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My first love

March 6, 2012 by

My first car looked like this, only dented and rusty.

I learned to drive on a minivan. A maroon Nissan Quest to be exact. My mom pumped the invisible pedal in the driver’s seat as I quickly and um…haphazardly? navigated the streets of St. Louis. I was admittedly not a natural behind the wheel. I lacked spacial awareness. I can remember ducking more than once when I was absolutely positive the car on the other side of the road was headed straight for me. Turns out I was the one riding the center line a bit…

The weekend after I got my license I hit a parked car.

Yeah.

One particular afternoon, as I drove that sexy beast of a minivan alone (she had a sun roof, you know. *insert sexy growl here*) I zipped down the back stretch of Strecker Rd., the radio blasting the wicked awesome tunes of Green Day and The Dave Matthews Band, and I noticed a sign on the right side of the road coming up dangerously close. I leaned forward over the wheel, staring intently at the sign, wondering why on Earth it was set so close to the road when…

BAM!

I nailed the sign, the sexy beast rocked, and I panicked. I screeched into the parking lot of a nearby school and jumped out of the car to survey the damage. Nothing. I’d hit the sign with my rear view mirror. I popped the mirror back into place and headed home, determined to stay a little further away from the shoulder.

When I pulled into the garage, I was still shaking. I came in too fast and hit the garbage cans, crushing them.

Maybe I wasn’t quite ready for a license? I definitely wasn’t ready to navigate the sexy beast around town, that’s for sure.

Incidentally, I’m pretty sure my exact words after I hit the garbage can were, “I hate this stupid van. I’m never going to drive one of these again. I’m gonna be the mom with the sporty car when I have kids.”

Mmmmm….What would my sixteen year old self think if she saw me now? Driving a Nissan Quest. Midnight black, of course, because black is HAWT.

But I digress.

Shortly after the run-in with the inanimate objects, my dad came home with a car just for me. It was a rusty, dumpy Honda CRX. A mercifully smaller car which ultimately became my first love. I named her Stella.

Every morning I jumped into Stella and revved her up, listening to her whine and moan against the frigid St. Louis winter air. The heater never really worked properly and the car trembled something terrible if you hit 55 miles per hour, but boy did she have character.

I loved Stella for a lot of different reasons. First and foremost, she wasn’t a minivan. Ahem. Stella was just kind of quirky and fun. I felt like I made a statement when I drove to school. The statement was here I am. I have a car. It’s a piece of S*%$ but it’s mine and look at all the flecks of rust on her smooth white exterior.

I dunno. I just loved that car.

Until someone ran a red light my junior year as I turned left and totaled sweet Stella leaving me with whip lash and supreme sadness over the loss of My Precious. From there I had other cars, all of which had their own endearing qualities, but none quite as charming as Stella, my rusty, dumpy CRX.

My current (smokin’ hot) minivan is running a close second, though, what with all her scratches, stains and quirks. She’s paid for, is still chugging along and only has a few Tats at his point (i.e. rust marks) but will likely develop more “character” as time goes on. Gone are the days when I jam out to Green Day, Dave Matthews or, really, anyone grown up. My car rocks to the beat of KidzBop, which makes her even more endearing in an odd and sad little way.

And I’ve yet to hit a road sign OR a parked car in her.

Go. Me.

What about you? What was your first car like? Did you name it? And more importantly, are you today driving the car you thought you’d be driving when you were sixteen?

Image Credit

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Life, Minivans, Random Tagged With: , ,

The wind howls and my dog’s possessed

March 5, 2012 by

In the dark of night we listened to the wind howl above and around us. Our first Florida spring brings forceful winds that zip up and over our house, wrapping us in a cocoon of noise. The bushes rattle against the windows. The front door shifts forward and back with each gust. The high pitched whine of a poorly sealed window frame gives an eery voice to the darkened house.

And inside, as we hear the rain begin to pound sideways, sleep is elusive. Tia comes into our room around 3:00, scared and shaking. “My woom is making sounds,” she cries and she burrows deep beneath the covers next to me, her hot hand flung over my chest.

And then I feel it. The hot stare. Isn’t it amazing how we always know we are being watched? I open my eyes slowly, unsure of what I will see, and I gasp and jump. The dog sits over me, her dark eyes big and wide and inches from my face. Like Pet Cemetary.

Creepy.

I karate chop the air, scare the dog and jostle my finally-nearing-sleep daughter. And that was the clincher for me. Sleep would evade me for the rest of the night Saturday night. The winds did not stop howling and I couldn’t rest. The noise was too much and noise in the dark gives way to fears…most of them irrational.

What if the roof rips off?

What if a tree comes flying through a window?

What if the dog is possessed?

When day finally broke and we dragged our weary bodies from the bed, we looked out the window to find the wind had not stopped. But somehow it seemed less threatening. In fact, it was kind of beautiful the way the air seemed to move in the early morning sunlight.

Strange what a little light can do, huh?

This move has been like a massive wind storm. We are trapped inside gale force winds and sometimes it’s dark and scary. There isn’t the calm predictability of the known to lean back on, but each gust of wind brings a new change and you find yourself prone to huddling in the dark, waiting for it to end.

And you wait for the moment when the light will shine. A conversation with a friend. A bit of encouraging news. Anything to move the dark away and bring forth some sense of stability. Because even if the wind still blows in the light, at least you can see the effects the change are bringing about.

We are still caught up in the doubt and struggles that accompany a move. This past week was a rough week. For the first time I allowed myself to feel sadness. I let myself cry and miss, and it felt like sitting in a wind storm in the dark. Without warning, I found myself lost in doubt and emotion.

Why are we here?

Why can’t we find a church?

Why is home schooling the kids so hard for me?

Why do I doubt everything around me?

Why is the dog staring at me in the dark?

Why?

These are all questions I have not allowed myself to ask since we moved. I simply wouldn’t give myself over to that emotion. I couldn’t because I knew if I did, the flood gates would open. So I held them at bay and pushed everything away.

But this week, I felt a bit attacked. The Enemy was waiting for a brief moment of weakness when I let my guard down and he could sweep in with these winds of doubt and sadness. He waited for me to give in to the dark.

And I kind of think he momentarily possessed my dog because she has never stood over me all creepy-like before. Demon dog. *shudder*

Not only did I get caught up in the swirl of emotion about our move, though, but I also rode the winds in a wave of doubt over…well – just about everything. Parenting, wife-ing (I can verb wife, right?), writing…everything felt too big for me and the wind swirled.

Ugh.

I hate doubt. I hate being attacked. I hate falling to this place where I’m tossed around in the dark.

But I love that every time that happens and I cry out for help, the Lord brings someone along to shine a little light. Friends to speak wisdom and encouragement. A husband to make me feel loved and appreciated. A Bible study group to let me open up and be vulnerable.

All these work together, not to make the winds stop howling, but to at least light up the world around me. Life’s not so scary in the light.

The dog’s not either.

Image Credit

Filed Under: faith, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Grace, Life, Moving Tagged With: , , ,

So dainty and girly and…

February 29, 2012 by

The table was set to girly precision. Purples, pinks, greens and blues lit the room and danced around the table.

There is no greater thrill for the six year old girl than glass bowls, wrapped in ribbon and filled with candy.

The guests arrived all dressed to the nines. Skirts, dresses, hair bows and even a bit of glitter.

They smiled shyly as they each took a seat around the frilly table.

And at the head? The Birthday girl in a purple shirt, ribbon pinned proudly to her chest.

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

Cake was served immediately and each girl picked up her fork delicately.

The chatter was quiet and endlessly interrupted by delighted giggles.

And after the cake came the ice cream.

Of course.

You can’t have a decent ice cream party without it.

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

Colorful goblets filled with ice cream and topped with more sugar than should be legally allowed raised the decibel level of the room to a new level. High pitched voices joined in a cacophony of silly laughter and girlish banter.

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

They ate with gusto. Tiny mouths lined in chocolate, fingers sticky, eyes glazed in a sugary daze.

And yet, there they sat so prim, each in her seat with a grin on her face.

When the ice cream was served, the room quieted again as young ones concentrated on eating their delights.

Image couresy of Avodah Images

Then one spoke, breaking the silence.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said with a grin. “Or I’m gonna fart.”

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

Cue uncontrollable laughter. Hands clasped over mouths and feet kicking.

And the potty talk commenced as each enjoyed tossing in her own gem of a quote.

Little girls.

They’re so dainty and girly and…

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

I only got a few pictures of the awesome and girly ice cream party, but my friend Jenni graciously offered to photograph the whole event for me and she got some amazing shots.

I think you should check them out.

Then check out the rest of her site at Avodah Images because she is a spectacular photographer. I’ve heard her say more than once that when she’s looking through a lens she sees God Himself as the world comes into focus. I love her heart and her pictures.

You’ll love her too.

If you’re ever in Florida and want family pictures made, Jenni is definitely your girl. She knows how to capture that one special moment and forever immortalize it for you. What a gift.

 

Image courtesy of Avodah Images

 


Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Photography, Tia Tagged With: , , , ,

Wordless Wednesday – Childhood

February 21, 2012 by

Dontcha just love it?!

I’m headed to Blissdom today and am giddy with delight. If you’re going to be there, look for me will you?

I’ll be the minivan mom with the pink hair standing in the corner.

Wanna be friends?


Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Landon, Tia Tagged With: , ,

No substitutes

February 16, 2012 by

I have now officially had my first experience of what it’s like to home school when sick.

It ain’t pretty.

While I have spent the morning coughing up my left lung (that’s barely an exaggeration) and blowing my nose, the kids have been curled up in bed with me reading books and going through flash cards.

 

Since Tia thought my voice “sounded weird” Sloan read to us today instead. He did fantastic. Except he kept reading the characters voice with a bizarre British accent, which cracked me up.

A more seasoned home schooler would probably just take the day off, but I have a hard time doing that without feeling anxious. Plus we have friends coming to visit so I don’t plan on doing school tomorrow and I will be out of town Thursday and Friday next week.

So we did school.

Russian flash cards

 

School in bed is fun!

We discussed atoms and how they bond together to form molecules, which join to create materials. The kids wanted to know if my snot was a liquid or a solid. Ah the joys of learning...

Sloan’s writing assignment today was to invent something and convince us to buy it so he wrote a commercial advertising his newest invention, the Robotic Room Cleaner 2000, which will make sure you never have dirty socks or underwear under your bed again, will eat your eggs for you and will watch TV for you when you’re grounded.

Sweet!

So I couldn’t call in a substitute today and it may not have been our most productive day of school ever, but I think we all learned a little something new. I’m going to chalk it up as a win.

What are you doing today?

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Homeschool, Kids, Sickness Tagged With: , , ,

Forever Crush

February 13, 2012 by

“Mom, did you have a crush on someone when you were eight like me?” he asked, his deep blue eyes searching my face as we drove down the road. This question came on the heels of our visit to the store where we gazed at the heart shaped boxes of chocolates and talked about when it’s appropriate to give someone a love card.

“I did,” I answered. “I liked a little boy named Brandon when I was in elementary school.”

“Well, is it okay to have a little crush?” he asked. If I could bottle the innocence that hung between us, I would fill up a thousand jars.

“Sure, it’s okay to have a little crush,” I answered. “But it’s better to just stay friends. You don’t need a girlfriend for a very, very long time.”

He nodded then grinned, the bliss of puppy love washing over his face. I know who he is thinking about. I saw her chasing him on the field while they played capture the flag.

“When did you start to have a boyfriend?” he asked slyly.

“Well, I dated a couple of boys in high school, but it was never too serious. There’s no reason to get serious when you’re young.”

“And then you had crushes in college, too?”

“Yep,” I answered. “I had a couple of crushes and one boyfriend in college before I met your Daddy.”

He was 25. I was 21. *sigh*

“And then HE was your crush, right?” Tia yelled from the backseat.

“He sure was,” I answered, smiling at her big, round eyes through the rear view mirror. “And you know what?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“WHAT?!” three little voices shouted back.

“He’s still my crush today.”

“You mean you’ve never had another crush?” Sloan asked.

“Nope,” I answered. “Your Daddy is my only crush and my only boyfriend forever and ever.”

“And your only husband,” Landon piped from his seat.

“Yep. That, too.”

Always and Forever.

Happy Valentine’s Day.


Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Lee, Marriage, Valentine's Day Tagged With: , , , ,

We are the minivan

January 31, 2012 by

A few weeks ago, I began pulling out of a parking space and my rear bumper sensor indicated someone was walking by behind me. Actually, the sensor let loose a piercing screech that caused all three kids to cover their ears and me to throw the car in park and karate chop the air while screaming HIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYAAAAAHHHHH!

Apparently my rear sensor was on the fritz. That was its last swan song. My bumper will never beep another warning. May we all share in a moment’s silence.

When I first figured out that I wouldn’t have the beep to warn me if I was going to run over a bike, or a plastic basketball goal…or the dog, I panicked slightly.

“How will I back up if I don’t have the warning signal?” I lamented.

“Um…the same way you did for the first fourteen years you drove a car,” my annoyingly amazingly practical husband answered. “Use your mirrors and turn around and look.”

Ah. Novel idea. He’s a keeper, that fella of mine. A keeper.

Of course this won’t save a stray bike that finds its way behind the back bumper, but if I hit their bikes, then hopefully lesson learned. Don’t leave your bikes under my dead rear bumper, kids. Don’t do it.

We could, naturally, get the sensor fixed – that would solve the problem lickety split, but I’m not sure I want to spend the money on that when, you know, I could just use my mirrors and turn my head around. Right?

I realize that my minivan, being a little over four years old at this point, is quickly heading down the hoopty van track. In fact, she’s sprinting there. When the bells and whistles start fading and the scratches from wayward bicycles and scooters make patterns down the sides, the luster of the minivan wanes.

Not hot.

This is part of the stigma of driving a minivan. People don’t want to drive them because when sticky, Nutella laden fingers slide down the sides and dot the windows, it becomes apparent that we’re farther away from the carefree days of our youth than we want to acknowledge.

Our moms drove minivans. Weren’t they old?

Sorry mom.

There’s another thing. Minivans get dirty. I’m pretty sure our minivan had the new car smell for 12.4 minutes. That was it.

That’s not very long.

Minivans take a beating on a daily basis for hours on end, and those of us driving them, while well-intentioned, simply can’t keep every stray french fry or Cheez-it or ham sandwich accounted for.

Some of them simply fall beneath the cracks.

Incidentally, have you noticed that french fries never mold? This is why they are the perfect food for feeding young children on the go. Drop those bad boys under the seat and never fear. They will harden into a perfect fossil – a reminder of the days when life was crazy and kids couldn’t get the food from a box to their mouths.

But no mold.

Good job McDonalds.

I’ll tell you what, though. Minivans have something something those shiny, fancy SUV’s and sports cars don’t. That’s right. They have that one thing that makes them hotter than all the rest. And that one thing is…

Um…

Ahem.

This is awkward…

Okay so a scratched up, sticky, faded, smells-like-sweaty-children-and-french-fries-fosselizing-under-the-seats minivan may not be anything more than convenient, alright? HOWEVER!

Those of us that drive the minivan, even the minivan with a broken sensor, we know that there is just something about them that makes us feel a teensy bit proud. Because every time we get in our minivans, whether they have all the bells and whistles, or perhaps just a solitary bell on its very last leg, we know that we are in the trenches. Life teems from the backseat and KidzBop screams from the speakers.

We make the minivan hot. Our families make the minivan hot. This season of life makes the minivan hot.

Hawt if you will.

And that is all.

So tell me, you minivan driving moms and dads? What about your minivan makes you feel hot/hawt?

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Life, Minivans, Motherhood Tagged With: , ,

I have a confession to make

December 22, 2011 by

I need to tell you all something and it may be hard to hear. Maybe you should sit down for this. Wait – what’s that? You’re already sitting? Oh. Um…Great! That’s really…super.

*sigh*

Look I didn’t mean to be deceptive. You must believe me when I say that. I really truly to my core wanted to believe it was true, but the fact of the matter is…

I guess…I mean, what I’m trying to say is…

I don’t always think minivans are hot.

I’M SO SORRY!

I know you’re disappointed. I know that I have been steadily convincing all of you over the last couple of years that they are, indeed, a sexy means of transportation but-

Hmmm?

What now?

You didn’t believe me?

You don’t think minivans are hot either?!

*hangs head in shame*

I went to the salon yesterday with my hair piled in a bun on top of my head where it has remained for the past year and a half. I sat down dramatically in the chair and yanked out the ponytail holder, letting the golden orange locks spill onto my shoulders.

“I was trying to save money,” I said pitifully as she gingerly combed through the brassy gold locks. “The box said my hair would turn a dark blonde.”

“The box lied,” she said.

“Well, I need you to fix it and I need you to give me a total hair makeover. Drastic. Edgy. Fun.”

And then, friends, I uttered the words that revealed the deception of my heart.

“I do not want to look like I drive a minivan.”

OH THE SHAME!

Forgive me?

She fixed my hair, then she chopped it off. Waaaaaaayyyyyy off. And she covered up the brass up top. Then we made it just a tiny bit more fun.

PINK!

Just a little pink...for fun.

 

When I first mentioned to Lee that I wanted to put pink highlights in my hair, I told him that the only thing holding me back was the fact that I’m a mom who drives a minivan.

“I don’t want the kids to end up taking me on Maury Povich someday under the unfortuante title MY MOM DOESN’T DRESS HER AGE!” I moaned.

But I have to tell you that as I strutted out to the parking lot, my van glinting in the afternoon sun, I suddenly felt a surge of confidence. I’m a minivan mom, yes. But I’m a minivan mom with pink in her hair and I happen to really love it. And suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about being said minivan mom.

Even my van felt a bit edgier and more fun! With all the scratches running down the sides from the kids’ bikes, I’d venture to say my van is down right punk.

Lest you should worry that my pink highlights are going to my head, I bid you fear not. I do retain the humbling necessity that will ever remind me of my minivan mom (and ever aging) status and that is the pair of the glasses that I have to wear now because my eyes are wearing down on me.

They do give me a respectable minivan mom look, though, don’t they?

I’m sorry I let you down, dear readers, but I hereby pledge to continue the valiant fight to erase the stigma of the dreaded minivan. I will say it over and over until I believe it to my core.

Minivans are hot, minivans are hot, minivans are hot…

Say it with me?

Minivans are hot, minivans are hot, minivans are hot…

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Minivans, Motherhood Tagged With: , , ,

My laziness knows no bounds

December 20, 2011 by

It was a beautiful December day here in the Sunshine State. Days like today are why people spend their winters in Florida. We spent much of the day soaking in the warm rays of the sun, while also being delighted with a cool breeze.

For those of you who live somewhere cold, please don’t hate me.

The view from my perch.

Around 1:00, the natives grew restless. I didn’t feel right letting them watch a movie on a day like today, and in return they didn’t feel right about letting me sit poolside and read.

Savages.

So after an hour of hearing about the injustice of such imposed boredom and the true cruelty of expecting them to entertain themselves I packed up the antsy brood and off we went to the park where I planned to continue my lounging while they ran off pent up energy.

Upon arriving at the park, I rejoiced to find a long swinging bench mercifully vacant and I settled in for a bit of relaxation only to discover that the smallest of the children had different plans in mind.

“Hey Mom, wanna play house wif us?” Landon asked. I looked over at Tia who widened her eyes pleadingly, which is a completely unfair tactic. Puppy dog eyes are cruel and unusual.

“What do I have to do to play house?” I asked wearily.

“How about you be the Mom and we’ll be the kids,” Tia answered.

Um…

“Okay,” I said. “Kids, go play and let Mommy rest for a bit!”

“No, Mom! That’s not how you play!” Foot stomp.

Seriously?! Puppy dog eyes and a foot stomp? She’s good, ladies and gentlemen.

“But I’m the Mom so I can tell you what to do, right?”

“No, Mom. You have to get up and come over here and drive us to school. Then you have to take us to the store and then you have to take us to Chuck E Cheese. That’s how you play!”

Funny. I always assumed that playing pretend actually took us out of real life.

“Okay,” I said. “But this swinging bench is my car so hop in.” And away we drove. I dropped them off at school, then picked them up, then we headed to the store.

“C’Mon, let’s go shop.”

“Uumm…” I stalled. “Let’s pretend I broke my leg and I have to ride in one of the motorized carts at the store. This bench will be my cart.”

“Aw, yeah!” they yelled and away we went. Notice that so far, I haven’t had to move from my bench.

Finally the “errands” were done and we arrived home. “Alright, you guys go play now,” I said waving them on, stepping out of my role as pretend Mom and into my role as real Mom. It’s all very confusing, I know…

“No, Mom! Now you need to make dinner!”

*sigh*

“Tell you what,” I reasoned. “How about you be the Mom now and I will be the long lost Aunt who came for a visit, okay?”

“Alright! What’s your name?”

“Uh…Toto? Oh and hey – let’s pretend that I came from far, far away and I’m super tired so I have to lay down and sleep. How does that sound?”

“Hey, yeah!” they cried. “And this bench can be your bed and we will rock you while you sleep!”

Deal!

So I laid down, closed my eyes and they rocked me back and forth, back and forth until I literally began dozing off.

“Mom. Hey Mom!” They shook me and I squinted up into their displeased eyes.

“This game is boring,” Tia said with a frown. “We don’t want to play anymore.”

“Yeah,” echoed Landon. “It’s bowing.”

“Can we go play on the playground?” Tia asked.

I looked at them for a silent moment then let out a small sigh. “Well, alright. If you really want to go play, I guess I don’t mind.” And off they ran, forgetting all about needing my entertainment. I laid back down then, my swing moving slowly back and forth in the afternoon breeze. Alone.

Seriously. I should get some kind of award for that…

 

Filed Under: Florida, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Landon, Motherhood, Tia Tagged With: , ,

Dreams of revenge are just as sweet

December 19, 2011 by

Alternately titled: Payback is a Beast

Imagine this scene: You’re lying on a cloud buried beneathe warm, fluffy blankets made of the finest wool. The dark air around you is cool as the nighttime air slow begins to burn off. The sun hasn’t graced the sky with her rays  just yet and you relish that dreamy moment between sleep and consciousness. It is peaceful. It is comfortable. It is blissful.

Now imagine that a spindly, gangly child jumps on the cloud with you. He burrows beneathe your blankets, bursting through your warm cocoon with his icy feet and shivering body. He tucks his toes underneath your legs causing you to yelp in surprise and yanking you, rather rudely, out of dreamland in one fell swoop.

Then he turns on the lamp and your eyes, still not fully prepared for wakefulness and accustomed only to the serenity of the dark, go blind. The light pierces through the room with such forcefulness that you wonder if perhaps you will ever be able to see again.

After this he turns to you with his eight year old morning breath and begins talking. Not whispering, mind you, but full out gabbing as if he’s in Grand Central Station during rush hour. Your senses are overwhelmed what with the light and the noise and the icy feet underneath.

Imagine he pulls out a photo album that he wants to look at with you and he wants to discuss every photo from seven years ago down to the very detail.

“I was cute wasn’t I?”

“Oh look how small I was!”

“What were we doing here?”

“How much did you love me then?”

And you want to engage, you really do.  But you’re blind…and deaf…and paralyzed.

“Mom, open your eyes and look at this one! Wasn’t that fun? Tell me about it?”

You hear him but you don’t compute. Partly because you’re wondering how on Earth it happened that minutes ago you were sleeping on a cloud and now you’re being attacked before the sun is even lighting the sky an early morning grey. Plus, you’re too busy thinking about other things.

You’re dreaming about the coming day when he’s a teenager and rising before the crack of dawn is no longer exciting. He will long to spend a few extra hours in bed, wrapped in his own cocoon of warmth and then?

Then it’s going to be your turn.

*insert manaical laugh here*

You think of that moment when you can flip on his light and start chattering incessantly about how much you miss him being little and what a sweet baby he was and look at these old pictures, honey!

Maybe you’ll want to stick your icy feet under his covers and watch him gasp and try and get away. Although he’ll probably be bigger than you so that may not be wise, but you could at least yank off the covers and flip on the lamp sitting beside his bed causing light to pierce his eyeballs like hot daggars. You know…just for kicks.

This is all hypothetical, of course.

Or maybe it’s not.

Truthfully, as you envision this blessed payback you know that in reality you will likely never have the opportunity, or the guts, to be so cruel to your child. As the fog of sleep slowly lifts, you change your tactic and instead of dreaming of the day when you can exact sweet revenge, you instead begin praying with an urgency that you haven’t felt or experienced in a long, long time.

Lord, give this boy a child just like him some day.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go have another cup of coffee. After all, I was up before the sun this morning…

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: , , ,
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