Gardening with the Unlistening Toddler

Son, listen to Mommy. Stay out of the mud. Stay out of the mud, I mean it.




Yes, you. I'm talking to you. Stay out of the mud.





Why are you making that face? What did you just do? Did you play in the mud?!






Go find your Daddy.



Freakin' outdoors.

You Know What's Hot?

A husband that sends this while he's gone on a business trip:



And then he comes home with this:



The greatest donuts in Texas, brought by my hot Texan that knows I appreciate both flowers and lard.

Men, pay very close attention. This is how you keep your woman very, very happy.

Add "Scooper" to my Job Duties

I will now explain why there is a naked baby and a hose on the back porch.

Since diaper rash has been the major drama this week, I've been receiving great advice from my mommy friends. (By the way, I would be LOST without my mommy friends...lost and in the fetal position on my closet floor.)

Mom #3 suggested letting the little guy run naked in the back yard to "air out" his hiney. So, I stripped him down and let him run wild while I ate his green Popsicle. He squealed with delight as he peed off the back porch. (Does every guy do that??) and he ran around the yard, looking for fun and exciting places to pee some more.

I knew there was no stopping it when he made "the face." You know, the face that means I'll be changing a nasty diaper soon. I was frozen on the lawn chair as I watched him squat. I remained frozen as he stomped all over it. My brain finally kicked in when he went to pick it up. With a screeching "NOOOOOOOOOO!", I made it over to him and picked him up. It was too late. There was doodie all over his shoes, hands and my back porch.

I took a deep breath and mentally kicked myself for doing this while my husband was out of town. I can't handle this sort of thing. I'm the girl that takes 30-minute showers and only goes outside now that I have a son and I have to.

My solution came when the sight of the garden hose caught my eye. Oh yes, I POWER WASHED anything that was brown, and that includes his little hiney that he clenched because the water was so cold. I tried not to touch anything. I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed. Then, I gave him the hose in case I missed anything.

My new rule is no baby backyard nudity while my husband is on a business trip. That is the most important rule I've ever created.

Now, I'm going to call my sister and brother/sister-in-law and apologize for laughing at them when they followed their dogs around with a little plastic bag to scoop the poop. I am, officially, a pooper scooper myself.

Hiney Issues

Why do I think it is my personal failure when my son has diaper rash?

I know, I talk about diapers and poo a lot. Forgive me, that's what consumes much of my time now that I am a domestic goddess. All manner of poo problems require my undivided attention and research.

So, imagine my dismay when his Sunday School teacher told me his little tush was bleeding the rash was so bad.

I didn't overreact or anything...





Nope, not me.

Happy Birthday, Love O'Mine

Like all good little church girls, I made "the future husband list" at church camp. Oh yes, I was quite passionate about my list. I thoughtfully added my requests as the single years trudged on. It was kind of like putting in an order at Sonic, only this involved the future love of my life:

*Tall
*A Preacher (anyone who knows me is laughing right now....stop that, it's rude)
*Good dancer
*Great kisser
*Will not make me iron (this is still very important to me)
*Will want 4 children (yeah, I can barely manage one)

And, I'd like some fries with that.

The list went on and on and on and on....but I'm too embarrassed to write it all down. I would hate for my dear readers to know that I actually wrote down how I would like him to dress. Who does that?

Well, I imagine the angels were laughing as I poured over my list, because it took my Texan about 5 minutes to obliterate the holy list and set my world ablaze. Apparently, he had no desire to ever be a preacher and have a truckload of kids. BUT, I have not ironed our entire marriage and I can report the kissing was better than what I ordered...

I am thrilled to be celebrating another year of his life!

Happy Birthday, Honey!

Love,
The Younger Woman

My cowboy in an authentic Texas ensemble:

Kids Curb Marital Satisfaction

This was the headline I saw when I accessed the news this morning. My first thought was, "well, duh..." Then, I felt irked. I'm a rabid reader of parenting books, magazines and internet articles, and I've been seeing a ton of this theme lately:

-the thrill is gone after kids

-parenting is hard. so hard. so very hard. you might not make it through.

-forget having anything nice, your kids will destroy it!

-you'll go weeks without a shower. maybe a month!

-smart people stay on a bright career path, uneducated people breed. (I'm not even kidding, a budding career woman kindly educated me on this...)

Children are being portrayed as the killers of relationships, romance, your career and your sanity. I hate that. I hate it with a passion.

I have a different thought. I am truly happier than I've ever been. Of course there are struggles. Of course. I'll be the first to confess that I miss my Banana Republic outfits, coffee breaks, nice vacations, time, career accolades and a full night's sleep. Oh, sleep! Why do you ignore me??!! I digress.

I feel like God has been showing me that this time with my son is such a short season. His growth and development really are worthy of my time and investment...even if that investment poos 3-4 times a day and tries to ignore me in public. I digress yet again.

I want parenthood to deepen my relationships, not destroy them. I want my new Mommy career to enhance my identity, not define it. I want to learn to be selfless with my time, and not look at him as the thief of my good times.

He's just a thief of my cookies:

Raging Granny

My Mom has never been one to shy away from a good confrontation. Over the years, I've watched her scold teachers, doctors, lawyers, city officials, and, I believe, the State Superintendent of Education. The woman has no fear.

Now that she's a Granny, it's much, much worse...

I happened to mention to her in passing that I took her grandbaby to the mall play area today. In the course of his big fun, he was pushed by a rather rotund 3-year-old that didn't want to share. No major drama, no injuries and it was forgotten in seconds.

I will have to keep these stories to myself from now on.

This was the phone call I just received:

I think I need to come up there and go to the play area. Someone needs their butt kicked.

He didn't hurt him, and your grandbaby has sharing issues as well.

Well, I don't like it when you say that. I'm sure he didn't do anything wrong. One eyeball from me and the chubby kid will run off crying. I need to go to the play area.

Mom, have you been stewing about this all day?

Maybe. All I know is that I can't hear stories like that. I'm all fired up! I need to go to the play area and deal with the situation. I'm a Granny, you know.

Ugh, I know.


The day a Granny was born...

She Loved Me Enough to Punch Me

Everyone in the world needs a Cheri.

When I was 18 and attending college in Texas, I was homesick and overwhelmed by being 4 hours from my family. I would sit on my dorm bunk bed and bawl until I was empty. I couldn't believe I went to college so far away from everyone I loved.

I see the tenderness of God every time I think of Cheri. She was a leader at the church I attended in Texas, and she had 3 little girls, (one of which would cry every time I looked at her.) She approached me during Sunday school and asked if I would baby-sit every Thursday while she attended her leadership meeting. That baby-sitting job changed my life.

Not only did I fall in love with those 3 little girls, Cheri invited me into her life and took it on herself to "mother" me while I ached for family. She became my mentor, my friend, my example and my accountability. I didn't even mind that her girls were fascinated with bras and always asked to see mine.

After I graduated, I moved back to Oklahoma, but still stayed in touch. A few years ago when I felt like my world was crumbling, I started living recklessly and making decisions like I didn't have a lick of common sense. I'll spare you the details, but it was ugly.

Cheri put me on a plane to Virginia.

She let me weep, she let me explain, she let me pour my guts out and she bought me coffee.
Then, she slugged me. She followed that up with, "You know better than this! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

I'm certain that was the moment that I snapped out of it and turned my life in a different direction.

Yes indeed, everyone needs a Cheri. A friend that loves you enough to get in your face. A Christian that takes the time to invest in you and mentor you. A woman that looks at life with eyes full of faith.

I love you madly, Cheri, Cheri, Bo-Beri...wanna see my bra?