Dance...

Yesterday as I was scurrying around our bedroom trying to get ready and get out the door, when the alarm on my phone went off.

 Now, let explain how my mornings work. I use the snooze button on my phone to keep track of how ahead or behind I am getting out the door. But instead of the BONK-BONK-BONK sound, I have mine set to my iTunes music. 

 T was impatiently waiting for me when the music came on. He got really excited and started dancing. I stopped in my tracks and started dancing with him. While we were both standing there dancing, I couldn’t help but think- this is what life is all about. Nothing in the world mattered more in that moment than dancing with my son.

Happy Friday, Happy Weekend!

Can I Protect Him Forever?

Do y’all remember ever being made fun of growing up? Not the new trendy bullying term of being made of fun. But, having someone comment on you being different or not good at something. I do.

Math is not my friend. It wasn’t growing up and it’s not now. I still count on my hands sometimes when I am doing simple math, for Pete’s sake!

I vividly remember sitting in math classes my whole life praying to not be called on to come do a problem on the board. Now, if you asked me to diagram a sentence in English class, I owned that stuff, not math.

I remember being called to the board one day with absolutely no clue how to begin finding the answer.

I just stood there. I heard people begin snickering and whispering while I just starred at the board. I’m not sure what my teacher was doing in the back of room, but she sure wasn’t helping a sister out! She then said, “Do you not know what to do?” I stood in front of all my classmates humiliated, and barely got the word out, “NO.”

I was mortified. I was the dumb kid in math class.

I tell that story to say this; T got fitted and is sporting his new inserts. They are going to help him walk better, help his arch and support him better. After going through braces already, I sort of knew what to expect, but I couldn’t shake that scene in Forest Gump where Tom Hanks’ character gets made fun of for his.

Now, please understand, you can’t even see them in his current shoes, but I had a mommy fear that I could not shake. The thought of my sweet boy being ridiculed by his peers kills me.

When we got him fitted, I sent text messages to a few friends and asked for support and prayers. They were definitely heard and answered. I explained to him that his shoes needed pillows. He would run faster, be taller and kick a ball better with his new pillows.

T is now a proud owner of two shoe pillows and walking around like he is worth a million dollars. He did have some mild irritation the first day at school. His sweet teacher rubbed them for us, and he told her they were all better. I love that kid. 

Oh, One of Those Mommy Bloggers

I have to tell the truth; I haven’t read many blogs lately. I happened upon a recommended post while having lunch with a friend. The post itself didn’t really stick with me, but a sentence in it did. Essentially it said something like, mommy bloggers that never actually blog about their children.  

Is that what we’ve become? Women too busy jockeying for sponsored posts, giveaways and product reviews that we do not mention our children? Or when we do, we find the need to make every story of poop, food fails and meltdowns some huge theatrical production for the sake of our readers?

I think we all realize (or I hope at least) we aren’t the first women in the history of the world to give birth. Maybe our over-the-top stories we tell of our blunders and successes make us seem that self-absorbed, but we really aren’t. Do we all think our child/children are the cutest forever and ever Amen. YES! 

But, so did your mom, so…

I am proud of my mommy blog badge. I hope that I can continue to be a mommy blogger who remembers the roots of why I started this crazy adventure!

True Story

I am my worst critic. I can make myself doubt me, hate me and depress me. I need no bully--I have me.

A few weeks back, I was in a dark place. I am actually a little upset with myself for allowing me to get as blue as I did. In the big scheme of #reallifeproblems (Totally just hashtagged it!) I really have nothing to be blue about.

Nothing really made me satisfied and I felt like I should be one of those people on the depression commercials.

I beat the crap out of myself (emotionally) for about a week. And while I am always my own worst critic, I am also one of the most “go with the flow” “lover of life” “water off a ducks back” people you’ll ever meet. I never stay upset about anything for very long. But that week, everything was terrible.

I couldn’t let it go. I prayed. I couldn’t let go. I prayed. I couldn’t let go. I prayed.

I hated the Christian I became. Praying for guidance and telling the Lord I was turning it over to him, only to continue “being soured” about things all day. I felt like I was all by myself. Let me tell y’all, I am not.

I have an amazing family/friend unit, had any of them known the dark place I was in, would have dropped everything to help me get in a better place. I hid my pain, my sadness and hurt. I wish now I wouldn’t have.

I have worked through my pain, and I am in a much better place. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be writing about it right now. I should have set aside my pride and asked for an ear to listen. But, I didn’t.

On the other side of this, I want to slap that me into shape. Who am I? I have a great life. I am continuing to pray through this. I don’t want to allow myself to be that unhappy again. Especially since I have no reason to be. 

1,440 Minutes a Day…

I need to take one of them to write. Let me set the stage. 

• 1:00 am 
• I’ve worked a long, hard week 
• I can’t sleep 
• I sneak downstairs 

When I can’t sleep, I eat When I night eat, it is never, ever healthy. This night is no different--I go with spicy pasta. Something about a carb, it is a comfort food for an Italian girl like me! 

While I stand and watch my pasta pop and hiss in the microwave, my mind goes to my blog. I long to blog. But, my longing to eat, wins out first. 

As I finish my food, I peer at the laptop. I know what needs to happen. If I pick it up, I know the juices will start, and I am scared. Now you are caught up. 

I sit on my MacBook cross-legged with things I need to say, long to say, but wondering if my fingers can keep up with my mind. Not to mention, I need to filter myself, but how much? I guess we will see...

Calendar Pops

Do you have certain dates that pop out on a calendar to you? I do. Fun things like birthdays and anniversaries are obvious. One of mine is not a happy day. Every year on April 20, I am sad. 

April 20, 2006, my Papa Dave past away. 

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't ache for him to be here to see T. I just know he would adore him. The two of them would be thick as thieves and partners in crime. 

Last night while BTB ran in the grocery store to get juice, Florida Georgia Line "Cruise" came on. T knew the entire chorus. He even threw in the "C'mon" at the end. I just giggled and thought how Papa Dave, an avid Country music lover, had to be smiling down from heaven--loving every second of this! 

When a close friend or family member passes away, a part of your heart is taken with them. Mine will never be whole again with the loss of my Papa Dave. I love and miss him, every dang day. 

Toilet Paper

  The other afternoon, BTB was the administrator on duty, so T and I decided to join him at work. At one point, BTB had to leave us to find a custodian to replenish toilet paper in the bathroom.   While we were sitting there, T began worrying about Daddy's whereabouts. He kept asking for him, wanting to go find him and just plain frustrated that he wasn't around.  He asked for him again and I explained daddy had to find someone to put toilet paper in the bathrooms. Then, those big beautiful blue eyes looked up at me and asked the question, "Can't they  poop in pants?"  I almost lost it. Maybe one of the top 5 funniest things the kid has said to date.  I held my laughter and explained big boys and girls do not poop in pants! I thought then, I may be the only mother buying her child depends to go to kindergarten if this mindset keeps up!  To my surprise, Wednesday afternoon at pick-up T came running up to me with not one, not two, not three--but four stickers! He went to the potty four times! It was a really proud moment. It was also short-lived. We grilled shrimp for dinner that night, and he pee-peed down his leg while we played outside. He did catch himself and stop. A huge improvement from the "floods" he would do when we started potty training.  I'm not sure how long it will take him to want to poop in the potty. I am hoping not much longer. But, I am trying to be patient. Ultimately, the choice is his. I want to nudge him, but not push him. No one will ask him on a job interview in twenty years when he was pooping the potty. If they are, he  needs to runaway from the interviewer!