiii” as soon as she turns on the block. As the girls swarmed the baby and started fighting over who would hold her first, we took a chance to walk in the kitchen and get some iced tea and chat. I asked her how her brother’s ceremony went on Friday. She explained how nice it was and how they had presented her sister-in-law with the bronze star. She explained that her brother’s friend was there. He was still deployed and could not attend the funeral, but was honored to be at his ceremony on Friday and finally meet and talk to his family. He sat down with Jamie and her dad and explained first hand exactly what happened on the day of his death. What he had witnessed firsthand. To make a long story short and to spare the details that I do not want other family members to stumble upon here, her brother was indeed a hero. He came across a suicide bomber with a car completely loaded full of explosives. Rather than let this man continue to drive into the city, he notified the rest of his camp to back off -that all was okay. And then he shot into this car in the middle of a field knowing full well it would ignite the car and end his life. The alternative was to call in his team to disarm him and run the risk of the rest of his group being killed and the man making his way to his original target. He sacrificed his life to save many others.

Jamie recounted this story to me calmly and matter-of-factly as I am sure it just redefined her feelings of pride for her brother. I thought about this story long after she left my house and long after I laid my head on my pillow last night. I could see the visual reinactment in my head. I wondered about what he must have been thinking the moment he made the decision to end his life that way in the ultimate sacrifice. I wondered what flashed before his eyes as he pulled the trigger. And then I thought about his son. About his son that is 3 years old now and a spitting image of his daddy.

After 35 minutes, I gave up and turned on the television hoping it would lull me to sleep. The first story on the 11 o’clock news was of a soldier that have been found after four years on the missing list in Irag. Again, my thoughts were flooded with grave images. I thought about this young man’s family. A family who had not received a phone call four years ago to tell them their son was dead, but missing. How hard it must have been for them to hold onto hope. And how they must have always known what they now know to be true. That he was gone forever.

I kept both of these men in my prayers last night and I prayed for peace for their grieving families. I prayed for this country and for the end of this war and I thanked the Lord for the sacrifice of these men - of these brothers to us all.

Sometimes I am truly in awe of the stupidity of people. I ran across an article yesterday that left me slapping my forehead and talking to my computer screen. I do that sometimes. My co-workers love it when I do this.

What did I say to my computer when reading said article? I said, “Really people? Really?”

I do not necessarily think having black children gives me credibility in the black community, but I do feel more intune to racism I suppose. Because I have lived it through my kids. The small things I never had to notice growing up a toe headed, green eyed, freckle faced white kid in smalltown America. I am sure my mother never had other mothers come and move their children from playing with me because of the color of my skin. Yes, this happened to me once in Totter Otterville when my middle daughter was about two years old. I heard her mother mumble under her breath to another friend of hers about not wanting her daughter to be friends with “mixed” kids. I assured her in my outside voice that my daughter’s brown skin would not rub off on her porcelain child. I think I made my point. And I made her look a little ridiculous which made me feel a little better. Wrong I know, but it’s true.

(By the way, I really do not like the word mixed. Puppies are mixed, my kids are biracial. Thanks.) 

Anyhoo, so I come across this really cool Vogue cover that I have been hearing about. How they wanted to choose two people that were on top of their game in their respective careers, but also on the other end of the spectrum from one another. The first two: Lebron James, basketball star, and Gisele Bundchen, super model. I thought the idea was genius and was eager to see the cover so I got to google searching. I found the cover…… and then the accompanying article.

I thought it was Awesome! Not sure why Gisele is standing like that, but she looks gorgeous none the less and Lebron, well, looks like Lebron; a fierce competitor and amazing basketball star. If you know him from playing basketball, this is what he looks like. So I scroll down from the picture and start reading the article.

It seems some view the photo as racially insensitive and depict Lebron as King Kong. They even go so far as to say it represents how black men want white women.

I mean why does everything have to be racially motivated? Why can’t this just be a supermodel that happens to be white and happens to look like she is about to fall over Lebrons size 42 shoes? Why can’t this just be Lebron James, a basketball star, who happens to be black and who happens to be very passionate with his facial expressions during playing?

Geesh, people, really? That is all I can really say.

And I don’t know about you, but I would much rather see the Chicago Tribune and others talk about what pictures like this mean…..

Ooooh. I know….America needs to really get it together and focus on what is important. And if you ask me, it ain’t the cover of Vogue!

Easter Sunday is always spent at Nana and Little Pap’s after church. Whether there is a house full of people or just me and my kids there is always a feast prepared by my mother.

Nana and Little Pap’s at Easter…….

Where the gifts are always hidden

And then wrapped in pretty paper for added anticipation.

Where the gifts are not chocolate bunnies and jellybeans to send my kids further into a sugary tailspin, but wonderful things like kites and books and bubble gum for good measure.

Where the bunny pan Nana has is always filled with some sweet concoction…. this year, Rice Krispy Treats. (I couldn’t even get a picture of the brownies adorned with a purple sprinkle cross before they were devoured)

Where the egg hunt is initiated by an equal opportunity egg hider.

But if you still need a boost, Little Pap is always there to lend a hand.

Where the loot is considerably better.

And the wide open spaces are plenty big enough for flying kites with your sisters.

But most importantly -

one thing that is never in shortage while visiting at Nana and Little Pap’s are plenty of these…..

Big, fat, make-ya-heart-melt, smiles!

Driving home from running some impromptu errands and stopping to meet the boyfriend at the park so the kids could enjoy the spring that is trying its darndest to come out around here…..

Emma: “Mama, I am still hungry. What can I eat when I get home.”

Mama: “You could have some ramen noodles or there are leftover chicken enchiladas in the refrigerator.”

Emma: With a very strange look on her face “Mama, I will eat broccoli and even I will eat peas, but I do not want to try to eat chicken in pajamas. I think I will just have some ramen.”

Mama: “Good choice Em, good choice.”

Sometimes when you are feeling like you don’t know what your life is about, and you wonder what your purpose is, God will show you in the details. Sometimes when you take a second to stop and take a deep breath and look around at your life, you will see the small things that make it all worth it. The slices of your days that complete the puzzle of who you are.

At first you may see dust on the top of the refrigerator where you keep the cookie jar. But if you look closely you will see little fingerprints. Little fingerprints that will not be there forever searching for cookies.

At first you may see scraps of paper in the corner you wish someone would have put into the wastebasket. But if you look closely, you will see it is the scrawlings of an eight year old that started and erased and restarted and crumpled up and restarted a note to her nana until she got it just right.

At first you may see that someone has been in your fabric scraps and left quite a mess on the laundry room floor. But if you look closely, you may see all your five year olds Barbies having a wicked camping trip in the play tent and they each have their own little sleepingbag made from brightly colored and discarded scraps of different texture.

At first you may see that someone drug out your planner and scribbled on one of the pages where you much prefer to keep your grocery list. But if you look closely you will see that your seven year old used a highlighter pen to write #1 mom in the corner.

At first you may see just a man. Just a man you think will use you and leave you like all the rest. But if you look closely you see a man that looks at you with pure love in his eyes and kisses your kids on the forehead if he gets there after they have fallen asleep. You hear him whisper I love you to your sleeping daughters with no daddy and you know that your prayers have been answered.

This year seems to have been a particuarly stressful one. Alot of things have happened that pushed me to that oh so scary place of feeling like you are right on the edge and one more raindrop falling on your head could push you over the edge forever. Last night I had a moment of true clarity, followed by a night with no sleep, but lots and lots of thinking and deciding and self therapy. I have been so stressed lately that I have been worried about my own health, mainly my mental health and how it is affecting my life and those around me.

Last week, Cori and Liv came home with a small slip of pink paper telling about a group that would be starting this week at their school. It is on Tuesday evenings from 6-8 pm. Although they were sold at the mention of pizza EVERY Tuesday night for 12 weeks, I was a bit more intrigued by the title of the class: Raising Great Kids. I decided right then and there we would give it a try. My first naive and self-righteous thought was the daycare and how taking this class would be a great benefit and a “resume fluffer” if you will, when bidding to watch other people’s kids.

Seems God had other plans. After sitting at the table for only 15 minutes, I realized God wanted me there. Right where I was. And he used Pizza for bait. I was fine with that. When we starting going over the purpose of the class and the week-by-week description of what we would be going over and talking about, I put my hand over my heart and whispered “Thank you.” I knew in that moment I was about to be transformed. Looking around I saw women that looked different. Some white, some black, some that looked professional, some rugged. Some were there for personal growth, some were court-ordered. But almost everyone there just looked sad. Just looked like they wanted someone, anyone, to help them. To understand. I recognized this look because I see it every day in the mirror.

Throughout the evening I continued to be blessed. I heard other women’s stories and I truly and very deeply felt them. I wanted to stand up and shout. “I get it. I know. I feel you. I understand. I feel the same way. I am just like you. I have the same struggles.” It was pure joy just to feel like I wasn’t alone. Of course I knew that, but now I have proof. Evidence in the form of women just. like. me.

We were asked to fill out a form of what our stressors were and what our plans for this week was to help de-stress ourselves. The top of each woman’s form listed almost the exact same things. Finances, feeling like no one else understands, dealing with children and their needs, work, significant others. We also had to fill out a stress indicator test. This was a list of life stressors. You had to go down the list and choose things you had experienced within the last year. Each stressor was given a point value. When these points were added at the end, you had to find the description for your stress level. This completely and totally scared the heebie jeebies out of me. Seriously. The highest level on the score sheet was 300 and up. It read: Your life consists of major stressors. You have a 79% chance of experiencing illness very soon if stressors are not examined and a stress relief plan is not put into place. My score was 595.

I am not going out like that. I am not going to have a heart attack or stroke out because my life is in a tailspin. I promised myself sitting on the horribly uncomfortable cafeteria bench, that I needed a plan. A plan I needed to put in action to save myself. To save my family from further stress and pain. It starts with me. I need to pull myself up by the bootstraps and stop feeling sorry for myself and make things happen! I need action.

I left the group at 8 PM knowing I still needed to give baths and check homework, but really wishing the night could go on. That we could have more time. I wanted to ask the group leader to come home with me. To sit on my couch and talk me through dealing with my own demons. But there I was again, wanting someone else to help me. To tell me what to do. My biggest struggle is being there for myself. Believing in me.

My eyes started to fill up with hot tears when I looked up and realized I had arrived to the classroom where the girls were having their own group with the children of the other mothers. Olivia sat at a table with a few other girls and I could see how intently she was working on her project. How carefully and meticulously she was cutting a pasting. I walked over and looked over her shoulder. “What you guys doing?” She looked up and smiled sheepishly. “We had to make a collage about our family. Wanna see mine?” “Sure.” I said.

I took the red crinkled construction paper in my hand and studied each cut out piece of magazine. Each small clipping had a caption underneath. A picture of an SUV: I am happy that my mama got a new car and she is happy driving it. A picture of a family standing outside: Sometimes my mama takes me and my sisters outside on the back porch to watch the sunset. A picture of a park: In the summer my mama always take me and my sisters to the park to swing and play catch with my baseball. A picture of a man walking on the beach: My mama is trying real hard to save money to take me and my sisters to the beach for the very first time.

God whispered back to me through that collage created by the artisic one…..”You’re welcome. Just let me continue to help you and I will.”

I woke this morning feeling brand new. I taped that stress indicator test under the mirror in my bathroom and I stared at it the entire time I brushed my teeth. I got the kids ready for school and dropped them off and then I put my Alicia Keys CD into the player and turned it on number 3. I pressed the repeat button and I smiled all the way to work. I thought about those other women in my class and I prayed that God would whisper to them too, but mostly I sang. I sang loud and strong and I felt like superwoman!

Alicia Keys ~  Album: As I Am ~ Track #3: Superwoman

Everywhere I’m turning
Nothing seems complete
I stand up and I’m searching
For the better part of me
I hang my head from sorrow
Slave to humanity
I wear it on my shoulders
Gotta find the strength in me

Cause I am a Superwoman
Yes I am
Yes she is
Even when I’m a mess
I still put on a vest
With an S on my chest
Oh yes
I’m a Superwoman

For all the mothers fighting
For better days to come
And all my women, all my women sitting here trying
To come home before the sun
And all my sisters
Coming together
Say yes I will
Yes I can

Cause I am a Superwoman
Yes I am
Yes she is
Even when I’m a mess
I still put on a vest
With an S on my chest
Oh yes
I’m a Superwoman

When I’m breaking down
And I can’t be found
And I start to get weak
Cause no one knows
Me underneath these clothes
But I can fly
We can fly, Oooohh

Cause I am a Superwoman
Yes I am
Yes she is
Even when I’m a mess
I still put on a vest
With an S on my chest
Oh yes
I’m a Superwoman

Even though the lyrics themselves are powerful enough, you must hear her sing this song live to truly feel it.

I have always been anal retentive, bordering on OCD. I strive for organization, but too often find myself in the midst of utter chaos. I have tried every gimmicky organizational tool in the book and have recently found 2 that are working wonders in my household! The cute magazine holders I cleverly labeled “Coloring Books” with my never used scrapbook materials, not so much. I still find coloring books scattered all over the house. The two clear bins I also cleverly labeled “Barbie Dolls”, not so much. They prefer the plastic bag my mom’s new comforter came in. I mean, it has a zipper. Silly me!

So anyhoo, I ran across an intriguing idea on one of my favorite blogs Notes from the Trenches. She has seven children. I am so inspired by big families and the ways mothers find ways of keeping things organized. Owlhaven is another favorite. If she can do it with 10 kids, surely I can do it with 3. But anyway, Chris from Notes also blogs at Mommy Points, a blog for Handipoints. My life changed completely the day I found Handipoints. I love Handipoints. My children love Handipoints and all order is restored in my home. And *gasp* chores are getting done, get ready, willingly!

So Handipoints is this wonderful service that allows you to set up charts for your children. They get to check off tasks daily. They earn 1 point for each task and a different amount of bonus points for each task completed. The bonus points can be used to dress the cat each child is assigned when signing up. You can also set up a reward to be received for a set amount of points earned.

Being my kids have more than their fair share of chores, I rose the point values a little for us, or else I would be buying rewards all day long. I chose rewards that were considered pretty special in our home: DVDs, CDs, books, art supplies. I first thought of doing small things from the Dollar Store or something, but I want my kids to feel like all their hard work really is worth something, and I want to teach them the value of a dollar and to hopefully make them feel pride in the item they earned and therefore take better care of it. I forgoed the allowance component with the start of Handipoints. The girls were starting to blow their allowance on silly things that were either broken or lost the following day and I hated to see the waste of money that way. Now I keep putting their allowance in their savings account when I get paid and then use that account to buy their special reward. I am buying all rewards through Amazon so that they can also get mail! I know, I am a genius. I let them know what the reward is right up front so they know what they are working for. When all their points are earned there is the added suspense of waiting for their package to come to the house! Right now Olivia is working towards a new Hannah Montana game for her Nintendo DS, Cori is working for the Enchanted DVD and Emmalee is working towards The Bee Movie DVD. I printed out a picture of each product from Amazon to post on the fridge under their chart as a daily reminder of what they are working for.

Each day they get so excited to check off their chores and count up how many points they have so far. Each of their rewards are worth 125 points, which equals out to about 1 reward a month or so. I can change chores from week to week and they are notified right up front what chores were switched. This gives Cori a break on taking out the garbage which she hates and Olivia from standing outside on the porch waiting while Cooper does his business in the yard, which she hates. I have also found more responsible tasks for Emma to complete this way. In the past, it was always so much easier to just call for Olivia or Cori to do it because they are older. Now, Emma feels more included and helpful - which has also seemed to curb her ADHD considerably. Now she has constructive things to do instead of just run around and aggravate her sisters while they are trying to complete their chores!

This may sound like just something extra for a mom that is already too busy to do, but in my household, I take all the help I can get. My kids have really done a great job with Handipoints and their task charts and they feel proud of themselves. They also get to experience how if you really want something, sometimes you have to work really hard to get it. Olivia has already asked me if we can bump up her point limits in order to receive bigger rewards like a new outfit from “one of the cool stores in the Mall” or a new coat (she wants a dressier one to wear to church).

Handipoints is awesome. The end.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Next gimmick making my life lovely:

The Grocery Store Scavenger Hunt. I came up with this myself. Thank you, thank you. The grocery store is one of my most hated places. I try to only venture to the grocery store once a month. That way I can go back for small things; milk, bread, etc., on my lunch break or before I stop to get the girls from school. I must admit going to the grocery these days is much easier than it was when I use to have to put two toddlers and a pumpkin seat in one cart and push it while putting my groceries in another cart and pulling it. Oh yeah. Those days were a barrel of laughs. But still I have issues at the grocery store. Now that everyone is too old and too big to sit in a cart, they must walk around with me. Read: Run in three different directions while I am trying to shop while yelling “Mama can we get this?” at least 136 times a piece. I use to use my outside voice at least once while in the grocery store. But then I came up with a genius idea to make the girls feel helpful while using their reading and math skills and to help them practice a little restraint.

We now have to grocery shop on a Saturday or Sunday only because this takes about twice as long as it use to. But it was very fun and the girls loved it and they learned something too! I also think this was the very first time they saw how mommy has to stick to a budget at the grocery store and we can’t just buy whatever we see!

I first made a master grocery list of all the things that I needed to get. Then I highlighted the items on the list; each with a different color; Cori, Pink; Liv, Green, ok you get it. Then I made each of the girls their own list complete with little check off boxes and lines to write the price of the item. I saved the more difficult or specific items for my own list and the easier and nonspecific items like milk I gave to Emma. At the bottom of each of their lists I left a space for them to write in what their “special” would be. What one item they wanted to make sure made it into the basket. For Emma it was Fruity Pebbles cereal and Liv and Cori put their heads together and one got chips, the other, dip. The catch was they had to find everything on their list first (with help from Mom). When we got to the grocery store, each of the girls got a basket and I a cart to unload into when the baskets got too heavy to carry.  Each aisle I would check my “master list” to see who would need help. Liv and her smarty pants hardly needed me at all. Cori got frustrated when trying to find some things but when I paired her with Emma she got more excited and empowered to help Emma read labels. When everyone had everything on their list, we added all the totals on my calculator to make sure we stayed within the budget. When we first walked in, I told the girls up front what we needed to stay at. They watched me with baited breath as I entered each number into the calculator like I was about to open their case on Deal or No Deal. When I hit total and come up a whole $4.26 under budget they all cheered and laughed. People looked at me like I had three heads, but who cares, even small victories are celebrated in our house!

Then the girls got to bag their own “special” and carry it to the car and hold it with them until we got home. A simple idea turned into making a trip to the store actually enjoyable and educational! And I had to keep their little lists with their little scribbled amounts next to their items and their cute little checkmarks. So fun!

And if anyone else has any organizational things for me to try, bring it on! I need all the help I can get!

This weeks Thursday Thirteen is dedicated to my parents and all the quarky things they use to say that I swore I never would to my own children. Guess what? Yep, I say em too.

1. “If you keep that sour look on your face, it’ll freeze like that.” - I believed this until I was 10 years old.

2. “You are too young to understand now, but someday you will.”  - Boy I really, really hated this one. But you know what? Now I understand.

3. “Get down from there before you break your neck!” - My mom had to say this one to me alot.

4. “Ask your mother.” - I think this was my dad’s answer for everything until I got in middle school. Sometimes I say this to my kids just to confuse them.

5. “If your friend jumped off a bridge would you?” - Hated this one too, but at 13, yeah I probably would’ve.

6. “I hope you don’t think you are leaving this house looking like that.” - This was usually said to me because I looked like a homeless person, which my mother found very embarrassing. I was not a fashionista in high school like most girls. If it matched and was clean, I was good to go. The clean part was debatable.

7. “Do you want your butt whooped?” - This never made any sense to me. Who would ever say yes to this question? I mutter this sentence quite a bit.

8. “She went to sh*t and the hogs ate her.” - Nice huh? This was my father’s answer always when we asked where my mother was. Oh that’s not the best part. When I was about 12 my sister finally asked him where in the world hogsateher was. Yeah we still don’t let her live that one down!

9. “We’ll see.” - This was my mother’s answer whenever you asked her if you could do something in the future. Again, hated this one. Again, I use it at least 42 times a day.

10. “Because I said so.” - One of the classics. It irritated me to no end. I use this one as well but added my own little touch to convince myself I wasn’t actually sounding exactly like my mother. Now I say “Because I am the mom and I said so.” See. Totally different.

11. “You do the crime, you do the time.” - My mother just loved to say this as she was closing my door after sending me to my room to stare at the walls. I think she thought she was being clever. I took every opportunity to roll my eyes at this statement as soon as she closed the door. I am sure my kids do the same.

12. “What do you think?” - Not in the: I want to know your opinion and encourage your growth by probing you to answer life’s questions on your own, but more in the sense of - “Hey mom, can I go to a party at Carla’s? Her parents are outta town, but her big sister is going to swing by to check on us. So, can I go?” Her answer - “What do you think?”

13. “I love you.” - My parents said this to me and my sister often. I say it to my kids everyday!

If you want to see other Thursday Thirteen participants, you can check them out here.

When my children started attending public school they started bringing home alot of wonderful things. Though not quite as annoying as the flu and head lice, the pinky promise is not my favorite. Mainly because sometimes mommies can’t always keep a promise. And breaking a pinky promise is serious business. Every girl knows that. But still the pinky promise is running rampant in our house right now.

“Mom, you gonna do white clothes tonight so we can have clean socks in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Uh,……..yeah. Here, pinky promise.”

See. See how the pinky promise quickly pulls you into doing something you could have possibly gotten away without doing for at least one more day.

Emma quickly picks up on these wonderful things the girls bring home. She sits at a babysitter all day and can’t wait to soak up all the great things her sisters learned at school that day. She can “Mary Mack” with the best of them.

Last night as I was tucking her into bed, she turned around on the ladder to her bunk and said, “Mama I am going to bed tonight like a big girl because I am really tired. I don’t need to go potty and I don’t need a drink, k? I even pinky promise. Come on mama, I pinky promise.”

“Oh yeah, ok.” I said as I wrapped my pinky around hers.

About 15 minutes later I could hear the ladder lightly tapping against the bed as she made it down each step, and then her little feet coming closer to my door.

She walked in sheepishly and then took a deep breath and said….

“Mama I know I pinky promised and I know my sisters say you are never suppose to break a pinky promise. That’s like when Liv says I can play her DS and I make her pinky promise me and then she doesn’t let me and I have to say but you pinky promised me and then she says ok and then she lets me play it, but mama my back is itching right here and my hand are little mama. I can’t reach my back itchy mama. Won’t you please itch it for me please and then I will get right back in my bed mama. I will.”

“Come here. Where, here, oh over here, oh ok, is that better.”

“Oh yeah. Oh thank you. Oh that was really itchy mama. Thank you. I am going back to my bed now. Oh thank you.”

“Love you Noodle. Good night.”

“Good night mama.”

Sometimes even a pinky promise needs breaking, I suppose. But shhhh, don’t tell her sisters. Her credibility will go right out the window.

A week or so ago I bragged on my adorable niece Hannah, and her prize for winning the coloring contest at her dentist. Well, she happens to have two just as adorable and just as talented big brothers (one of which is 11 and probably cringing that his auntie called him adorable…but just wait, you’ll see.. he is quite adorable!)

Isaac recently finished his first season of football. Which of course his aunt Dee Dee loves considering my passion for youth football. He is somewhat smaller than the other boys and the coach even considered putting him on a younger team. But Isaac stood up and said he knew he could play with the boys his age - and that he did - getting several integral tackles throughout the season! Though I did not get to see a single game (given the huge expanse between our geographical locations) I did get several recaps and updates and melted into a big puddle of auntie love on more than one occasion. I am so proud of him and just wanted to brag a bit! Here he is receiving his award at the banquet.

I love you Isaac and I am very proud of you. I hope you will stick with it, but even if you don’t I will love you like crazy cakes. If you took up underwater basketweaving, I would be just as proud!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Next up is Isaiah Bobaya. (I do have to stop calling him that at some point I suppose. But not today.) Isaiah takes after his papaw and his daddy in his amazing ability to create beautiful works of art from wood. He has been  packing a tool of some sort for as long as I can remember, and I wasn’t there, but I am pretty sure he was born wearing a tool belt. He is the only 7 year old I know that has his own saw! Not only is he quite the craftsman, but he makes heartfelt gifts for his mommy. (Go ahead and melt, I’ll wait.) His most recent gift was a star that my sister then painted and roughed up to match the country decor in her home. Quite the talented bunch aren’t they?

Well, Isaiah I am very proud of you too. One day Dee Dee will have a house that needs lots of handcrafted goodies - and boy, do I know just the man to see about that! I love you and miss you like crazy cakes too.

Ok, so they are adorable aren’t they? I mean I could just eat them all up with a spoon!

I woke this morning after having a particularly crappy day yesterday to soon realize the real crap had not even happened yet. My eight year old went outside this morning to check for a paper she couldn’t find in her bookbag. I gave her the keys and, silly me, told her to make sure she locked the car back when she came in.

I heard her come into the house and then bound up the steps two at a time.

“Mama, someone was in our car. The glove box is open and there are papers everywhere.”

“What???? Is there a window busted? I know I locked it last night. I know I did. Because the footballs are in th…. the footballs. Are the footballs still there?”

“No, mama” she said slowly and sadly. “The footballs are gone.”

I half brushed my hair back and grabbed a pair of shoes and made my way outside. I unlocked and relocked the doors about a dozen times. Then I walked around the car trying each door. Low and behold, the back right passenger door came open, even with the lock down. My heart just sank. Hot tears started streaming.

I stopped yesterday at Kattus (the only team sports store up this way) and picked up two youth footballs our league president generously bought for us to have at football camp tonight.

And now they were gone.

I started to take them in the house last night when returning home from work, but knew as soon as I did, I would walk off and forget them today and have to make an extra trip home to get them to camp by 6PM.

And now they were gone.

Someone stealing from you is bad enough. I felt angry and hurt and confused and alot like yelling obscenities at anyone walking down the street. (Instead I just cried like a big ole baby) But they weren’t stealing from me, they were stealing from 30 little boys whose parents can barely afford clothes for them. 

Now, I am going to have to go back to Kattus on my lunchbreak and buy two footballs with money I don’t really have. But what else can I do?

And the boyfriend doesn’t even know yet. I left a message for him this morning, but I am sure he is still asleep. He is going to be just thrilled. And he is a man, so somehow this will be all my fault. He is going to be so irritated.

I am sitting at work and I am not going to be worth a hill of beans today. I can’t even think straight.

What is wrong with people? Why would someone get into someone else’s car and steal what are clearly youth footballs. Stealing from a child just makes me sick to my stomach.

And now I am going to be more broke than I already was, which to me, is also stealing from my own children.

I don’t even know how much a stinkin football costs.  I am so screwed.

At least it’s not Monday.

If you don’t know where you’re from, You’ll have a hard time saying where you are going. - Wendell Berry

I have never heard of the “Where I’m From” exercise, but came across it on a blog this morning and thought it would be fun. I am in a retrospective, reflective, and feeling-kinda-sorry for myself mood today so this may even evoke a tear or two. But who cares, it cleanses the soul. Here goes:

I am from the long gravel driveway and rolling hills of green, from Jif peanut butter and mama’s sweet sun tea.

From county fairs and horse shows.

I am from the house at the bottom of the hill with the creek you could hear running while lounging on the porch swing on warm summer nights. I am from sheets drying on the line.

I am from the honeysuckles and sunflowers and rose bushes my mama could make bloom like no other.

I am from card game get-togethers and fourth of July parties and always having homemade ice cream. I am from Betty Jane and Thornton and William Coagle and Kati.

I am from catching fireflies and being stung by bees. I am from snapping green beans and playing with the new kittens at Papaw Hopie’s on the way home from school.

I am from baking homemade chocolate chip cookies when it snowed and being picked on for being the baby of all cousins.

From “Don’t sit so close to the TV” and “Wait til your father gets home”

I am from not going to church, but knowing God was with us.

I am from the heartland and from bluegrass and from air that smells like sweet alfalfa. I am from trekking the 1/4 mile to my aunts and back because she needed to borrow an egg. I am from screen doors that squeak and slam.

From fried chicken and steaks on the grill, salmon patties with macaroni and cheese and not a single family dinner without a mounding basket of fresh bread.

I am from quick tempered red heads and barefooted babies and stubbornness and the unwavering will to do it right the first time. From homemade puff paint sweatshirts and wooden crayon boxes.

I am from tire swings hanging from fragile branches, and riding horses through the fields at sunset. I am from pretending and playing make believe.

I am from family vacations at the beach and eating bologna sandwiches in the sand. I am from farmer tanned men and just as hard working women.

I am from farmer’s markets and antique malls.

I am from Cincinnati Reds games and eating peanuts and looking at my dad and thinking he was the smartest man I ever knew. And the most brave.

I am from black and white photos of a grandpa I never knew and stories of a family of 9 growing up on Monroe Street when times were tough.

I am from strong women and dedicated men.

I am from love.

Of course I ran my mouth a little much, and this is much longer than the exercise calls for, but if you would like to do this for yourself, you can find the template here.

I got into a very interesting conversation today with the boyfriend. Though I vow to never ever ever say anything about his daughter’s mother to him, as I think it is in bad taste, I can still think it. And I can share with you, and not fear he may stumble upon it. (He is computer ignorant. He once spent 25 minutes on something for work before he called me because he could not enter the numbers on the spreadsheet and the blinky thingy(cursor) was going all over the front(screen) all crazy. I told him to push Num Lock and he marveled at my computer knowledge and prowess for the rest of the day.)

So. the point of this whole thing: his daughter’s mother rarely has her. Either she is at her grandma’s house or she is with my boyfriend. For an outside-of-the-home father, I must admit, he has her alot. I know I am bias and I know I have nothing to compare him to since my girls’ father sees them….um….never, but he never ever lets more than three days go by without seeing her. Even if this means going to her house to pick her up and take her to the Dairy for an ice cream cone and then take her back home. He told me this morning, in the past 10 days, she has spent one night at home with her mother. Today he was suppose to get her and take her to school in the morning (their Tuesday/Thursday morning ritual) but her mother called and said since she had not even laid eyes on her since Thursday, she wanted her tonight and he could come and get her in the morning. Then she called back and said “You know what I might end up calling you to come get her. I am going to be tired probably and if she is all wound up and stuff I will probably just call you.”

To make a long story short, I had to give my two cents on this whole situtation. I started subtly with “What????? She hasn’t even SEEN her since Thursday? Are you serious! Wow. That is crazy.” Being subtle is not really a strength of mine as you can see, but he was aggravated with her already so it all worked into my master plan. “I know. I mean how could she even think that she might call me when she hasn’t even seen her since Thursday. I mean of course I don’t care if she calls me to come get her and I will, but I almost feel sorry for my daughter that her mom is like that.”

Almost? I didn’t say that out loud, but geesh. Then I got to thinking. If I had only one daughter she would probably be so stinkin sick of me. I already make them do everything with me but there are times I may ask my mom to keep the youngest if it is an extremely busy event, or keep the youngest two to have alone time with the oldest, but not even SEEING them for 4 days at a time. I don’t think so. That is just crazy to me.

Then he said something I was biting my tongue off to not say first, which I really wanted to, because you know even though we were talking about him and his baby’s mother and their daughter, it must somehow have something to do with me.  

“Man if she had to do what you do every day she would die. She can’t even handle one, let alone three.”

I sat there and tried to imagine only having one child and all the aspects of my life that would be so much different. I don’t remember ever only having one child. They are all a year apart and so most of my memories include them all. Olivia was only on the planet for 14 months before a had another one. At the time I was working two jobs and most of the time, I was just trying my best to stay awake and make a conscious effort to not do things like putting a dirty diaper in the refrigerator while throwing away a bottle. (Don’t laugh. I actually did that once.)

So my life with kids has always been a life with multiple kids. I can’t imagine it any other way. If I was married to a rich man with a big house and disposable income, I would have 15.  Yes, way. 15. And I would have chore charts and a multitude of bunkbeds and live in the glory of my stay at home momminess.

All this mommy thinking reminded me of an email I got from a friend recently I thought I would share. (Thanks Sandy) How true it is and it made me think so much of my mom and how I now do things just like my mom. And how I wouldn’t have it any other way!

WHY MOM’S TIRED: ( I tweaked it a little, because let’s face it… not all houses have a dad. Just sayin.)

 Mom was watching TV one night when she said “It’s getting late and I am tired. I think I will go to bed.”

She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day’s lunches, rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for the next night’s dinner, checked the cereal levels, topped off the sugar container and prepared the coffee pot for brewing the next morning.

She then put some wet clothes in the dryer, put dirty clothes into the washer and ironed a shirt for the next day after securing a button.

She picked up the game pieces left on the table, put the phone back on the charger and the telephone book back in the drawer. She watered the plants, emptied a wastebasket and hung up a wet towel.

She yawned and stretched and headed to her bedroom. She stopped by her desk to write a quick note to a teacher, counted out some cash for a field trip and pulled a text book out from hiding under a chair.

She signed a birthday card for a friend, addressed the card, stamped the envelope and then made a quick grocery list. She put both near her purse.

She then washed her face with 3 in 1 cleanser, put on her age fighting moisturizer and brushed and flossed her teeth and filed her nails.

She put some water into the dog’s dish and made sure the doors were locked and the patio light was on. She checked in on each of the kids and turned out their bedside lamp, hung up a shirt, threw dirty socks into the hamper and had a brief conversation with the one still up doing homework.

In her own room, she put on pajamas, set the alarm and laid out clothes for the next day and straightened up her shoe rack. She added three things to her 6 important things to do list and lay in bed.

She then said her prayers and visualized the accomplishment of her goals.

Whew that made me tired. The End.

A few weeks or so ago, I talked about some comments Olivia made about her thoughts on women, particularly brown women, and their abilities to do certain things in our country. I also made a vow to start to make her a scrapbook of sorts devoted to the wonderful women of our country that have made a difference. Particularly, brown women or women of color, like herself. I want her to learn from this book and be empowered. I am proud to say I actually started on her book. And not only that. I have the first page done. Mmm Hmm sure do. The proof is in the pictures.

A for Angelou, Maya:

If I keep going at this rate she may get it by Christmas. Hey, for me that is good.

My boyfriend brought a movie over last night to watch. Usually I am quite leary of letting him choose the movie. His last choice was 300. The plot was okay I suppose, but after the 432nd person got their head cut off, I had pretty much had enough. Yes, it was a battle scene in 480 B.C. and I am not sure what else I expected, but still, I couldn’t watch anymore. That’s why I am a girl and that is why they have movies for girls and movie for boys. 300 is a boy movie.

Ok, so clearly I am not a movie critic and my movie choices tend to be very goody-two-shoes oriented. I rarely bring home a movie I can’t watch with my three young kids. And to be honest, they are usually animated or feature at least one talking animal. Last night the girls were whooped and went to bed a little early and we haven’t spent hardly any time together this week, so I thought it was kind of nice he wanted to come over and snuggle up and watch a movie together, so I trusted him to make the choice.

He walked in looking quite proud of himself. “What ya get?” I asked full of hope.

“The Zodiac.”

“Huh?”

“It’s about a serial killer in the 60’s that they never caught.”

“Oh.” I half sighed, half said while trying not to let him see me rolling my eyes.

“No, it will be good. It will. It is based on a true story and it is an unsolved mystery. You’ll like it. It’s suspenseful. I mean you watch Law & Order all 34 times it comes on TV a week, I thought you would like this. “

“Mm. Okay, but if even ONE person gets their head cut off I am turning it off.”
“I am never going to live down 300 am I?”

“Mm. No.”

So I got us a couple glasses of Ice Tea and settled in for the movie. Again, still feeling hopeful.

And I must admit, I was pretty intrigued from the get go and the list of characters in this film is completely amazing. After about the fourth time I said, “Hey that guy is from ________” my boyfriend started to look pretty annoyed so I stopped doing that. But I was still thinking it.

The first was Jake Gyllenhall. Oh, yes Jake Gyllenhall. Adorable. Completely adorable. And a great actor.

Loved him in The Good Girl with Jennifer Aniston. ↑

Then there was Mark Ruffalo.

Loved him in Just Like Heaven with Reese Witherspoon ↑

And next was Robert Downey, Jr.

Him? I never really loved. But he was quite funny in The Shaggy Dog with Tim Allen.↑

A nice surprise was Anthony Edwards.

Uh huh. You know you loved him in ER. You know you did. It’s ok to admit it. ↑

Chloe Sevigny plays Jake Gyllenhall’s wife in the movie.

I have not seen anything she has done in recent years, but I did enjoy her in Boys Don’t Cry with Hilary Swank. ↑

They were the major characters, but the rest of the movie was peppered with tons of fun appearances that I truly wished I could have pointed out to someone, anyone. But I kept getting shooshed. So I will tell you.

Well actually I don’t know any of their names. But one of them was this goofy guy that plays in alot of sitcoms and has this very distinctive dry wit and monotone voice. The other was the adorable kid from a sitcom I use to watch when I was a kid.

So the movie is suspenseful and actually quite good. It did play out like an episode of Law & Order; one point in the movie making you believe you know who the killer is but then they can’t get enough evidence so maybe it is this other guy and then no wait, new evidence, it IS the other guy.

Very good. Well, until the end.

I won’t spoil it for you because I know after reading this thrilling review you will ALL be RUNNING to your nearest Blockbuster to rent it, but the end just kind of ends. And you are sitting there thinking is this really the end? And then you look at whoever you are watching the movie with and say “Is this really the end?”

Then the screen goes black and some very very very small white print comes on the screen telling you, I suppose, what happened after that, but we are both too blind to even think about reading it.

So I had to get on the internet and see what the heck happened. Did the guy they think did it, do it? Did he really kill 37 people in San Fransisco in 1969? Well, duh. It is an UNSOLVED MYSTERY. They don’t know who the heck did it.

I really should pay better attention when the boyfriend talks I suppose.

So anyway, I enjoyed the movie. (until the end) If you are interested enough to get the gist of the movie, but don’t necessarily want to see it, you can check out these this very cool website that tells the story and shows the amazing similarities to real life and the movie, which as we all know, doesn’t always happen. Even the characters look surprisingly like the actual people. Or you can see the official website here.

From now on I think I will stick to posting on boo boos and snow days and piles of laundry. The things I actually know what I am talking about.