Afraid to Blink

I've been going through pictures tonight. My camera card was full, and as I emptied it onto my computer, I began scrolling back through older pictures. Pictures of the past few weeks and months.

I saw one of John and Merritt just before John left and was struck by how little Merritt was then. Two months old... so tiny, especially when I compare that scrunchy-faced infant with the little guy who now eats real food and bear-crawls at lightning speed around the house.

I paused from clicking on pictures and looked ahead, my mind's eye reaching forward years from now. I realized anew how short these years are with the little ones we're given. How little time I actually have before they're grown. In the craziness of our day-to-day here, it is so easy to lose sight of that and suddenly realize that a month has passed and I barely noticed.

They say that's how it happens... you're living life, you turn for an instant...



... and that squinty-eyed grin has become only a memory. That fourth tooth will have come in, fallen out, and an adult tooth will sit in it's place.



It won't be long before the high chairs will be packed away and they no longer get messy faces when they eat spaghetti.





The toddler who dunks his head in the water when he's swimming and yet cries when we wash his hair won't need floaties on his arms anymore or and will wash his own hair.



The baby who didn't like the cool water of the pool on the first try (yes, he's in a floatie IN the baby pool, as per his brother's request) has already changed his mind since this picture was taken. Now kicking and splashing provide endless fun, whether in the cool pool or in the warm bath.



I know they need to experience life... follow the path God has planned for them... grow up to be men who love and serve the God we've introduced them to.

I know that babying them and trying to keep them little will only hinder them. I don't want to be a mother who holds them back from becoming who they are in Christ. I want to encourage them to grow and learn and be. I rejoice in those changes, day after day.

But I also don't want to forget. There are so many little things that happen every day that are beyond precious. I don't want those looks, actions, moments to become just a distant, faded memory.



Things like Troy's love for giving Eskimo kisses...



Or Merritt's sleepy eyed snuggle time after naps. Or piling into our bed every morning, giggling together while Troy talks about "ships sailing on the ceiling."



The way Merritt opens his mouth WIDE to grin and how much he loves to "fly" through the air.





"Let's be silly, Mommy! Okay, Mommy? Be silly!"

Don't you sometimes (keeping that sometimes in mind, heh) wish there was a camera capturing every moment so we could look back at particular moments anytime we wished to? To keep the present from simply becoming the past and then fading into oblivion?

When I look at these pictures from a few years or even a few months ago, I have a hard time putting into perspective that the children I have right here, today are the same ones in those pictures. I hardly remember what they looked like when they were babies.

Tonight I decided I need to capture more of these moments in pictures.

It's just speeding by way. too. fast.

I was beginning to run in circles

You know that place where you're so behind in your laundry you still have last week's piles sorted and waiting to be washed when you realize you need to do this week's laundry? Then you realize there's hardly any space in the laundry area to add the "new" clothes?

Yeah. You could say I'm there.

(You could probably also say I've seen one too many State Farm commercials lately.)

Anyway.

After Hannah Beth left on Thursday, the thought came to me that, Hey, maybe it's time to stop pretending to be sixteen and remember that I have a house and children to take care of. Oh yeah.

I promptly sat down that night and made a list of all the things I need to get done before John gets home.

Whew.

There's a lot to do. And not a lot of time to do it--a fact I'm only too happy to have to deal with. But still, there's a lot of last-minute things to do. And those of you who remember the weeks before Merritt was born will know how I tend to get when I have a mile-long list of unreasonable expectations for myself.

My perfectionism comes out IN FULL FORCE.

Needless to say, in all my unbelievable excitement over John coming home soon, I started stressing out a just leetle bit. John even picked up on it over the phone and asked what the deal was.

"Uh, well, I'm so, so super duper very really crazy unbelievably unspeakably excited for you to come home. And so I made a list of everything I want done before then, and, weeeeell..."

"You want everything to be perfect, right?"

You'd think he knows me well or something.

Then he went on to tell me that HE doesn't want everything perfect. HE doesn't care. HE wants things to be normal around here. Comfortable. Lived in. Like he doesn't have to be careful not to mess up our perfect life.

And THAT, my friends, is why I married this guy.

Off to see the whale

Yesterday we decided to let Hannah Beth taste a little bit of SoCal and headed to Sea World.

We planned to get there between 10-11am.

Thanks to my usual lack of a brain and several small setbacks combined, 12:45 saw us pulling into the parking lot.

Better late than never, I always say.

(Okay, I don't really, but, hey, it sounds good.)


HB had never seen surfboards atop a car before. She took to calling out "Surfboards!!" every time we passed one. For some reason that cracked us up.

Personally, I think the baby blue VW Bus driving down the 5 freeway, carrying two shiny surfboards on top was the best. It doesn't get much more San Diego than that.




See Troy's yellow shirt? By the end of the day, we were skeptical as to its fate. In fact, we still are. Short of a Spray n' Wash miracle, I think Shamu left his permanent mark on that shirt. More on that later.


Starfish. Er, excuse me, a SEA STAR. While standing in line for the Sesame Street Sea Star ride, we learned that starfish are not, in fact, fish at all. They are just animals in the shape of a star that HAPPEN to live in the ocean. It is a GOOD THING we found that out, peeps, because I'd been lying to my child since birth about the starfish.

Now that's he's learned the truth, that two year old corrects us. "Sea 'tar, Mommy. Sea 'tar, Hannah Beff."


Merritt, on the other hand, doesn't care so much. He prefers chillin' in the stroller and watching the people walk by.

Hey, WE enjoy sitting and watching the people walk by. I mean, who in their right mind wears four inch stilettos to an amusement park? Or wears hoodie sweatshirts in hot weather? Not that the typical warm weather attire is exactly a great alternative, AHEM.


Oh yeah, that yellow shirt...

HB and I decided that our warm weather solution was to get some ice cream. After all, we are quite healthy and have been sticking to a great diet. Salad and ice cream. Mmhmm.

So we got some ice cream. And we picked up a Shamu cookie for Troy.

What I neglected to think about was the fact that Shamu is black.

Yeperdoo.

That shirt is getting some stain treatments today.


The boys got to meet Cookie Monster in the Sesame Street playplace. Not exactly a sea creature, but exciting nonetheless.

And then, of course, there's the star of the show. Can't forget about him.

Late starts and majorly stained yellow shirts aside, it was fun times, peeps, fun times.

Now if we could just figure out a way to postpone HB's trip home tomorrow...

Cows, Lemons and Cheese

Tonight Hannah Beth was looking through my photo albums and pulled out the big thick "four year book" my mom made me when I graduated high school. Since I was homeschooled, she made me a gigantic scrapbook encompassing all four years in one.

In other words, it's a scrapbook full of pictures of me in various stages of weird and embarrassing attire. Oh, and many different lengths and styles of strange hair.

But that's what a yearbook is for, right?

The first few pages contain The List I made the summer before ninth grade. My parents had me write out everything I hoped to accomplish during my high school years. What were my goals? Ideas? My mom told me to jot down anything and everything--no matter how "out there."

So I did.

And I took the "no matter how out there" part quite literally.

So tonight we decided to take inventory of how I did. What I accomplished, and what I, uh, didn't.

For your reading pleasure, I now bring you The List, exactly as it appears in the book. Under the fancy scrolling letters of L.I.S.T. and a friend's email address, of course.

• Flower arranging--wreaths, etc. Um, nope.
• Cake decorating A little... but it fizzled out once my family told me that baking a couple cakes a week was getting to be a bit much.
• Sewing--things such as skirts, shirts (blouses with buttons down the front, etc.), apron, real dresses, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc. And LOTS of other stuff. How's that for fashion sense? This is precisely why we went shopping this weekend.
• Basket weaving Tried at a women's retreat once. Didn't have enough hands or arms on me.
• Canning!!! Hey, I did do this one. Strawberry jam, peaches, pickles, apple pie filling.
• Gardening (vegetable gardening) I think we already covered this one, ahem.
• Herb gardening and learning how to use them to make medicines, in cooking, etc. I was convinced I could become a botanist. I'm not.
• Making Soap-LYE soap. Ha. Yeah. Can't you just see me over a pot, stirring lye for soap.
• Regular cooking, Wednesday nights Did do this one, too. I think my husband now appreciates it.
• Learning how to grow things (plants, citrus trees :) etc.) from their own seeds. (Drying the seeds, etc.) Other than the fact that I don't grow things that are already living, let alone from their own seeds, what's the deal with the citrus trees? I grew up in the desert. "Hey, look at my lemon tree in the back yard!"
• Typing (not exactly a homemaking skill, but something I'd like to do). Well, does this one need explaining? Clearly, I learned to type. And type fast. Just look at this post.
• Quilting!!! Thanks to my home ec course, I actually made a baby quilt. It was pink. I now have two boys.
• Make cheese (just once, to try, since we don't have a cow) Hannah Beth says I should stick that there cow next to the lemon tree on my parents' half acre desert lot.
• Singing course Does having a singer for a husband count?
• Hardanger (or however you spell it) Maybe a spelling course would have been more beneficial?
• Advanced cross stitching Can do that, believe it or not
• Needlepoint Good intentions and all that
• Make all sorts of interesting breads :) Cakes too :) Bread machines make good friends. So does the bread aisle at the grocery store.
• I know this will never happen, Daddy probably wouldn't say yes, but as long as I'm writing down things I'd like to do, I might as well say it. I'd like to keep chickens. :) I could take care of them (although Zach would probably want to help) and all that stuff. I also think goats would be fun, but........ :)

Okay. At this point, we are laughing so hard we feel we might wet our pants. Can't you see it? In the desert DIRT, the chickens clucking away around the mooing cow, while the goats eat the lemon tree and I look on sweetly while arranging flowers in a basket I made, with the aroma of an "interesting cake" wafting through the air. I'd, of course, be adorned in a blouse with buttons down the front that I'd made myself.

Oh good heavens.

• Languages: (prepare yourself, here) Spanish; German; French; Greek; Hebrew; Russian; Hmar, of course, but I don't think I could get a course for that. Number of foreign languages I speak? ZERO. Smart, ain't I?
• Different types of science--I don't know what they're called, but I know I want to do them.
• Government
• Biology
• World History
• Wordsmith Craftsman

I actually DID do all of those school subjects. Think maybe my parents actually had some common sense where I, uh, lacked it?

• Resource skills or reference materials. Whatever they're called? I want to be able to, when I want to know something, know the best way to find it. (HUH???) I want to know how to do research efficiently and do it so that it's fun and so I'll remember it. Ohhh, I was talking about GOOGLE!
• Learn how to do framing. Just pretty much for fun. I've always wanted to do that. What? Have fun, or frame??
• Checkbooks, grocery shopping, etc. etc. etc. {Learning how to manage finances} Well, um, considering that I'd overdrawn my checking account only a few months after I got it and my dad had to bail me out, it would seem this one caused me a few problems. AHEM.
• Learn to knit... socks, sweaters, etc. I can make a dishcloth. Fancy, eh?
• Make paper w/Zach, once. I've heard of people doing it. Just thought it would be fun. I've still only heard of people making paper. I wonder if it's fun?
• Bible studying. Doing an IN-DEPTH study of a certain book(s) with Daddy? Sounds like fun. Done. Several times over.
• Scrapbooking. Um, no. I don't scrapbook. I blog.

And that's it.

Not ambitious or anything, right?

Gotta run--time to milk the cow and pick some lemons.

I doubt she's ever going to want kids

I have a sweet, hilarious God-send of a girl staying with me right now.

She's an old family friend and flew out from Alabama with my Grammie this week. Hannah Beth is staying here with me for ten days while my Grammie stays with my parents.

We've had a crazy-fun time the past few days doing a lot of laughing, swimming at my parents' house, eating ice cream, laughing, watching TLC, staying up too late, cracking up, discussing the finer points of all things from clothing to convictions, and spending much time... laughing.

Notice a pattern here? I thought so.

I'm telling you, this girl is fuh-uh-NY, peeps.

For instance.

Last night, while we were all swimming by the light of the porch/pool light/moon, she asked, "People can't get sunburned at night, right?"

She was serious.

She's never going to live that one down. And she's okay with it. She's taken it and run with it.

Soon you'll being seeing her product when she patents her own moon-screen. I'll be first in line.

So anyway, today we decided to go shopping.

(Hannah Beth's daddy laughed at us tonight over the phone and told her, "You sure are suffering out there in California, taking care of those kids, aren't you?" She IS helping though. Believe me. She is. She waits on me hand and foot--she just got up to fill my drink while I remained seated on the couch. SPOILED--and is absolutely awesome with the kids. She is working hard. And without her, I wouldn't be doing the stuff I'm able to do WITH her.)

But we went shopping today. And we took my brother with us, since he seemed to get a double portion of the fashion sense I was born completely without. I figured with both of them, I couldn't go wrong.

(And I was feeling rested and peppy thanks to the boys' good night of sleep last night. I wish I could blame it all on one of your awesome suggestions, but last night was just a result of the swimming. Next week, peeps, I'm going to start in on those suggestions. Let me just say you all are AWESOME. You are wonderful. You know how to come to a girl's rescue when she's in a jam. I couldn't do it without you, peeps.)

So we started driving.

We got halfway into our two hour drive and stopped at a stop light. We were talking and laughing, as we tend to do and the kids were asleep when... we all screamed. (Except Zach, of course. He's a seventeen year old guy. They don't scream. They yell.) We'd been rear-ended.

It turned out we were okay and the truck was okay, though I still got the other guy's info, just in case. But he was wearing a really cool plaid hat, so we all thought he was purty cool. Makes it all okay, right?

After my fragile nerves calmed a bit, we went on our way to the mall.

We pulled in and parked, laughing and talking, once again, as we are prone to do.

We got out the stroller, the diaper bag, the purses, and all the other paraphernalia necessary to shop with two children, and the sweet, hilarious, helpful 16 year old girl pulled Merritt out of his carseat and set him in his seat. And then she felt that her hand was wet.

Need I even tell you what was on her lily white hand?

Poop.

I scooped him up and tossed her the wipes. Then she looked down into the stroller.

GOBS of it, peeps.

My brother walked over and checked out the carseat.

MORE GOBS.

I needn't tell you what the diaper itself looked like when I cleaned up the baby.

It took us a bit, but eventually we got cleaned up. Hannah Beth used about half a bottle of her Purell in the process and we only had three wipes left by the end of it, but, hey, we were clean, we were done, and we were on our way.

We took two steps toward the door to the mall and heard, "Eh. EWWWW!"

The poor girl had looked down at her shirt and saw ONE MORE GLOB. On her shirt.

Okay, I'm the mom and even I was disgusted. It looked.... yummy. We won't tell you exactly WHAT it looked like so you can enjoy your tortilla chips and, ahem, dip next time you have Mexican food.

Thankfully, I had a shirt she could put on and then, THEN, we were on our way.

I'm sure she was recalling such things as the other poop incedents she's read about here and making a firm committment against ever having a child of her own.

Both of them commented on the fact that I was pretty calm and collected throughout the whole ordeal--a fact for which they were both thankful. But what mom hasn't dealt with blowout diapers in public before? It comes with the territory. Kinda like being up all night. What they DIDN'T know and I did was that the poop incident was only the beginning.

Neither of them had really been power shopping with a two year old and a baby before. Ha.

But, hey, all in all, we were hugely successful in our power shopping attempts. We found a whole ton o' sales and a whole ton o' cute clothes in them. Zach--ever the trooper--even dared send two girls into the fitting room with armloads of clothes and waited patiently while we cracked ourselves up trying them all on and modeled them for him, expecting an opinion more than merely a "Uh, sure, looks good."

I felt like I was sixteen for a while. Except for, you know, the two kids whining in the background.

But, hey, a few bags full of new clothes and some new shoes make everything better in my book.

In which I eat my words: The Toddler Bed Saga

Help.

Ahem. Let me re-phrase this.

HELP.

You know that toddler bed thing? Weeeeell, it's not going so well.

I know I said that these things are just par for the course and don't faze me. I know.

BUT.

The fact of the matter is this--for the past two weeks, after the initial novelty wore off, we've had nothing but a BATTLE on our hands when it comes to getting that toddler to sleep in his bed. Okay, well, I have had nothing but a battle on my hands for the past two weeks, being that, you know, I'm the only parent around these days.

At nap times, The Battle has been lasting, on average, three hours. Sometimes The Battle lasts longer than three hours. That is three hours or more, peeps. Whew.

At first it wasn't affecting bed time. He'd go to bed and stay in bed. But the past few nights, the sight of a little towhead peeking around the staircase has become the norm. And as I'm typing this, it's after 10pm and he is STILL awake. This is the kid who used to go to bed around 7:30 and conk out.

I'm at a complete and utter loss. I've done everything I know to do, everything my favorite parenting books suggest, and believe you me--I've prayed more over this ordeal than any one parenting issue thus far.

(Parents of teens: I know what you're thinking. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. little mama!" I know. But this is a BIG DEAL at this point, remember??)

I am absolutely, 100% exhausted. Wiped out. The emotional battle of all this is just a way much for my fragile nerves. (Okay, slight drama there. But it IS driving me Up. A. Wall.) Before I had a two year old, I vowed I'd never deal with this. Why? I dunno. I was going to be a perfect parent, of course. I'd never have a two year old with sleep issues. I just wouldn't.

Ha.

So since I know most of you have been through this stage before, I'm soliciting some help. What did/do you do with a toddler who won't stay in bed and doesn't seem even remotely influenced by any form of discipline.

And if you don't have a toddler tip, I want your best toddler story. Or something you vow you'll never allow as a parent. Just so we can toss it back atcha when it happens to you later on.

So anyway. In a word,

HELP.

I think I need a coffee drip

You wanna know something funny?

Someone recently asked why I haven't posted any "crazy life with kids" stories lately. She said, "I mean, things can't have become less crazy, right?"

Oh yeah. Remember those stories?

Like the time Troy locked me out of the house when he was 18 months old and I was nine months pregnant? Or the day the dogs tracked mud all over my white carpet and Troy lapped up water from their water dish? Or the first time I went to the store with after Merritt was born?

Ha. No. Things certainly aren't less crazy than they used to be back when, you know, I only had ONE CHILD and my husband wasn't halfway around the world.

The fact of the matter is that I just don't think much of the wild times anymore.

They're normal now.

Par for the course.

Every day is a bit crazy now.

Take, for example, last night.

I didn't get to sleep until 4am, because Troy was sick and feverish, and he woke up just as I was about to go to bed. For a while, both boys were awake. So we ended up down stairs, with pillows and blankets, watching Cinderella (or, "princess movie", as it's known around here) and trying to get to sleep. Not exactly as post-worthy as I used to think. It was crazy, but it was kinda fun, too. It's not every day I get to snuggle with my babies for hours at a time.

And, hey, I got my new bloggie look set up while Troy clicked away on his little V-Tech laptop. What fun is an all-nighter without a bit of bloggin' thrown in?

I'm tired as could be today, of course, being that Merritt wasn't up quite as much as Troy and I, and thus still wanted to wake up while it was yet morning. But it's nothing a little coffee can't take care of.

What an interesting thing it is the way perspectives change, wouldn't you say? Ask me in ten years and after a few more kiddos and I'll be telling you sleep and sanity are completely overrated.

Until then, I'm just going to go pour myself another cup of coffee.

Sorta here, Sorta not

It's the start of a crazy busy day, followed by a crazy busy weekend, folks.

I'm about to head to the gym, followed by watching a friend's baby, making food for a church activity on Saturday, getting ready to leave crazy early tomorrow morning for a homeschool convention, having a friend and her little boy come to watch Troy while I'm there, coming home Saturday and heading straight to that church activity, being in the nursery Sunday morning and then getting ready for company to arrive Tuesday, all while carrying a mile-long list of all the other little things to fit in between the big ones. Whew.

So today my brain isn't all there.

Instead, it's here. Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer graciously asked me to write a guest post, so that's where you can find me today, talking about deployment.

Thankfully, I have a little more of a brain over there. I think.

Somebody help me! I'm being eaten by stuffed animals!

I've spent the past two days rearranging the boys' room.

I figured that since, you know, Merritt's eight months old and all, it's probably time to start moving him into his crib. And now that Troy's in his big boy bed, we're all set. All that's left to do is convince the boys they can sleep in the same room and not wake each other up. The way things have been going this past week, I'm thinking it might be a while before that one happens.

But, hey, at least the furniture is set up nice and purty, and the pictures are hung on the walls.

Okay, well, the pictures are on the walls, but there's a few I'm thinking I'm going to have to move around. Because I'm nice and decisive like that. For once, I can actually be thankful the walls in this house were painted an ultra-chalky uber-white flat paint before we moved in. Spackle works wonders when there's no paint color to worry about.

And get this! I even hung a wall shelf--by myself! This is a great accomplishment, given that the last time I made such an attempt, the right side was about a half in lower than the left. John came home, looked at the shelf, smiled at me, and proceeded to do what he told me I should have done in the first place... get out the tape measure and the level thingie.

Eh, eyeballin' it works just fine.

(As evidenced by the fact that the shelf I hung yesterday required no tape measure, no level and is perfectly even. I even checked it using the highly scientific method of grabbing the nearest toy ball, setting it in the middle of the shelf and taking note of whether or not it rolled off to one side or the other. The smarts, they astound me daily.)

But anyway.

Now that the room is put together (unless you count the pictures I'm going to have to rehang in new locations), I have a whole new problem.

WHAT TO DO WITH ALL THE BUCKET LOADS OF TOYS!!!

We have a little cubby/shelf thing in the room that houses most of the toys, being that I'm not a fan of the broken toy syndrome that seems to accompany toy boxes, and a small toy area down stairs, so there's a stash in both places. The idea was that, this way, all the toys would be contained.

Ha. Well. Then there was Christmas. And then there was a birthday.

Now we're overflowing again.

The truth of the matter is that the toy issue doesn't bother be nearly as much as another issue I'm facing. With the toys, I have a plastic tub in the garage into which--theoretically--I can rotate out half the toys, thus keeping things "new" every month or so. Of course, that would require actually DOING said rotating, instead of letting all the toys accumulate.

But the OTHER issue is this: The Stuffed Animals.

Now, you must understand. The boys have approximately 9,876 stuffed animals. Or, you know, somewhere around there. And Troy adores every. single. one. By the time he reached two years old, he'd named most of them, like "Dog" the white sea lion from Sea World, and "Hoppy" the purple bunny whom he thinks comes from Bunnytown. Then there's Snoopy, and Eeyore, and a stuffed Mater... and 5000 others. He loves them all and they are his friends.

But they are invading every square inch of my house. To be quite honest, there are a few I could probably add to the garage sale pile and he'd never know the difference, but most of them would be sorely and sadly missed. The stuffed animal thing is a highly sensitive issue around here.

So what do I do with them? What would YOU do with 9,876 stuffed animals?

The option my husband keeps suggesting is something I'm not entirely a fan of--the stuffed animal wall hanger thing hanging high in the corner. I've seen them in stores and such, so I'm sure they are still great and people use them all the time, but for some reason, to me, that just screams 1989.

But I'm still at a loss to figure out what to do with this pile of stuffed animals currently sitting outside the boys' bedroom door, waiting for me to find them a home.

Ideas? Tricks for vacuum packing them and storing them in closets? Or hiding them somewhere where they'll never again be found?

Oh, and suggestions on how to avoid ever again having another toy or stuffed Nemo darken the doors of this house would be welcome, too. Although somehow I don't think that would go over too well with the grandparents...

Little eyes, Little ears

I stop in my tracks as I hear it. Turning, I see the scene unfold.

"Bubbie! No, NO! You don't TOUCH that, MerMer!"

Cringing, I wonder for an instant where on earth my two-year-old caught that. That little brow furrowed in frustration, the pursed lips. This wasn't just a normal little brotherly disagreement.

I sigh. I know exactly where he learned it. He's seen a similar expression, heard a similar tone used in reference to himself. Just this morning.

My heart is heavy as I address this incident with Troy. I'd been told before I had children that one of the hardest moments as a parent was when you realize that your own sinful actions are manifesting themselves in your children. Those people were right.

I'm not typically "a yeller" with my children. I get frustrated often enough, and have, during a few at-my-wit's-end moments, shut myself in my room and let out some sort of cross between a "grr" and a mama lion's roar. This morning, though, I was overwhelmed by all the whining, crying, fussing, hitting, clinging, disobeying, wanting, climbing, pulling and needing. I gritted my teeth and spoke sharply, harshly. I was a monster-mommy for a little while.

And now here my son was yelling at his brother.

A reminder. A sobering reminder to me.

I've heard it said that what you allow in moderation, your children will allow in excess.

What they see me doing, they'll examine, contemplate, and then do, often in ways we didn't foresee.

Merritt watched me run my fingers through the grass during a recent afternoon picnic. I wasn't pulling it from the ground. I certainly wasn't eating it.

But soon he was doing both. He didn't know, as I did, how awful the grass would taste once it was in his mouth.

Neither does Troy understand the sting of his harsh words. What they can become.

But I do.

Lord, You've given these little men eyes to watch me live out "You" before them. You promise to give grace. Let my speech... my actions... the expression on my face... the way I care for them... let it be seasoned with grace. Let it speak of You.

They are watching more than we even realize...

I'm his wife. I get to brag a little, right?

It's way too late at night after a long day of unpacking suitcases, cleaning rooms, realizing I don't know how to start a lawnmower and deciding that since my baby is eight months old now it's probably time to pull all the maternity clothes out of my closet.

(No, I have NOT been wearing them, people! I'm just the queen of procrastination. And I knew that once I started going through the clothes, I'd end up doing a major cleaning of the whole closet. And the dresser drawers. And the bathroom cupboards. Which is exactly what happened today.)

But. BUT.

I cannot let the day come to a close without making mention of something quite exciting in this Marine Corps household.

(Warning: Military-ese ahead. Proceed at your own risk.)

Yesterday my guy was promoted to Gunnery Sergeant (E-7) over in Iraq. This is a pretty exciting promotion in the Marine Corps, and we're more than a little proud of him. Okay, so we're REALLY proud of him, but I'm seriously trying to tone it down here, hoping to keep from sounding too, TOO braggy. I doubt it's working.

But it really is a nifty promotion.

Especially since he's only been in for barely ten years and got pulled from the "below zone" for Gunny. But you didn't hear that from me, okay?

Congrats, hero o' mine! Thanks for being such a great Marine and serving the Lord and us with your life each day!

Although I'm still trying to get over the fact that I'm the 22 year old wife of a Gunny. Laugh with me, Marine wives. We just won't advertise that fact around base, okay?

It's apparent he's officially a big boy now

I used to think toddler beds were silly. I mean, why not just put a side rail on a regular twin bed and save yourself the trouble of having to buy two beds?

Then we moved into a two-bedroom house with a small second bedroom. We have two boys who need to sleep in there. A toddler bed it is.

Such realizations regarding my pre-children notions are quickly becoming a frequent occurence around here.

On Sunday night, my mother-in-love and I spent ten hours a while putting together Troy's "big boy bed." After multiple attempts and having to take it apart again a time or two (how hard can it BE?? Ridiculously hard, obviously.) we had on our hands a little boy quite eager to hop into bed. He would have slept in his clothes if we'd let him.



Oh, the anticipation!

Oh, the EXCITEMENT!

Of course he had to wear his "Cars" jammies to match his "Cars bed."


He quickly hopped into bed, we prayed, turned on his music, and kissed him goodnight.

John's mom and I went downstairs with Merritt and waited, expecting to see a little blonde head peeking out from around the staircase at any moment.

Apparently the Big Boy Bed held more fascination than the possibility of freedom, because the little blonde head never appeared.

I did, however, go in to check on him later, discovering a whole new assortment of stuffed animals on his bed, different from those that had surrounded him when I tucked him in.

Now how exactly did THAT happen, li'l boy? I suppose they all sprouted legs and decided the Cars bed looked pretty comfy, too?

But, all in all, the first night was a complete success.

We all slept soundly and Troy woke up a chipper little fella bright and early the next morning.

The SECOND night, on the other hand...

Let's just say I had another realization about this parenthood thing.

The novelty of such things as new beds wears off. Quickly.

Here's hoping for at least a couple hours of sleep tonight. And some sleep for my mother-in-love while she's flying home today. After last night, we're both going to need it.