Where's The Middle Man?

If you look up the phrase, 'Vicious Cycle' in the dictionary, this is what you will find:

I make a list of all the food I need to buy.
I clean out the fridge in the process and throw away all the old food.
I traverse the isles of the grocery store and buy new food.
I hall all the bags of food into the house.
I replace all the old food with new food in the fridge and pantry.
The kids open the pantry and exclaim, "There is nothing to eat!"
Then the kids complain, "Why don't you ever buy Pop Tarts!? Everyone else's mom buys Pop Tarts!"
I pull all the food back out of the fridge and cook dinner.
I clean up the leftover food and the dishes it briefly touched.
I walk out of the kitchen.
I hear a child cry, "I'm hungry!"

Am I missing something here? Is there a step I've missed or a loop hole I haven't found? When I sat in the auditorium on my college graduation day, this is certainly not what I envisioned. Not even close.

Eight Is Great

When I was pregnant with Addie, my pediatrician gave me some medical wisdom. He assured me that Child #3 was ALWAYS calm, sweet and go-with-the-flow. I believed him. I had to, I was in survival mode.

You see, Child #2 made me cry. A lot. She was so, SO hard. So, the moment I found out I was pregnant with Child #3, I prayed. Hard. Every night, I poured out my heart and pleaded for the Lord to send me joy.


From the moment she arrived, Addie has been noisy. She moves too. Like, non-stop. Each year, I keep thinking that the calm, go-with-the-flow child I was promised, will somehow emerge. Now, for the 8th year in a row, I'm fairly positive that 'calm' and 'quiet' will never be words used to describe her.

This daughter of mine has pushed me to my parenting limits. I still feel lost most of the time. But, maybe that's the whole point of parenting. Each child presents a new set of discoveries to be made. Addie has many.

When she was born, I knew that everyone had finally showed up for the party. She was the one who made our family complete. She is our exclamation point. I look at her and marvel at all she is. She is joy. Just not in the shape and form I thought it would look like. Instead, I received a joy that is so much brighter than I could have imagined. One that has changed my life and my love. Her joy is mine.

Happy Birthday my Addie Bean.

One-On-One

In our house, 8th birthdays are special. We celebrate big. The baby of the family hits this milestone tomorrow. So, we spent the weekend celebrating.

She decided that she didn't want a party. All she really wanted was to spend 24 hours with her mom and dad. All to herself. And a hotel sleepover thrown in for bonus (because, "Hotel pancakes taste better."). This child of mine craves one-on-one attention. She needs it as much as she needs air to breathe. Thus, her 8th birthday wish was granted.


We let her guide where we went and what we did. Build-A-Bear was a highlight. She also had her nails done at the nail salon and we ate steak for dinner. Mine kind of birthday.


It's quite fascinating to see what happens when you spend time with your child one-on-one. They seem to blossom right before your eyes. They act different. They have the chance to tell you things that never come up in daily conversation. They feel happier. There is no longer a need to compete with older siblings, and the chance to get a sister in trouble never arises. It's delightful.


Stepping away from the daily-ness of family life tends to open my eyes. I watch more closely and see more clearly. It's a shame I don't do it more often. Spending alone time with child #3 gave me a chance to soak her in. And in turn, she relished in her gift of time.


Addie's gift was one that was shared. In her 8 year old wisdom, she asked her parents to devote their time to her and her alone. In a perfect family, she wouldn't have to request that for her birthday. It would be something routine. But in a realistic, busy, crazy family, time is rare. One-on-one time is almost non-existent.

Thus, her birthday gift unfolded to be a present I received with open arms. That was something I didn't expect. But I found that those gifts which surprise and awaken us all at the same time, are the very best gifts of all.

Giving Thanks

I like this holiday. It comes without embellishments or a lot of fanfare. Just an excessive amount of food. And what can be wrong with that?

Thanksgiving seems to encompass the real meaning of the word 'holiday'. It's a day that isn't measured by dollars spent, the perfect gift given, or the most elaborate decorations hung. It's a day of giving. A day of thanking. Simple, yet grand, all at the same time.

This day is measured by family, in all it's shapes and sizes. When I simmer my gratitude down to the finest details, family is at the core. It is at the heart of all I hold dear. So today, in between slices of pie, I give thanks for this piece of heaven I have been given.

By the way, we ate the tur-duck-hen. And guess what? It takes like turkey.

Cajun Style

We are having a tur-duc-hen for Thanksgiving. I'm not kidding. It's a chicken shoved inside a duck shoved inside a turkey. Again, not kidding. And to make it even better, stuffing is at the core.

I can't even imagine how this concept came about. Who actually thinks about shoving different forms of poultry inside one another? Someone with too much time on their hands. Just in case this isn't as tasty as it looks, we are also having ham. It's not shoved inside anything. Totally boring.

The rest of the Thanksgiving prep is underway. I went against tradition and bought my rolls. From the store. They are sitting on the counter in a bag. It feels a little sacrilegious not to have homemade rolls. But then again, a tur-duc-hen is completely off the grid. Maybe I'll go totally crazy and serve enchiladas. Texas is wearing on me.

500

This is my 500th post. Weird, isn't it? Over the last 2 1/2 years, I've somehow managed to give life to the voice in my head 500 times. That's a whole lot of words.

I started this blog with the intent of keeping those I moved away from, updated on my life. But over time, it has evolved into something far greater than I imagined. Deeper than I planned. In the strangest of ways, I seem to have found my true self through the words I have written. So, I expose my soul and the crazy life of my family here. It is here where I have found my voice.

I continue to stumble upon people who read here. In 500 posts, I hope I've said something worthwhile. If not, at least you've been entertained. Thank you for returning. Thank you for reading. But most of all, thank you for accepting the voice I have offered.

She Shoots

The Runner now plays basketball. Can you see her? I tried to tell her how hard it is to take a picture of her when she keeps moving. I sweetly requested that she stand still more often while she is on the court. She just stared at me funny and walked away.


She is #1. I asked her if this is because she is super good or super tiny. I still haven't gotten an answer. Oh well.
Watching her games are kinda crazy. There are so many rules and whistle blowing. And sweat. Lots of running and sweat. I'm so focused on who is wearing the cutest shoes, that I often miss the moments when the ball makes it through the hoop.

When I'm not looking at the shoes, I'm thinking about the cute hair clips I could make to match the players outfits. Several people have asked me what position she plays. I just stare at them and open my eyes real big. "Um, isn't it obvious? The one where you run and dribble the ball. Isn't that the position they all play?"

I have no idea where Sam's love of athletics comes from. Maybe it's a recessive gene passed on through her lineage. I remember being forced to play church softball. I stood as far out in the field as I could so that I wouldn't have to do anything that would get my Keds dirty.

My sister, on the other hand, has a pretty good grasp on sports. She told me that once she twisted her ankle playing church basketball. She asked to get pulled from the game, but my dad told her (in his angry voice), "You play until you die!" I stared at her with a gasp when she told me that. I definitely think you should shop until you die, but not play ball. That's nuts.

Anyhoo, I'm going to try and concentrate and learn something. For reals. I'm sure that all those hand motions the refs use actually mean something. Either that, or they secretly want to be dancers. You just wait. By the end of this season, I'm positive that I'll know what 'traveling' is. But in the meantime, I'm totally whipping up cute hair bows for Sam and her teammates. They're going to love them.