In Which I Contemplate the End

My baby girl has been fussy today. As she finally fell asleep in my arms, I breathed a sigh of relief, stood up to take her to her bed, and gently laid her down. Two minutes later, she was calling for me. Nothing too frantic, so I waited to see if she would settle back down.

She didn't. Her wails got louder and louder and with each passing moment her anxiety and frustration at not being heard was increasing. I went to pick her up, and as soon as I did, the cries abated.

It struck me. The cry of my baby girl at wanting to be picked up and held by someone who loves her echoes the cry of my heart for our Lord to take His people home! To be eternally in the presence of our Abba Father.

John 14:1-6 "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going." Thomas said to him, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

Can you imagine? A room of your own in the very house of God? Some Bible translations use the word "Mansions" instead of "rooms," I'd be happy with either one! A forever home in a place of peace & beauty, where there is no sorrow, sickness, or sin. To exist forever in the physical presence of the God that we believe in but have not seen.

The time is coming soon, friend. We are living in a world that stands on the brink of extinction either by the hand of God or by the hand of ourselves. Our nations possess devastating weapons, and our medical technology is failing us. Illnesses are resistant to our medications and current acceptable sexual standards allow for the rampant spread of debilitating and/or fatal illnesses. I look forward to the day when I will either be "snatched up" to meet Him in the clouds, or at the end of my mortal days when I stand before Him to begin eternity. 

1 Thessalonians 4:15-18 "According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words."

The time is coming soon. Won't you come with me?

I found peace. Have you?

Praying. Searching. Begging, pleading, to the Creator of this world, the ultimate Artist.

I know He's there. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. He's there because I can feel it. His presence is in every detail, in every coincidence that is too coincidental to be coincidence. It's a plan. His plan. His plan for me.

I found peace. Have you?

I found it in stories of Noah and the Ark, of Feeding the 5,000 with a single lunch basket, of the short little man Zaccheus who climbed a tree to see Jesus.

I found peace. Have you?

I see it in my children's eyes. In their bubbling laughter. How can love and laughter exist without someone who IS love and laughter to create it? 

I found peace. Have you?

In the midst of moments of desperation, of aggravation, of overwhelming depression-  I HAVE FOUND PEACE.

Have you?

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His one and only son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but shall have everlasting life." -John 3:16

If you want to know more about the peace that I have found, please let me know. I'd love to talk with you about it.

A Family Project

Moving to a new place brings many challenges. Preparing for a new baby brings many challenges. Challenges can lead to stress and families who get aggravated with each other. The solution? A Family Project!!

We decided to hang some bird feeders in our backyard. Our home backs up to a pine forest, and we see a variety of wildlife on a daily basis, so we thought we'd try to lure attract some of them to our yard, by bribing them with food.

My husband Gareth even let Chris have a turn with REAL TOOLS.

I even passed the camera over to Gareth so that I could not only photograph the event, but participate.

It was a nice way to spend the evening laughing together, with the promise of many hours of bird-watching to come.

In Which "That Kid" learns how to become "A Good Man."

Today, my child was "That Kid."

That Kid that tries to duck under the rope blocking everyone from the dinosaur bone exhibit.

That Kid who was throwing sand where all the other kids were nicely using brushes to "discover" the dinosaur bones.

That Kid who climbed up onto the ledge of the balcony over a 3-story drop.

That Kid who kept running away from the rest of the group and bumping into people.

That Kid who wouldn't let anyone else have a turn at the water pump exhibit.

That Kid who kept sticking his hands all over the glass, making handprints right in front of the rare species of frog so no one else could see it.

Today, I was "That Mom."

That Mom who can't keep her kid under control.

That Mom who never smiles.

That Mom who doesn't speak in soft, quiet, tones, but rather yells and screams.

That Mom who must be clueless.

Today, I was also "That Mom."

That Mom who wanted to enrich her child's life by providing an educational activity with friends, rather than sitting at home in front of the TV all day.

That Mom who is trying desperately hard to instill values, such as obedience, respect, kindness, and self-control, in a rambunctious 4-year old.

That Mom who has to scare her kid with death, because death is the only thing he is afraid of, and there was no other way to prevent him from climbing onto the ledge of a balcony overlooking a 3-story drop, except to tell him that if he fell, he would die.

That Mom who slaps the hand of her child when he touches something he shouldn't, because he hasn't responded to verbal commands to do so.

That Mom who had to put on her "loud voice" because her child ran way ahead of everyone in a large crowd.

That Mom who put her kid in time out when they got home so she could write this blog post and clear her head a little.

Because,

One Day "That Kid" will become a responsible citizen.

One Day "That Kid" will understand how to respect authority.

One Day "That Kid" will realize that he has to be considerate of other people.

One Day "That Kid" will have the self-discipline to keep himself out of dangerous predicaments.

One Day "That Kid" will be "A Good Man."

So if I have to be "That Mom" to teach "That Kid" how to become "A Good Man," it's all worth it.

In Which I Employ An Archaic Method Of Paying For Goods And Services

Every now and then, a series of circumstances come together in such a way to let us know that the universe is trying to tell us something.

This happened to me today. My good pal Jessica informed me that there were some big sales going on at our local mall, so I drove on over. Lucky me, two of my very favorite stores were having some pretty awesome sales! I eagerly tried on a few clothing items, and selected my favorites. They fit well, were comfortable, and perfect for summertime. I wait in a LONG line. My child waits in the long line with me and manages not to wreak havoc. I approach the register. I am asked by the sales clerk, "Will you be using your Our Company Name credit card today?"

"Why, yes, of course I am!" I smugly hand over the card. I have been a proud card-holding member at this establishment for nearly ten years. It is my go-to place, the place I know the clothes will fit and will last a long time. The perky sales clerk hands my card back to me and chipperly says, "I just have to call this in." I ask her if there is a problem. "Probably just because of your address change" she replies. (Prior to running the card, she takes my phone number at the register and has me verify contact information, you know, so that Big Brother can keep watch over me they can send me coupons.) After a couple of minutes she hands the phone to me. Apparently, because I haven't used the card in quite some time, it was deactivated. In order to reactivate it, they have to check my credit report again. Fine, fine, I tell them. I hand the phone back to the perky sales clerk. Bless her little heart.

Now she asks me for another method of payment. "It will take a few days to reactivate the card."

Argh.

I hand over a different card. Declined.

I hand over yet another card. Declined. (My face and neck are growing quite red at this point.)

And yes, I hand over a THIRD card. Declined. (It would be appropriate at this juncture to mention that all 3 cards are from the same bank.)

WTH??? I just checked my account balances and everything is in order...

I call the customer service number on the back of the credit card. I hold up the entire line behind me. The perky sales clerk just says, "I'm going to suspend this order while you take care of this with the bank. We'll be happy to ring it up again once it's cleared up." I just smile at her and don't budge. I want these clothes, dadgummit!

One of the many headaches of moving involves updating your address with everyone in the whole world. While we did indeed update our address with the bank, I learn that two weeks ago they mailed me all new cards. To my old address. And deactivated the ones I have in my wallet. The dingleberries. How dare they??!!

I toss my phone into my purse with a hint of self-righteous indignation. Whereupon it lands on my checkbook. I so very rarely write checks anymore, and NEVER at stores, that I completely forgot that it was a viable option.

I wrote my check, which was processed electronically, in exactly the same way my debit card would have been processed,except for the fact that it had been deactivated two weeks ago when they sent me new cards to my old address.

And I brought home my new clothes.

In Which I Break Something

My kitchen has it in for me. Yesterday, my blender stopped working just after I prepared the ingredients to make Giada DeLaurentis' delicious, yummy Mint Cantaloupe Granitas. I've got a blender full of cubed cantaloupe doused with simple syrup which had been simmered with fresh mint leaves, just TAUNTING me in the fridge. I've got to blend it, then freeze it, before I can enjoy it on these nice hot summer days we're having down here. Alas, my blender is no more. It is an ex-blender, has joined the bleedin' choir invisible, and is pinin' for the Fjords. (I pity those of you who are not Monty Python fans and have no idea to what I am referring.)

Now today, as I am washing my dishes, I dropped a wine glass on the floor. It shattered into a zillion pieces. I began to weep. After I recovered my senses, I sweep up the visible bits, then fetch the vacuum cleaner to suck up the tiny little bits that I can't see but would inevitably make their homes inside innocent bare feet.

My vacuum is old and very, very, tired. It can't handle anything much larger than a crumb, or anything that is not soft, like dust or hair. It sucked up those shards, felt the sharp edges, and spat them back out at me. At my ankles. Leaving behind a trail of even smaller glass shards.

After I stopped cursing uttering expressions of disdain, I knew just what would come to the rescue. My Swiffer. (And no. Swiffer has not sponsored this blog post. However, if they would like to send me free stuff for sharing this story, I'll be happy to entertain such offers.)

So. Broken wine glass. Shards everywhere. Swiffer saves the day. Moral of the story?

Stop drinking wine. Stop washing the dishes.

In Which I Write A Poem

I am from sidewalk chalk, from worlds constructed of cardboard boxes where dragons and princesses reside.

I am from the brick house with bay windows, the one where you sit in the backyard with Mom, sipping iced tea, watching the sun go down.

I am from the Redwoods, the Sequoias, the mountain streams along which I sit on a boulder and gaze into the depths, contemplating growing up and fear and uncertainty.

I am from Sunday potlucks, patriotism, and self-respect. From Kales and Beechers and Copelands and Daniels.

I am from the stubbornness which requires that I have the last word, and I am from the humility which makes me admit when my last word was the wrong one.

From "Be smarter than the...(insert whatever object was giving me a hard time)" to be clever and come up with a solution to a problem rather than whining about it, and from the freedom felt when I finally got it through my head that people could only control my feelings if I allowed them to.

I am from the Lord who made me.

I'm from Mississippi and Europe, sweet potato souffle and Key Lime pie.

From the time my grandfather took me to the popcorn shop and bought me a whole big bag of blueberry flavored popcorn just for me, and from the time I thought back on that memory when I was told he had gone on to heaven.

I am from musty photo albums that smell of blueberry popcorn, from mountain air scented with moist earth and the color of lightning bugs. I am from the spiraling, the turning, the constant motion as the second-hand ticks by on my wooden clock.

I am from the sound of my son's voice as he calls "Mommy! Come play with me!" So I shall stop writing now.

(I found the template for this poem over here after reading one over at Adventures in Babywearing. Give it a try yourself, you'll be surprised at the memories that come to you!)

In Which I Cry A Little

Today I dropped off my son at his first-ever Vacation Bible School. I have fond memories of going to Vacation Bible School (VBS) when I was growing up. A week of "summer camp" if you will at church, where I learned new songs, did fun crafts, and heard bible stories in new and exciting ways that regular every-week church just couldn't match. Chris was too young to attend VBS last year at our church.

We have been in our new home in Green Cove Springs for about three weeks now. I met a very nice lady who recommended the VBS at a particular church which is not too far from me. So, I registered him. I was excited. I wanted him to have the same kind of fun that I had, and to learn about the God my family worships, around whom our lives are centered.

And yet, when I walked him into the large worship center of this unfamiliar church, surrounded by a sea of unknown faces, I was hit by a panic attack. He was fine. He was looking around at all the decorations and checking out the other kids, while my knees started to shake and I wanted to bolt. We found his section, introduced him to his teacher, and I said goodbye. He sat right down in an empty seat, and started staring up at the screen which was projecting images of happy, singing children having a wonderful time. He didn't look back.

Tears started to well up in my eyes as I walked back to my car. I had to sit in the parking lot for a few minutes to regain my composure. "Why on earth are you crying?" I asked myself. "Chris has been in full-time care for over two years. He's got this."

I'm sure I'll be crying when I drop him off for his first day of kindergarten next year, but I really didn't think I'd be blubbering like a baby for VBS.

My boy is so brave. I'm glad he is, because if he had my temperament, he would have been clinging to me in fright, crying and screaming. That's what I would have done if my mommy had dropped me off in a strange place, with unknown faces, by myself when I was 4.

Cooking On The Fly: Peanutty Chicken with Teriyaki Noodles

Okey dokey.

I am not a chef. At ALL. But I LURVE me some good food!!! Tomorrow will be grocery shopping day. As I thought about what to prepare for dinner tonight, I surveyed the contents of my pantry. Spaghettios. A pack of "Asian Sides" teriyaki noodles. Easy Mac'n Cheese. In the freezer? A couple of frozen pizzas. Some leftover pasta in the fridge from a couple nights ago.

Really not inspiring.

What I wanted, nay, what I have been CRAVING all day long, is sausage with peppers and onions.

That's not what I made today. Somehow, a memory was triggered. Several years ago, I was served tiny bites of chicken with a peanut sauce for dipping. And somehow, I vaguely associated that particular dish as part of a larger Oriental-styled meal.

So I googled "Do peanut butter and teriyaki go well together" because I had NO.IDEA. I didn't dare ask on facebook because then I would reveal how much of a kitchen LOSER I am.

I found directions for how to make peanut sauce using peanut butter and teriyaki sauce. BINGO!

I checked my pantry for the ingredients. Peanut butter? Check. Soy sauce? Check. Teriyaki sauce? Check. Brown sugar? Check. Fresh lime? Well, no, but I guess we'll skip the lime.

I really, REALLY wanted to make this peanut sauce. But what could I put it on? I knew I had a packet of teriyaki noodles in the pantry. Maybe if I added a little peanut sauce to that, it would be good? Hmm. Maybe let's add some chicken. I had some frozen boneless skinless chicken breasts, so I thawed a couple, cut them into bite-sized pieces and browned them in a skillet.

Then I made the peanut sauce. I poured the peanut sauce over the browned chicken and let it simmer.

I cooked up the teriyaki noodles in another pot, and then served the chicken with peanut sauce over the noodles. It was good.

Here is how to make the peanut sauce:

-Bring a cup of water almost to a boil. Just before it becomes a rolling boil, remove it from the heat.

-Begin spooning peanut butter into the water. Stir immediately. Continue adding spoons of peanut butter until it becomes a "sauce" consistency. (I ended up putting about 4 big spoonfuls of peanut butter in mine.)

-Add a tablespoon of soy sauce and a tablespoon of teriyaki sauce

-Add a tablespoon of brown sugar

-Taste, and adjust ingredients as needed. (I ended up putting a bit more brown sugar in, because the peanut butter I used was "all natural" and had no added sugar, so the peanut sauce needed a little boost. It was very salty from the soy sauce.)

And then I gobbled it up. YUM! I should have taken a picture of it before gobbling it up, but I was hungry.

I'm Back! Again!

OK. So for those of you who have been following me on-again off-again, you know that I am an on-again off-again blogger.

In recent weeks, I have been released from drudgery allowed to return to stay-at-home-with-my-amazing-son-wonderfullness. Oh, and pursue my dream of becoming a full-time photographer. I'm on my way! (Check me out at Jennifer Swanepoel Photography!)

Anyhoo. I have been home again for two weeks. And let me tell you something.

Staying home with a four-year-old is very different from staying at home with an infant.

Naps? Gone.

Quiet? Gone.

Control of the TV? Gone.

But I don't care. For three years I have been in the workforce, entrusting the day-to-day care of my son to other people. They were wonderful people, really, but they weren't family. I am so blessed to have found an incredible place for him to go when it was financially necessary for me to be bringing in second income. Now, however, things are starting to turn around and I can return to where my heart is.

At home.

In Loving Memory of my Unborn Child

I lost my baby this week. I was 10 weeks pregnant. While I can't prove it for certain, I know in my heart of hearts that the child I carried was a girl. I named her Rachel Olivia. She was so very, desperately, wanted.

Yesterday I learned she had other plans. She preferred to skip over this life and go straight to the one where there are no tears nor sadness. I know Jesus is holding her in His arms, as I am unable to.

Last night, I told my husband I wanted to go to the beach and listen to the waves come up & down. We have very dear friends who live near the beach and we called them to let them know we were coming. Within 15 minutes of our arrival, a number of our other friends came as well, to join us in our time of suffering. We sat under the beach, and our pastor came too and brought his guitar. We were singing songs of praise to our God, who "works all things together for the good of those who love Him." We don't understand why this happened, but we also know that God doesn't waste a hurt.

While we were singing under the starlit sky, listening to the waves crash upon the shore, I glanced heavenward. I saw a shooting star at the same moment I felt a sharp pain in my womb. I believe it was my daughter, letting me know she had arrived in heaven and was there watching over us.

It is to my daughter, Rachel Olivia Swanepoel, that I dedicate this poem.

I saw her in a shooting star

The night I learned she had gone from me

My unborn child, dearly loved,

Shooting across & above the moonlit sea

I saw her in a shooting star

As friends of my heart sang around me

The precious soul, carried inside me

For such a brief time, yet I know it was she, when

I saw her in a shooting star.

The Day I Was Mistaken for Jennifer Aniston

Today I was mistaken for Jennifer Aniston.

This was very significant. I have been a Jennifer Aniston fan for quite some time. My husband & I watch reruns of Friends rather frequently. I may even name the child in my uterus Rachel. If it's a girl, that is. We won't know for awhile. But I digress.

This evening the side effects of pregnancy were wearing on me. Swollen feet. Nausea. Heartburn. Nausea. Fatigue. Nausea. Once Husband came home, we had plans to all go for a dip in the pool. At the last moment I declined. I went immediately to bed. (Of course, I asked for the iPad. Because it rocks. And it has Netflix on it. And I can immediately watch a number of movies featuring Jennifer Aniston.)

After a couple of hours and most of the way through "Picture Perfect" (featuring Jennifer Aniston & Kevin Bacon. Yummy.), my 3-year old son Chris came into the room. He crawled up into the bed and asked what I was watching. I showed him the screen and he saw Jennifer Aniston.

He looked at her. He thought for a second. He looked at me. He thought for a second.

He said, "Mommy, is that YOU?"

Because me, with my swollen feet, fluid retention, frumpy PJs, messy hair, and oily skin (because pregnancy hormones do CRAZY things to my pores) I am the spitting image of Jennifer Aniston. Tall, slender, graceful, perfect-skinned Jennifer Aniston.

Seriously. The only thing that I have in common with Jennifer Aniston is, well, our first name. That's it.

Aniston- tall (at least I think she is. I've never stood next to her to compare.)

Me- short

Aniston- slender and graceful

Me- thick around the middle and clumsy

Aniston- perfect comedic timing

Me- can't tell a joke to save her life

But in the eyes of my son, I am beautiful, graceful, speak with a melodic voice, and funny.

I think I'll stick with his opinion.

Reasons to Grow Up

I love that my son is now old enough to carry on conversations. The mind of a 3 1/2 year old is a truly marvelous thing. Yesterday in the car I told him I wished he could stop growing for a little while. Here is our conversation:

Me: Will you stay a little boy forever?

Him: No. I'm growing.

Me: Can you just stop growing for a little while?

Him: NO! You can't put anything on top of me!!!!

Me: I won't put anything on top of you. Isn't it fun being a kid?

Him: NO!

Me: Do you want to be a grown-up?

Him: YES!

Me: Why?

Him: Because....... I can have big knees. Daddy has big knees, Mommy has big knees....(sadly and with a little bit of a whine) I have little knees.

Me: through muffled laughter Oh, I see. Grown-ups have big knees.

Him: YES!

Theme & Variations on Alfredo Sauce

We had unexpected guests at our house this evening.

Well, I didn't expect them. My husband did. But not for an hour. One of them showed up while I was not, ahem, decent so I had to run out of sight quickly to fix the problem because this polite gentleman walked in without knocking. But I digress.

With unexpected guests coming at dinnertime, I felt obligated to prepare some food. Because I was raised in a southern family, and you just quite simply do not have people in your home at any time of day without offering some form of refreshment. Oftentimes a bag of chips will suffice, but they showed up at DINNERTIME! Being a resourceful sort of person, I surveyed the contents of my pantry. Not much. (I had been planning on doing grilled cheese sandwiches but there wasn't enough bread for everyone.) I found a small jar of Alfredo sauce and half a box of pasta. Looked good. Not quite enough sauce, though. It was a very small jar. Then I remembered that I had 3/4 of a jar in the fridge, as I had opened it the previous night to dip breadsticks in!

Now, not being as talented as my good friend Jessica, the Novice Chef (I quite happily admit that I am much novicer than she.) I needed to improvise a bit. My husband is the cook of the family and he is very particular about his sauces. Opening a jar and dumping it in the pot doesn't quite cut it around here.

SO-- I improvised. I combined the two small jars. One was "sundried tomato alfredo" and one was "romano and parmesan." I didn't stop there. I also added a splash of white wine. I didn't stop there, either. Also in my fridge, I found some already-cubed-up grilled chicken, so I tossed that in for good measure.

Anyone who didn't know that jarred sauce had been present wouldn't have figured it out. It tasted completely homemade and delicious. I was ecstatic, being that I am the novicest chef.

Then I announced that dinner was ready. And these gentleman, who showed up at my house unannounced and with poor timing, informed me that they had plans to have dinner with some other friends later, but they were thankful for my offer. Grmph.

I guess I'll just have to go for seconds!

SQLBBQ: The Aftermath

On August 1, 2010, we hosted a BBQ at our house. For a whole bunch of strangers. (Who are now friends.) Computer geeks, actually. I was a little nervous, as I seem to have a little bit of social anxiety when I'm around people I don't know. My husband at least knew most of these people from Twitter (@BrentO, @SQLAgentMan, @SQLChicken, and lots and lots more....)

So anyhoo. They all descend upon my house. After an hour (and 3 strawberry daiquiris,) I relax and start to enjoy the company of those around me. This SQL group are good people! So here is the story of the Aftermath of SQLBBQ...

There were so many nice, helpful folks attending SQLBBQ. People carried things in and out, did some cooking, poured some drinks, played with my kid, and brought trays of meat into the kitchen. One of these helpful folks (who is still unknown) placed some extra ribs, chicken, and corn-on-the-cob into a baking dish and stashed it into the oven to keep warm. Very well intentioned. As the night wore down and the last guest left, I surveyed the remains- 5 hot dogs and a couple of burgers. I was astounded! How could there not be more leftovers than this? Either my husband planned very well when purchasing food or someone went hungry. I shrugged it off and packed the extra hot dogs and burgers into a Rubbermaid container, tossed it in the fridge, ran a load of dishes, and went to bed.

Several days pass. Nearly a full week, actually.

It is Friday evening. I decide to cook a frozen pizza. Now, we have two ovens in our house. We typically use the upper oven because it's just easier to get into and out of, and doesn't involve backing into a cabinet in order to remove the food. The upper oven we have been using all week. The lower oven hasn't been touched. Until tonight, because the pan I use to cook frozen pizzas is too deep for the upper oven, necessitating the use of backing into the cabinets in order to open the oven in order to insert food.

The pizza was ready to go. I added extra cheese and pepperoni, and a few pineapple slices for good measure. I back myself into the cabinets, and open the door of the lower oven.

A foul stench greets my olfactory nerve. I blink. Three flies escape from the blazing warmth of the pre-heat setting on my oven. I cautiously open the door a little more to figure out what on earth is going on.

And there is a baking dish, filled with ribs and chicken and corn on the cob, which had been placed there by a well-meaning individual and whom I am certain had no malice in their hearts when they performed such an act. Tears begin to sting my eyes. I quickly grab a garbage bag and throw out what should have been excellent leftovers.

A bit of a melt-down was had. Things were not pretty. I lit as many candles as I possibly could and ran all the fans in the house. My mood was as foul as the stench which pervaded my kitchen.

But everything's OK now. Now, I laugh about it. It's actually one of my better stories.

That's kind of sad, that I don't have any better stories than that.

I need to get out more.

Like maybe on next year's SQLCruise??

That's My Peanut

*Note: I will be employing some creative spelling throughout this post, so as to discourage visits from unscrupulous individuals. That is all.*

It is not, evidently, only grown men who are fascinated with their reproduhuctif orginn. My son, two and a half years old, has often found Mr. Winky to be a source of amusement. (Any of you mothers who have boys can surely attest to this fact. It's a great bath toy- you can squeeze it, pull it, make splashes with it, and if you're REALLY lucky, you can make liquid come out of it into the bathtub and make Mommy squirm because she just cleaned the bathtub this morning.)

Anyhoo. A few days ago while I was changing his diaper, he grasped himself (which is not unusual) and asked very matter-of-factly, "What's THAT?" (Up until now, he was quite happy with the mere existence of it. Never before had he inquired as to the appropriate word to use when referring to it.)

Because I try so very, very hard to be grown-up and mature about such things, I very matter-of-factly informed him, "That is your pea-niss."

This new information delighted my son. When he has new information, he enjoys proclaiming it loudly. A shout arose. (This is not "creative spelling," this is what he actually said.) "THAT'S RIGHT! THAT'S MY PEANUT!"

I, of course, just about fell down laughing. This only made it worse, because next to loudly proclaiming new information, his favorite thing in life is to make people (particularly me) laugh. So of course, every time he has a diaper change, he starts yelling, "My PEANUT! MY PEANUT!!!!"

This evening, he was sitting in my husband's lap watching TV and drinking milk out of a sippy cup. He squirmed a little bit, accidently kicking my husband in the "peanut." My husband made a sound expressing discomfort, and Kiddo laughed. My husband said, "No son, that's not funny."

Because I have such a highly developed and sophisticated sense of humor, I said, "Sweetie, you hurt Daddy's peanut." My sweet little boy, having learned that when he is hurt he will get a kiss, feels sympathy for my husband and wants to make Daddy feel better.

I have never seen my husband twist himself up in such a formation before.

It was highly entertaining.

Photo Contest: Faces

This is my entry for A Cowboy's Wife photography contest: Faces.

My son Chris was eating some ice cream and was just looking so cute, I had to snap some photos of him! I did some minor post-processing on this, a little color adjustment and I added some edge vignetting.

Do you have a great photo of someone's face? Join in the contest!

The Wrong Doily

Hello! How's everyone? Wow, it's been a MONTH since I've updated!! Here's what's been going on.

I am working full-time at a local bakery/cafe which sells bagels, pastries, sandwiches, salads, and soups. I go in every morning at 5 am. Yes, you read that correctly. 5:00 in the morning. Dark and early! My duties include setting up the bakery window so that all the pastries look too good to actually EAT (before I worked here, I thought the display pastries were fakes!! Little did I know...) fill the bagel baskets, arrange the bread on the shelves, make orange juice cups, fruit cups, and yogurt parfaits, and most importantly, ensure that everything is on the correct doily.

Yes, there is such a thing as the wrong doily. As I found out when I tried to put the wrong doilie underneath the Caramel Brownies. There's also such a thing as too many doilies. Those things stick together like the dickens. Pain in the rear ends, they are, especially when you're wearing gloves to keep the pastries sanitary and you can't feel if you have 1 or 17 doilies all stuck together. Heaven forbid you get CAUGHT placing more than one doily on a basket or tray, because then you are RAISING! OVERHEAD! EXPENSES!

Anyhoo. I go in at 5 am, I leave between 11-noon, pick up Kiddo from daycare, we have lunch, sometimes go for a swim, then it's naptime for BOTH of us. So while it stinks that I have to go to work so early, it's GREAT that I get to spend most of the day with Kiddo and that I get to take naps again! I love naps. Especially when I have only gotten 4 hours of sleep the night before because my body is not yet accustomed to rising at 4 am, necessitating an earlier bedtime. I require "allergy medication" to help me fall asleep at night, and then coffee in the morning and throughout the day is ESSENTIAL to maintain the eyes-keeping-open-thing. So now I'm the cliche druggie cashier. Better hope I don't spit on your cherry danish. Hah.

Anxiously awaiting school to start again so I can go back to being the evil substitute teacher that sends kids to the office for looking at me wrong. By the way, one of those kids came into my bakery/cafe and ordered a cherry danish. On a day when I had only gotten 4 hours of sleep the night before.

Then and Now

April 2008: 1 1/2 years old. We just moved into our house, and for the first time, you had a backyard to play in! Once you discovered how much freedom you had, there was no stopping you. Running, jumping, climbing, hopping, any kind of motion is what you loved. You haven't been still since.

April 2009: 2 1/2 years old. You are now speaking in full sentences. Your favorite movies are "101 Dalmatians" and "Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius." They are the only two things in the world that you will sit still for. You are so tall, everyone thinks I'm lying when I tell them you're still only 2 years old. You've figured out that if Mommy starts counting to 3, you'd better do what she says or you'll get a smack. You've also figured out that if Mommy tells you that you have to go to your room for a time out, that if you immediately give her a hug and a kiss she will soften up and let you off the hook.

Don't grow up too fast, sweetheart. Let me hold on to these moments forever.

A Bunch of Stuff

Wow, it's been awhile since I've updated! Thank goodness for Twitter, otherwise I would have no idea what is going on with all of you. Here is a Bunch of Stuff for you to read and comment on.

Bunch of Stuff #1

I gave up. We put the crib back together. Months ago, Kiddo learned how to climb out of it so we figured we'd convert his crib to a toddler bed. For months, he has chosen to sleep on the floor. Along with that choice came the realization that nothing was or could keep him in bed, so he will play for hours, getting more and more tired, more and more overstimulated, until he doesn't know what to do with himself. It is making us exhausted as well. Last night, I had Hubby put the crib back together. After about 15 minutes of screaming, Kiddo finally went to sleep. Maybe he just wasn't ready to make the transition. I'd certainly appreciate any insight into this. How old were your kids when they switched from crib to toddler bed? Any tricks to help keep him in his bed? Short of removing all of his toys from his bedroom or putting him to sleep in the guest room (which, while empty of any "toys" is full of interesting and various things for him to make mischief with,) I've run out of ideas. This is going to become a problem quickly because of...

Bunch of Stuff #2

Most of you know that I am a substitute teacher. I often tweet about what my students are doing. However, school will be out soon (end of May for us here in Florida,) and I would need to find something else for the summer anyhow. I went ahead and got started looking, and starting in May, I will be the receptionist for LA Fitness. The early morning shift. 5 AM. Super early. (Do people actually go work out at 5 AM? I guess I'll find out.) Anyhoo. Hubby sometimes loses patience faster than I when it comes to Kiddo's sleeping habits. I will be going to bed at 8:30 in order to be up by 4 am, so it would be REALLY great if we could get Kiddo into a better bedtime routine since Hubby will be handling it himself. (Prior to the "big boy bed" we had a fairly good bedtime routine established for 9 pm. That's what worked best for our family.)

Bunch of Stuff #3 "A Really Expensive Trip To the Beach"

A few weeks ago, we decided to go to the beach with some friends. Very spur-of-the-moment. The beach is a little over a half-hour drive. We didn't bring much in the way of drinks or snacks, since usually beach trips with Kiddo don't last more than an hour. On our way, our friends call us and ask if we can bring some "adult beverages." We COULD have turned around and gone home, since we have some in the fridge. We COULD have filled up our own cooler with ice, drinks, and grabbed some snacks on the way. But we didn't. We pulled into a 7-11, and purchased grown-up beverages, snacks, a styrofoam cooler, and ice. Added up to nearly $40. !!! We arrive at the beach. It's crowded because our beach is a prime location for collegiate spring-breakers from up north. Hubby drops me off to find our friends while he drives around to find a parking space. In the process, he does something unpleasant to my gear shifter and the head breaks off. $165 dollar repair plus 3 hours in the waiting room. Oh, and the parking meter expired so we got a $25 parking ticket.

So what was supposed to be a quick trip to the beach ended up costing me $230. Gah.

Bunch of Stuff #4

This is a good one. My uncle was diagnosed with colon cancer, and it spread to his liver. He has been undergoing chemotherapy, and after his last scan, it was discovered that he is COMPLETELY CANCER FREE!!! Hallelujah!


That is all for now. Have a lovely day!