Birthdays and Rooftops

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

First of all, HOW did we go from the picture on the left to the one on the right so quickly?

I feel like I have truly stepped into my role as Miss Ladybug's chaperone to her busy social schedule this fall.  Last weekend Ladybug and I had a full itinerary attending the birthday parties of two of her friends.  The first was a simple tea party for one of her best friends, Miss E, at Miss E's house.  It was just L, Miss E, and their friends P and S.  Miss E's mom has some crazy-awesome cake-dessert baking and decorating talents, and the girls had fun doing things like decorating cupcakes and playing while we moms got a chance to chat.  It was a very nice morning and lacked so much of the chaos that can happen at big parties - not that I hate big parties.

Saturday morning we did a little running around with Bart which included him renting a pressure washer to clean our shutters, fence, and whatever he felt the need to blast with water.  When we arrived home, he got started while I tried to get a little rest before the next birthday party.  About an hour before we were set to leave, Bart asked me if I wanted to hold the ladder for him while he cleaned the second story shutters.  I had walked out earlier and took note of how everything near Bart (including Bart) was wet and of the wind the force from the pressure washer created.  I had no desire to do that to my hair right before leaving the house, so I told him to wait until the next day, when I had time.  L and I were soon leaving, and Bart was supposed to be finishing what he was doing.

L had a good time at her friend Mr. B's Mario party, even though she is afraid of heights and wouldn't get on the inflatable slide.  We enjoyed a nice evening with friends before returning home.  Bart was sitting on his recliner when we got home, and I asked how he was.  That was when he confessed to having decided to climb up on the roof while no one else was home, getting scared (because Ladybug gets her fear of heights honestly), and just sitting, all wet and cold on the roof for around forty-five minutes until a neighbor came outside, and he could ask for help.

I'm a horrible wife, but had I been the one to discover Bart, I wouldn't have helped him down until I could take several incriminating pictures of him with my good camera.  I mean, seriously... How many times do I get such a golden opportunity?  It.never.happens.

In the world of good news, Arkansas finally won a football game this weekend, so B and L were both happy campers.  OU is 4-0 going into the Red River Rivalry.  Texas isn't good, but they always show up for this game, so I imagine at some point Saturday Ladybug will be telling me that I need to stop yelling at the TV.

I think I'm going to have buy stock in Spray and Wash and OxyClean, because Ladybug can't come home from Tuesday Morning Bible Study without a thick layer of dirt covering her entire body.  It's like she and her friends are playing the pigs that the Prodigal Son had to sleep with when he ran out of money.  For some reason she gets dirtier on Tuesdays than Monday and Wednesday, when she is at school... at church.  It's baffling, but I'm thankful that we go to a church that has such a great women's ministry.  Tuesday mornings are precious to me, and Ladybug enjoys getting to play more with her friends.  It's win-win for us.  It's worth the dirt.  Just remember, we have someone who can readily play the part of Pig-Pen in You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.  Yes, I made her take a picture.

Ladybug's Daddy

Friday, June 14, 2013

Often, I tell Bart that I didn't fall in love with him for his taste in music.  Nor did I fall in love with him for his penchant for telling really bad jokes.  Quite honestly I fell in love with him despite those two things.   Even though he would claim he wan't comfortable with most children, he was always very good with them.  Just as I knew after a couple of months that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, something told me that he would someday be an awesome dad.  Let's be honest ladies, that's really one of the things that attracts us to men.  Bart's general goodness was what attracted me to him more than anything else.

We were married for five years before we decided to start trying for children.  It was another year before it actually happened the first time.  Suddenly we were responsible for bringing another person into this world.  While we were incredibly happy, we were also terrified.  We hadn't really had time to stop being terrified before that pregnancy was over, but that short time was long enough to begin a change in both of us.

After the miscarriage, neither of us was in a hurry to get pregnant again.  After the advised amount of time we didn't do anything to prevent getting pregnant but didn't really try hard again either.  Just then, we weren't ready to chance another miscarriage, but God was preparing us.  After a year and a half we were both much less panicked when that Clear Blue Easy stick told me "pregnant."  In February of last year, my instincts from ten years previously were confirmed, and I saw with my eyes what a great dad Bart could be is.

It's different for most dads.  They may see ultrasounds, watch our bodies change, and even feel kicks (or like Bart, poke the baby to make her kick).  However, it's often not really real to them until they see their child and hold her.  Beyond the blessing of my child being born, I had the pleasure of watching true love at first sight when Bart met Ladybug.  I saw his eyes well up (even though he claims they didn't).  A different Bart walked out of the OR that Monday morning that the one who entered it, and I found myself falling even more in love with the new Bart.

I have had sixteen months to watch this new Bart interact with his Ladybug.  I have watched him comfort her when she was upset.  I've watched them call the Hogs together, play guitar together, cuddle together, and just goof off together. I 've watched Bart fly kites for Ladybug, carry her across the Royal Gorge Bridge, pull her all over kingdom come in her wagon, hold her while she screamed with joy at seeing turtles, and kiss her boo boo's.  I've witnessed the sweetest, most tender of moments between the two of them.  I have watched this other girl enter his heart and couldn't be happier.

Ladybug, Lucy, Dory, and I are blessed to have Bart as our Daddy and husband.  God knew what he was doing when he threw us together at a summer job eleven years ago.  Ladybug has a wonderful daddy, and it's very fitting that one of her first words was "Dada."  She adores him, and so do I.
A good daddy won't want to put you down once you're born.
A good daddy is a great place to nap.
A good daddy will hold you your first time in church.
A good daddy will let you chew on his head.
A good daddy comforts you when you're upset.
A good daddy is a girl's first love.
A good daddy plays in the snow with you.
A good daddy pulls you and your cousin all over creation.
A good daddy holds your hand and never lets you go.

No, Not FML

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Yesterday I was tempted to post on Twitter something with the hashtag, #FML, but I didn't.  We all know what it means.  If you don't, then Google it.  I'm not running a hashtag dictionary.  I don't use the f-word in real life - ever, so why would I abbreviate it and think that's acceptable?  In the end, people would read it and not think to themselves "F-M-L," they would think what it stands for.  So in essence, to them I would have been using the f-word.

Not only that, but I realized that to make a statement like that would be in a sense saying that my entire life just sucks.  That's not true.  Yesterday sucked.  Yesterday was just a rough, difficult day all around. To say that the events of yesterday overshadowed all of the good in my life would be not only a falsehood, but also probably the most ungrateful thing I would have ever stated in my life.

Yesterday was just bad.  Bart had worked until midnight the night before.  I waited up for him, because we usually don't go to sleep until around that time at night anyway.  Then Ladybug woke up at 1:30.  This seemed like just the usual, "I lost my covers, I lost my paci, I've hit my head on the top of my crib" cry, and after taking care of her, I went back to bed.  Then she woke up again at three.

This time she wasn't so easily consoled.  I had to rock her a bit and sing to her.  Then I put her back down, and just as I was going back to sleep, she cried again.  This time I changed her diaper in case she was uncomfortable and gave her some ibuprofen in case those teeth she has been trying to cut for three months were giving her problems.  I put her back down, and she screamed.  So I ran the hair dryer to calm her, and made it back downstairs when she started again.  I brought her downstairs and tried to get her to sleep with us.  That didn't work.  I took her into the living room, gave her a small bottle, and rocked her.  That seemed to work, so I put her down again.  Once again, just as I was getting to sleep, the cries started.  I thought she was probably hot in her fleece jammies, so I changed her into a cooler, cotton pair.  Then I grabbed a pillow and a blanket, brought her downstairs, and I just rocked her for the next hour in the recliner, because that seemed to be the only thing she wanted.  Finally, after six, she was sound enough asleep for me to put her in her crib, and she slept the next two hours.

Of course by then Bart was up and getting ready to go into the office, and Lucy and Dory (who had been up and down with us for at least the last hour) were needing to be fed and pottied.  I took care of that, Bart went to work, and I curled up in bed with the dogs for a little bit.  However, I knew that I had to get up and shower before Ladybug was up for the day, so I dragged myself upstairs to take care of that.

When I was through, Ladybug was sort of awake, lounging in her crib in a more dazed mood than usual.  I pulled her out and realized that at some point between six and eight she had pooped - that never happens.  I think a number of factors made her uncomfortable:  teething, being hot in her jammies, and also having a belly ache.  The poor kid didn't stand a chance.

I tried to keep our normal schedule all day, even though we were both struggling, because if I didn't then our entire routine would probably be messed up for days.  I even took her to the library for story time, because two of my friends were reading to the kids as special guests.  That was where Ladybug spit up on me for the first time in months.  Thankfully she didn't spit up on my friend Liz while she was holding her.  So we went home and managed to stay awake until nap time.

Ladybug didn't argue with being put down for her nap, and I quickly came downstairs and curled up on the couch with a pillow, a blanket, and a Dory.  I only woke up with Lucy nudged my nose and had me somehow make room for her on the couch as well.  We all slept soundly for around an hour.  Then I started to try to wake up, and I heard Ladybug stirring on the baby monitor.  The rest of the afternoon / evening was not great.

I wanted to clean our bathroom and do some other things while she played.  She just wanted to be held, but she didn't want to be held, but she did.  This grouchiness went off and on for hours.   She was exhausted from not getting enough sleep the previous night and didn't know how to handle it.  Around six, I just curled up with her in the recliner and rocked her until Bart got home after seven.  I handed her to him to start dinner, and she was not happy about not being with me.  Bart held her in the kitchen so she could watch me.  When she finally seemed to warm up to him, they went to our bedroom so he could change.  They played ball (with the dogs locked outside the bedroom so they couldn't steal the balls) until dinner was ready.  She seemed to be in a better mood.  We ate, Bart gave her a bath while I did dishes, and it was bedtime.  After reading Goodnight Moon and part of Luke 2, she went to bed without a peep and slept through the night.  Bart, the girls, and I soon followed suit.

It's seven-thirty Thursday morning, and Ladybug is still asleep.  After feeding the dogs, I went upstairs to check on her, turned her right side up, and covered her, and she never made more than a little peep.  I'm thinking today should be a much better day, because she has had a restful night, as have I.  We made it through a very rough day, but we made it.

I can't with good conscience ever say "FML" in any form and mean it.  I had a tired, grouchy baby yesterday.  I have a baby.   Even the bad days are blessings.  I must remember 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 and "...give thanks in all circumstances..."  I don't have to be thankful my baby was a crank, but I must still remember to be thankful and not ungracious.  I'm also trying harder to remember Ephesians 5:4 now, because I have a pair of blue eyes that watch and a pair of little ears that hear everything I say and do now.
Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving.

So no, I'm not hash tagging anything with #FML.  If I have in the past, I shouldn't have.  My life is good and blessed beyond measure.  I don't want in anyway to be connected with thinking it isn't.  I would rather start a #MLIB (My Life Is Blessed) hash tag.

The One With B's Inappropriate Song

Saturday, February 25, 2012


You know that episode of Friends where Ross gets Emma to laugh by singing "Baby Got Back" to her, and they talked about how that's not really a song that's appropriate to sing to a little girl?   Well Houston, we have that beat.

Last night while I was at Walmart buying groceries and honestly having a moment to myself, B was home with a very unhappy baby.  He had swaddled her and and held her close, he bounced her, he tried everything.  Finally he just started watching music videos with her On Demand and of all things, she got quiet when he started watching Cee Lo's "F You" video.  Tell me that's not inappropriate.  At least it was the cleaner version where he said, "F You," rather than the full monty.

When I got home he told me about it, and I had to think a moment and remembered that while I was pregnant, Firecracker and I rocked out to the Gwenyth Paltrow Glee version in the car all the time.  I guess that's why she enjoyed listening to "Sweet Child O' Mine" the other day.

What I've Learned In One Week: Presenting The Firecracker

Sunday, February 12, 2012

What I've Learned In One Week:  Presenting The Firecracker

A week ago, I was spending Super Bowl Sunday packing bags, finishing last minute laundry, and attempting to relax before the scheduled big event on Monday morning.  I think I did a fairly decent job of relaxing too, considering the cornucopia of emotions coursing through my veins.  We glanced at the Super Bowl some that night, but didn't pay too much attention to it or the commercials.  I've had to be reminded that the Giants won several times, though I did enjoy listening to Madonna perform the halftime show.

B let me watch Downton Abbey after the Super Bowl for a change.  Usually he asks that I wait to watch when he's not around.  I vaguely remember watching it as well.  Then we went to bed and tried to get some sleep.  We knew it would be difficult to do, but we didn't know exactly how difficult that task would be.

Around two am (three and a half hours before we had to be at the hospital), I got up to go to the bathroom.  It happened so gradually that I didn't know what it was, but I spent the next hour going back and forth to the bathroom because even though we had already scheduled a cesarean, my water was breaking!!!

Lucy sensed something was wrong, woke up B, and had to go outside for a little diarrhea.  Then she laid down on me in bed, trying to take care of me.  By three, I was still in denial about being in labor, because the contractions were so light and sporadic, but got up to shower.  I then proceeded to shave my legs (as best I could), put on makeup, and straighten my hair for the day.  Yeah, I did that while in labor.  Lucy stuck to me like glue during this time.

We decided to leave early for the hospital, which is thankfully just a stone's throw from our house.  We went to the room where they were to prep me and they hooked me up to all the necessary monitors.  Yep, I was in labor, and my engineer husband thought it was "so cool" to be able to watch my contractions and how heavy they were.  I wasn't so impressed.

It seemed like forever (but wasn't really) before the anesthesiologist came in to talk to us, then Dr. Hinton came in to see us.  After that, it went pretty quickly.  The crew at Willow Creek is just awesome and I couldn't have been in better hands.  My spinal was done fairly painlessly, then Dr. H came in, they brought in B, and after a few minutes, they held this wide-eyed screaming, beautiful thing up for me to see.

B went over and cut her cord, then brought her for me to see all cleaned.  She was beautiful, and I had the privilege of watching Daddy fall in love at first sight.  Her screams were even beautiful, though they didn't last long.  Once she was swaddled up and in Daddy's arms, she was good.

The rest of the day is very much a blur.  Actually the next few days have been a blur of sorts.  Firecracker is a very good girl and mostly just cries when she has a reason.  While at the hospital, she would only cry when she was hungry, dirty, wet, or naked.  She has since kept me up all night one night, but we realized that was because she was cold.

Right now, I'm still so enamored with her and grateful for her health that I love hearing her banshee screams.  They're truly a blessing.  Everything about her is.  Monday afternoon or evening, I posted this on Facebook:  "Everyone, thank you for the prayers. Each one was felt and much appreciated. We're so thankful to God for this incredible blessing of a baby girl He has given us."  At the time, I didn't realize just how true this was.

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