My newest pet peeve...

Sadie and I had our first girls' day out today. It worked out better for me than her. I get all these nice people telling me what a cute baby I have. She gets three shots. She was quite the brave little girl, all things considered. We ate at Potpourri House (because all ladies who lunch should eat there every once in a while), and then headed over to Hobby Lobby to buy frames for all the cute pictures that just came in.

I wandered down the aisles at H.L., happy as a clam to see that frames are half-price. Except do you know that about one in, oh, a THOUSAND frames are 10x13? Or 3 1/2 x 5? And the precious 10x10 collage print they sold me? That frame is the Loch Ness Monster of frames.

Why do photography studios sell you prints that have no frames? Why? Why? Why?

I'll admit I was the idiot who got two 10x13 prints because they were so darn cute. And while they sucked me in on the pictures, I refused to fall for their little "look we've got the perfect size frame with a mat and everything." Or the "it's really hard to find a 10x10 frame, but look we're running a special! Only $29!"

Sheesh.

Luckily, creative genius struck about thirty minutes into the second store. I'll let you know how it works out.

If you blink, you miss it...

I posted this on myspace in early October after my father-in-law passed away on September 30. I wanted to share it here.

My father-in-law, Harold, passed away last Sunday.

It was not a shock. To be perfectly honest, it was something we had been expecting since I first met my husband. He battled every health problem known to man, often spending weeks in the hospital. And even though he never talked about dying, it was always the cloud that hung over our visits. It was coming, we just didn't know exactly when.

I loved Harold. He was nothing like any member of my family. He was blunt, funny, smart, and he thought my husband and son hung the moon...so we pretty much stayed on the same wavelength.

All that being said, I always had a hard time figuring out where my husband's personality came from. He has worlds of patience, he's the consumate romantic, and he makes me laugh in a thousand different ways (sometimes with him, often at him). I figured his mother contributed most of that to him, but I really didn't see his father in him at all.

Until last week.

As we were making arrangements for the funeral, my mother-in-law pulled out old pictures to use in a collage. I always enjoy looking through old memories, and seeing where people come from...and even though I knew most of Harold's stories, I had never really stopped and looked at the man he was. When you know someone had a rough childhood, you just assume it makes them hard and sometimes bitter. I knew Harold wasn't bitter--whenever he talked about the past, he talked about it with a smile or a laugh (sometimes I thought it was a "how could anybody live through that" laugh, but still...). But Harold had definitely developed a tough exterior that didn't complain and didn't suffer fools lightly. I admired that.

So when I saw the picture, I had to stop for a minute and do a double-take. It was most definitely Harold--30 years younger, 75 pounds heavier and with more hair--but something about him was decidedly different. He was standing with his father-in-law, and they were both wearing mischievous grins and cotton/polyester coveralls that only old men wear.
Harold had this twinkle in his eye that I'd definitely seen somewhere before. It was the kind of look someone gives you when there's an inside joke. The kind that my husband gets on his face when he sees an old man wearing coveralls, and he laughs and says, "I can't wait to be old enough to wear those!" Instinctively, I knew that the smile on Harold's face was from the sheer joy of being like his father-in-law...being a "cool old man"...and knowing the rest of the world might not get the joke, but that wasn't the point. He was having a great time.

And for a brief second, I saw my husband in his father. The way Kevin finds humor in everyday conversations and the way people have of speaking. The way he looks at me and grins every time he sees this man at our church, with a wide tie and an equally wide smile...not because he's making fun, but because he can't wait to be old enough to wear that sort of tie and smile the entire time he's wearing it. The way he finds happiness and laughter in the most unexpected places...the way he will take an inside joke and share it with the rest of the world--if they're willing to look for it.

There's no doubt about it...he's his father's son.

Feeling down? Hug a Two Year Old

I woke up this morning feeling a little less than chipper. My husband--whom I truly, honestly love and adore--is away at the deer lease. Although I swear I don't mind a bit when he goes to the deer camp, it makes me the adult in charge at our house, which means that when somebody wakes up at 7:30, I'm the one who has to be up with her. Or I'm the one who's going to be the bad parent because I let her cry for 15 minutes. Not that I would do that.

The point is I sometimes wish I had a deer camp to go to. One that has 500 thread count sheets. And massages. And mani-pedis. And room service. And a pool.

Anyway, it was actually Jackson who woke me up this morning. 8:00. We slept in. Which was a good thing, because when Kevin's away, I really have a hard time going to sleep. More often than not it's 1 a.m. or later before I doze off. Which stinks when your kids wake up at the crack of dawn. All I could think about was how I wished I was the one who was at the deer lease...or the dear spa. Sadie woke up soon after--much to Jackson's displeasure.

I wasn't the only grouch in the house.

Anyway, Sadie--being the princess that she is--likes to take her breakfast in bed, get a new diaper, play for an hour or so, and go back to bed. So around 9:30, we all went up stairs to put her highness down for her morning nap. Jackson wanted to go play in the playroom, and I really wanted to go back downstairs to recharge. About a month ago, Jackson would stay upstairs by himself for 20 minutes or so and play, then I would go help him come downstairs. But lately, if I don't stay up there and play with him, he lasts for about a minute and a half. So when I told him I was going downstairs, he pooched out his lip and said sadly, "I go downstairs too."

Meanwhile I was looking for the nearest rock to slither under.

So...I asked him if he wanted me to stay and play with him, to which he replied, "Hooray!"
His favorite thing for us to do is build towers with these huge cardboard blocks. He likes to build towers because he likes knocking them down even more. So that's what we did.

But that's not the good part.

In an overwhelming display of patience, Jackson let me build a tower a foot taller than he is. When he knocked it down, the corner of one block hit his arm, and although we were laughing, he said, "Ow!"

Me: Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?

Jackson: Yes (holds out wrist)

Me: (taking his wrist and kissing the "booboo") All better?

Jackson: I want some more.

Me: (more kisses)

Jackson: It's all better!!

My mood was already on the upswing. After building another super tall tower, he knocked it down, and the bulk of it landed on me. I laughed. He said, "Oh no!"

Jackson: Tower fell down on mama! You okay Mama?

Me: I'm okay. Thank you for asking.

Then the boy who literally wailed when his sister touched his juice cup came over to me, put his arms around my shoulders and gave me a hug. And a kiss. Without prompting. Then he said, "It's all better!" Yep.

Spa-Schma.

Sweet Baby Girl

Our daughter, Sadie, is going to be seven months old on Tuesday. I love her. Adore her. Think she's quite possibly the cutest, sweetest, most scrumptious little girl on the planet. But when I think about things to write, seven month olds aren't quite the deep well of material that two year olds are. But in ten years I don't want to have her think or even have a whisper of a doubt that we love her just as much as her brother.

So here's my first entry just for her.




So many things are special about Sadie already. Starting with her entry into this world. She's probably going to be just as anal about punctuality as her daddy (Lord help us all!). Getting pregnant with her was about year and a half earlier than planned...she was a week earlier than her due date...and to top it all off, she made her grand entrance into this world approximately 1 hour after I decided we might need to head to the hospital.



The first thing you notice about Sadie when you see her are her eyes. They are a beautiful blue, which we believe is a lovely gift from her grandfather, Harold...the only person on either side of the family with blue eyes. Harold and Sadie probably got to know each other a little in Heaven. I'm sure he's just as pleased as punch to see his beautiful grandbaby walking around down here with his eyes.





The second thing you notice is her silky blonde hair...and how it sticks straight up. We're praying this passes. It definitely gets her noticed, and people are gracious ("Look at her cute hairstyle!" "How do you get it to stand straight up like that?")...but no girl wants to go through life in a perpetual bad hair day!

The last thing you notice is what a happy baby she is. She really is. We've been doubly blessed in that regard. She loves taking naps, going to bed, waking up, eating. The only thing she doesn't like is being left alone...or even thinking she is alone. But as soon as you reappear in her line of sight, back comes the smile. She's already giving kisses and laughing...




Sadie is a blessing. She is growing up so fast, and I know I will blink and she will be Jackson's age. Quite often I think about what lies ahead for her. I know she will have many of the same adventures I had. I hope she will let me tag along for some of them. She will try and succeed, and she will try and fail. She will feel like the prettiest and ugliest girl in the world--all at the same time. She will fall in love and have her heart broken a dozen times.

But we have a few more nap times between now and then.

Why I Love Don Williams

I grew up the youngest of four siblings. My older sisters and brother were 18, 14, and 12 when I was born. Although I did hear my fair share of lullabies and kiddie songs growing up, I was also exposed to the seventies pop music scene practically from birth...

Donnie and Marie,

Neil Diamond,

Andy Williams,

the BeeGees,

Dolly Parton,

...I should probably be a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I do still actually like all of the above-mentioned artists. And I still could sing along with them. I have no shame.

Luckily, I also heard some pretty classic artists as well--the Eagles, the Beatles, James Taylor, Chicago, Billy Joel, and, thank Heaven, Don Williams. All of these guys have prominent spots on my iPod. I even walked down the aisle to a Beatles' song (In My Life).

With both my babies, I would sing to them when we were alone (although I don't mind singing amongst other voices, I'm not about to "make a joyful noise" all by myself in front of other people over the age of 3). Of course, they've heard the standard "Jesus Loves Me" and "You are my Sunshine," but since I'm not one for repetition, I have to mix it up a little. I try not to sing the same old lullabies. I like to sing songs I loved as a child, or songs I think apply to children--children’s song or not (like they care whether they’re hearing "I See the Moon" or "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" or "Piano Man").

For example, a while back Sadie was in a bit of a mood, and I needed to fold laundry. My son had taken my husband out to play (you might think it’s the other way around, but I’m not so sure), and Sadie and I were all alone in a quiet house, so I put her in her car seat, inserted pacifier, and prayed for contentment as I rocked her in her seat. I began doing my American Idol impersonation, and luckily, Sadie calmed right down. Smiled even. But I can only spontaneously sing a limited number of songs, and I had a lot of laundry to fold. After a few rounds of "Rainbow Connection," and "Jesus Loves Me" (with some Beatles and Dixie Chicks thrown in for good measure), I was drawing a blank. Sadie was not pleased.

That’s when he came to mind. I love Don Williams. I don't remember when I first heard a Don Williams song...they somehow leave you with the feeling that you've heard them somewhere before. His voice is smooth and comforting. Like your favorite sweatshirt. Like sitting on a back porch in your rocking chair, watching the sun set with a cool breeze keeping the bugs away. I love that. So does Sadie.

As I started singing "Good Old Boys Like Me" to my baby girl--it worked a lot better when I sang it to my son, but whatever--she went back to her happy place. I memorized that song when Jackson was born because it’s a perfect boy song...but all his songs have something simple and childlike about them. I don’t know if it relaxed Sadie more than anything else I sang, but I loved singing that old song to her. And she seemed to like it too. It wasn't the first or last time my children will be serenaded by a Don Williams song.

So if you haven't already, run right out and buy a Don Williams compilation CD. You won't regret it. One listen to "Lord, I Hope This Day is Good" will put a smile on your face and your soul at ease.

Thanks Don.

My little boy...

Do you ever look at a child and just say, "Wow"? Kids are amazing little creatures, really. My great-nephew, Eli, is probably the picture they put beside the word "child prodigy" in the dictionary. He is crazy smart. When he was a year old, he was talking...by eighteen months, he was not only saying his ABC's, he was identifying letters. He knows colors, shapes, numbers, how to spell his name in sign language, the periodic table, all the states, Portugese...okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a touch, but the point is the kid is smart. And the reason Eli is so smart is because Eli loves to learn. But he also loves to dance and scream and fish and go to Chuck E. Cheese. He's a normal 2 ½ year old kid ...who will probably make his first million before he's 21.

I tell you about Eli because my son, Jackson, is five months younger than him. He and Eli are great buddies, and the way they communicate with each other is just fun to watch. Their greatest adventures are ahead of them, and it seems like every time they're together, they have just a little more fun than the time before. But when Eli was a little over a year old and started showing signs of genius, my first thought was, "Is this normal?? Because if it is, boy, is Jackson in trouble." I sort of had this idea in my mind that your child was a direct reflection of your ability as a parent. And if that were true, I was not going to be winning the mom of the year award any time soon. I kept telling myself that my boy had five months to learn all the stuff Eli already knew...but the truth was, Jackson had no desire to be read to, no yearning to know his colors or letters or Portugese (getting him to say "mama" literally took a year of begging and pleading!!). He wanted to slide down his slide, play in his car, eat Oreos, and watch Blue's Clues.

But I've learned something about my son in the past year. He's an observer. He's also extremely cautious and hates to fail. So, instead of jumping headfirst into something new, he watches everything going on around him, takes it in, turns it over and over in his mind, and when he's good and ready, he'll let you know what he's learned. He walked at 14 months, even though he'd been pulling up on stuff and walking with help long before that. Why not sooner? Because our boy doesn't do anything until he wants to. Until failure wasn't as likely as succeeding. He had absolutely no desire to fall, so sure, he could take steps, but only when he could walk more easily than he could crawl did he have any desire to step out on his own. And once that moment came, he hasn't slowed down (which is evidenced by the fact that it takes about 15 pictures to get one good one of him standing still)!

And one night when he was playing in the bathtub, he started saying his ABC's (if you can translate two year old)...and his colors...and spelling his name. Turns out my kid actually does know quite a few letters by sight. And shapes. Who knew? Every day he shows us something new that he's picked up apparently by osmosis. He also has an amazing caregiver during the school year, and I know much of the genius he is currently unveiling came from her (Thanks, Tanya!).

Will Jackson ever be as smart as Eli? I don't know, but it doesn't matter. Eli is Eli, and Jackson is who he is, and he will be smart enough...I'm sure Kevin and I will consider him a genius no matter what. Every day it seems he learns some thing new. He is happy, healthy, funny and polite (three of his first words that he could use appropriately were "please" and "thank you"). And if those four things are the only things I can ever say about him, that's okay by me.

Picture Day...

Today the kids, my mom and I ventured off to Tyler to have their pictures taken for only the second time since Sadie's been born. Yes, I realize this makes me a negligent mom, seeing as how Sadie is over six months old and pictures of her are a rarity in our house. However, the last time we went was a little bit like having a lobotomy without anesthesia. You see, my sweet, beautiful, loving boy turns into a raving lunatic when in front of a professional photographer. Last time, the mere request of sitting near his baby sister sent him into hysterics. The only picture we got of them together then was one of both of them with tears and snot running down their faces.

Quite the Kodak moment.

But since the lobotomy was apparently successful, I told myself that this time would be different. And the potential for good pictures was high...Jackson was in a great mood, Sadie was perfectly content, and all was well. But then the studio was running thirty minutes late. No big deal. Jackson seemed to be totally stoked about getting to "cheese." Sadie was still happy. We all watched as two beautiful girls had their pictures taken. As I watched the big sister lean over and give her sister a gentle, loving kiss, I thought, "This picture day is going to be GREAT!!"

Then we entered the studio.

Against my better instincts, I agreed when the photographer said, "Let's take pictures of the two of them together first." My first thought was to let Jackson do his happy dance in front of the camera first, then Sadie, and then, God willing, the two of them together. But the photographer was really nice, and I thought, "This will be fine. Even though Jackson only loves Sadie when she's asleep and not touching him, this will work out well." She asked Jackson to sit on a spot on the back drop, and after we finally got him situated, we put Sadie in his lap. He smiled, gave her a hug, said "CHEEESE!" and then he was off.

For the next five minutes, we begged, bribed and (I) threatened him, but he was having none of sitting on the red dot or holding his sister or acting like a normal child. Then came the tears (his) and high blood pressure (mine). I finally got my mom to take him out of the studio so that we might salvage the pictures of Sadie. About every five minutes, my mom would bring Jackson back in, he would pretend he was thinking about having his picture taken, and then he would lapse back into hysterics.

Forty-five minutes later it was over. I was incredibly disappointed. Sadie did great, and really, with the huge number of pictures of Jackson already in our home, we needed more pictures of her. But I sooooo badly wanted to have one, just ONE, picture of my beatiful babies together. I am not blaming the photographer at all. If I had been in her shoes, I would've started drinking hard liquor about three minutes after we walked through the door. She was quite a trooper.
And apparently, a miracle worker. After we ate lunch, I went back to the studio to look at the proofs. Not only did she get some AMAZING pictures of our baby girl, she also managed to capture one of them together, without snot or tears. And even a few really great ones from the thirty seconds when Jackson was happy.

So the day wasn't a total loss.

But we may not have professional pictures taken again for a very long time.

...At least until the lobotomy scars heal. Again.

Hello, Friends!

Why, hello there! My name is Angie, and I welcome you to my little corner of the massive blogging universe. I love writing, I love my husband, and I love my children (not in that order), and creating a blog gives me the opportunity to merge the three. I've been on myspace for a while, but for some reason, posting here makes me feel almost published...almost. That being said, I'll be sharing a few of my blogs from myspace to begin with, and then adding on. Since it's taken me the better part of naptime (my kids, not mine) to figure out how to add some cuteness here, it may take a while...be patient and stick with me!