Dooooooo? Doooooo?

Do y'all remember that scene in Coal Miner's Daughter where Loretta is on stage and has a little breakdown, crying out "Doo? Doo?" and then she collapses?

I'm having a Doo kind of week.
I'm sure you've all been there.

Therefore I am taking a bloggy break to try and get my act together (not my act literally, because I really can't sing as well as Loretta or even Sissy, although Patsy is my karaoke of choice - but I meant my act figuratively. As in laundry. And sleep. Ohhhh....sleeeeeeep....) and should return next week.

Until then, here are some of my favorite posts, if you still want something to read:

Efan the Wizard

Waves of Grace

Eighty Quid

Jesus is bigger than the monsters


See ya next week!

Love, Mis

To add to the letters to mommas we did a couple weeks ago - go read Lysa's post here. And get welly again.

All you need is agape

I told y'all that as part of The Year Of Our Marriage (TYOOM) I am doing Kay Arthur's Marriage Without Regrets bible study. I am four weeks into it and have this to say about it:

Run. Run now. Figuratively speaking, I mean. Run really fast to Amazon and buy the book. Or run to Paperback Swap and order the book - they had plenty. And run to the phone and call your women's ministries woman and suggest she consider offering the bible study. If you are that woman, consider offering the bible study! To married classes and singles classes!

I have read lots of books on marriage, and Kay is knocking my socks off. Not literally. Literally, it is about 80 degrees here. Kay is knocking my flipflops off.

This week was on the man's role in the marriage, so the video (the videos are my favorite part) was taught by Wayne Barber, who does the men's DVDs. Since I am not a man, there was not much applicable there for me, so I thought.

The topic of submission is discussed in depth in the study. I have certainly been taught on submission, but not for weeks at a time. And being that it is such a complicated topic, it deserves weeks. Which we don't have so I am not going to touch submission with a thirty foot pole (read the book) except to repeat something that Wayne said today, which was essentially this:

• The love that Paul talks about in Ephesians 5 in "love your wives" is agape, which is the unconditional love that always seeks the best interests of the other person above one's own. Agape is not a feeling, it is a commitment.
  
• We are incapable of perfect agape love out of our natural sinful hearts. The only way that we can provide this love is via the power of the Holy Spirit, by letting Christ love others through us
• If the love of a man for his wife is from Christ, it is unconditional and pure, and when witnessed by those around him, they cannot help but respect him.

He emphasizes that men are never to demand that women submit to them. Submission is something that we women do out of love of God and obedience to God. But if the man is loving his wife the way Christ loved the church, nourishing her, cherishing her, and presenting her holy and blameless by the washing of the Word (which is a TALL ORDER that I am glad I am not called to do), it is much easier and even desirable for his wife to submit to him.

Ok. I said I was not going to touch this - I am just repeating what the man said. Don't try and argue with me about submission. Read the book. Argue with Kay.

So why am I bringing this up?

Because as I was listening to this, the thought that kept running through my mind (besides a hundred thoughts of how blessed I am to be married to Walker) was I bet this would apply beautifully to children.

Especially strong willed children.

Like Princess Broccoli below.

Along the lines of something like this:

Eva Rose. I cannot force you to obey. I am asking you to obey because I love you, and because you love me. And the way that children show their parents that you love them is by obeying. This honors me. Now if you do not obey, you will receive a sad consequence, just like Jonah did when he did not obey God. But I am hoping that you will honor me now by obeying, because you love me. I know it's hard to obey. Should we pray right now for the Holy Spirit to help you?

This ties in perfectly with the heart-based discipline I love.

Y'all, I am so excited to try this, I almost can't wait for her to disobey tomorrow!

I also want to tell you now that for some time I have intended to write a series on what I have learned in the trenches as a parent of a strong willed child, and I am working on it. I will be publishing it next week.

Have a great weekend!

PS - So many of you have mentioned Love & Respect in the comments - we are actually going to a L&R conference tonight and all day tomorrow!

Mermaids and cheese

I'm working on some other posts so I will just leave you with this: an interview with a rising star.

And for the record, she is totally lying about that candy thing. She would sell either of her siblings for some good sugary Starburst.

PINCH ME

The other day, we put in a crazy low bid on some tickets on ebay.

Just got an email, and we won! YIPPEE!

So guess how I will be spending my 39th (OH MY SKULL I just realized I was turning 39) (Holy crap. That is one year away from 40. I know crap is not a princess word, but. FORTY!!) (AHHHH!)

Focus - Guess where I will be spending my 39th Birthday Eve?

Watching these guys!! Whoopee!!



It's business time!!

Can you hear the angels singing from there?

I do not have time to post because I am headed to Beth Moore and you know, Walker Texas Nazi won't let me get on the computer when I get home.

So I must briefly post this very important announcement.

For the first time since September 5, 2004, which would make it 52 months and 12 days but who's counting -

I HAVE ONLY ONE CHILD IN DIAPERS.

Thank you.

THANK YOU.

Hallelujah, praise the Lord and pass the excess cash.

The Stupid Chronicles, Part Deaux

Yesterday we went to a birthday party. It was perfect and simple. My kids were in heaven, because couple a swings and some cupcakes is their idea of the perfect soiree:


I do have a fourth son, his name is Shep, but he did not sit still long enough to be recorded for perpetuity before my camera battery died.

The registration on my car expired recently and for some reason they did not mail me the form, so I had to go down to the courthouse and stand in line for 45 minutes to get the sticker. And then when I peeled off the expired one, it left a remnant, so I decided I would get some alcohol and clean it up nice before I stuck the new sticker on there. Because I can get OCD like that.

Unfortunately my inner OCD headbutted my inner Procrastinator and when that happens, Inner Procrastinator always wins. Hence the paper, with the sticker sticker attached, stayed in my car for several days.

Sunday when we drove to the clubhouse where the party was being held, I noticed that the sheet of paper was in the car - but the blue registration sticker was not attached to it!

I flipped out a little.
Cause flipping out a little is another one of my spiritual gifts.

It went a little something like this: "Where's the sticker? Where's the sticker! It was just here! I saw it yesterday! Kids? Did one of you peel off this sticker? Maggie? Well what happened to it? Someone must have STOLEN it! Ahhh! Did you lock the car at church this morning Walker? Are you sure? You're positive. I bet you didn't. You always forget to lock it. Now someone came in here while were at church and stole this sticker. Because it's $75, that's why! Oh, that makes me SO mad! Now I have to go stand in line at the dumb courthouse again, and shell out another $75...oh, that makes me SO mad! Are you sure you locked the car? I don't think you locked the car. Kids, did you peel off this sticker? Did you? AHHH! I can't believe someone STOLE it!!"

And on. And on. My tirade timed perfectly with the drive to the clubhouse, which fortunately for Walker was only about ten minutes.

When we arrived, I got out of the car, and as I did, something felt odd on the back of my jeans. It felt stiff...


and stuck.

I told y'all, I'm bringin' stupid BACK, baby.

(Only for you, invisibles, would I post a photo of my bottom for all the Internet to see.)

Well, I guess since I decided to bring stupid back, God decided to give me some chances to use the word. On my own self. (Segue - the other day Eva Rose said, "I just can't get these pants on my own self" and I melted with love for her.)

I am a smell girl (not a smell-y girl, a smell girl. Just felt the need to clarify.) I was blind as a bat for years and Walker has bionic hearing but my nose? The nose knows y'all.

I relate so many life experiences to smells. Ivory soap and Final Net is my sweet missed grandma; crayons and Barbie plastic is childhood; Polo cologne is middle school. I would bet money I could rightly identify each of my children's diapers blindfolded. Yes indeed, I would take the blue ribbon in The Pampers Challenge.

What can I say, it's a gift.

I also do much of my consumer shopping based on smell, most notably in the toiletries department. You'll see me popping caps, gently squeezing, and inhaling on aisle 7. If the smell causes me to close my eyes and smile, the bottle makes it into the grocery cart.

I suppose some people have been arrested for less.

Lately here the humidity has dipped below it's normal 99% and my Houston skin has reacted by screaming and flaking and drying. It needed love of the moisturizing kind so last week at Kroger I spied some on sale, inhaled and....oh glory. Patchouli filled my nostrils. But the smell was so light and feminine, evoking memories of very expensive little gift shops - as opposed to college boys' dorm rooms. Because College Boy Dorm Room is a smell I do not care to slather and inhale.

That night I lubed up, inhaled luxoriously, and went to bed. As I lie there, I got a case of The Itchies. This happens to me from time to time: I lie in bed and my arms itch then my legs then my tummy and it is miserable until I either take a Benadryl or just finally fall asleep. I have always blamed it on hormones just cause, you know, I blame everything on hormones.

The next night I took out my same jammies that now had the sweet lingering smell of patchouli, inhaled, and put them on, lubed up with my favorite new lotion, then went to watch Big Love with Walker. And the itching began. Legs. Arms. Tummy. Ugh! Scratch scratch. Ugh! Scratch scratch. Ugh!

Soon I noticed the insides of my arms were especially red, and little red bumps, began to raise up! It hurt! I felt like I was burning! Oh no! It must be the lotion, the new patchouli-like-an-expensive-gift-shop-not-like-a-college-boy's-dorm-room lotion that has made my life complete!

Devastation! I moaned to Walker, who did not empathize one bit, for the record. And claimed he could not see the BLISTERS that were APPEARING all OVER my ARMS.

That night every time I rolled over, I would wake up, because it burned so bad.

I find the lotion of my sensory dreams, on sale, and I am allergic to it! Sob.

Friday I told my mom the whole sad story. She was much more intrigued and supportive than my husband, for the record. And she saw the blisters plain. as. day. I said, "Well, you can have it I guess, since I'm allergic to it" and sighed as I retrieved it for her.

Before handing it over, I took one last look at the container of my joy.

A close, lingering, literate look.

Notice anything?
Click on it if you need to.


Uh huh.

So in case you have ever wondered, Hm, if I were to coat myself head to toe in soap, and then go straight to bed, would there be any detrimental side effects? I am here to tell you what's in store. THE ITCHIES. BURNING. BLISTERS. UNSYMPATHETIC AND ULTIMATELY MOCKING HUSBANDS.

I'm off to take a shower now. A sweet, sweet smelling shower.

But never fear, tomorrow I shall further humiliate myself with part 2 of The Stupid Chronicles.

Note to self:

Dear Self:

Next time you are cleaning playdoh off the floor, you may become distracted by the grumpiness factor as your cleaning lady has only been gone for a couple of hours and yet your floor is already trashed. Don't let the distraction get to you. Because if you do, you might not examine the colors of the playdough as you roll it into little tacky balls: the yellow, and green, and florescent pink, and purple.

Pay attention as you scrape it off the Pergo with your fingernails.

This is important, so remember it:
playdoh doesn't come in brown.

Preach on, little sister

Thank you for all your sweet comments. Really.

And now because I am very tired, still a little maudlin, AND I have to clean my house before the housekeeper comes - which is as pathetic a phrase as ever was uttered - I shall leave you with a youtube.

I might have mentioned once or twenty that I have a strong willed daughter. Some wise mothers who have been-there-done-that have encouraged me by saying it is GOOD for a child to be strong willed, especially in this day in age. We as mothers just have to learn to direct that will.

Walker sent this to me yesterday, and when I saw it, I thought two point five things. Number one, how amazing is this little woman. Number two, I see a little Eva Rose in there. Number two point five, I bet you anything this chica gave her mom a run for her money when she was in preschool!!

Enjoy!

Issues

I'm sad today.

One of my children has been kicked out of preschool. Without going into too much detail, she has a medical problem, and the school simply doesn't want to deal with it any longer. So she has been "suspended" for a month.

We won't be going back.

I've had a team of friends and family praying about this issue, and so I will believe that this is the way God chose to answer it. Even still, I'm angry, I'm frustrated, I'm despondent, and I'm feeling very defeated.

And today I've learned a little something about motherhood.

Now one of the suitcases in the baggage of my own life has a big R for Rejection stenciled across it in very large letters. This suitcase is way too large to stow in the the overhead compartment so I carry it everywhere with me. While it's much lighter than it once was, the fat-kid-who-got-picked-last-for-kickball feeling is one that I confront on a regular basis.

And when it happens, it makes me sad.

Today I learned, however, that such personal sadness is a puddle compared the the ocean of despair that results as I witness the rejection of my beloved child.

As my babies are growing older, as they are interacting with the world more, as they are becoming more verbal, it's happening more and more. They are comparing themselves to their peers and feeling inadequate for the first time ever. They are discovering they have weaknesses. They are being hurt, and judged, and teased.

And there is not very much I can do about it, because it's just a big bad world. I watch sorrowfully as the four of them voyage farther and farther into that world that longs to chew them up and spit them back out. As it has done to me, has done to their father, has done to all of us.

Their swaddling blankets woven with yarns of innocence and mother's protection are unraveling. Today is a glimpse of the future. There's so much pain ahead of them. So much more rejection to follow.

To which their father replies, "Yes, the world will reject them over and over and over again. But their parents never, ever, ever will."

Never, Sheppy, Sissy, Magsy, Ikey. Never my loves. Never.

I'm sad.
But I comfort myself with the belief that such truth has got to make a difference.

On cursing. Or not.

I used to teach pre-kindergarten. Back when I had no kids myself, so was a little out of the mommy loop.

One day early in my pre-k teacher career I sat on my "tuffet" - a very big pillow, Pier One circa 1988, formerly living in Kinsolving Dorm and now living in my children's playroom covered in gingham - and from said tuffet I pronounced something, whoknowswhat, to be stupid.

Have you ever heard the sound of twelve little children gasping in unison? I hadn't either. It's rather deafening. From their colorful carpet they inhaled a good bit of the atmosphere and stared at me, Beloved Teacher, with very wide eyes of horror. As though I had just pronounced Elmo a Communist. Well he is red, ya know.

I looked to my assistant, very confused. What'd I do?? She said, "Well. They think stupid is a bad word."

Oh. Really? She nodded. Slightly disapprovingly, she nodded. Evidently she thought so too.

Later I asked my friend Shelly, who was a mommy. Oh yes, she said. Stupid is now a cuss word.

"Well," I replied. "That's just stupid."

But thenceforth I refrained from such foul language in the classroom.

Several years later, I had some babies. And those babies began to talk. And they went to school and learned some new words.

And I got it.

Stupid is a word that sounds so ugly hurled from the mouth of a cherubic five year old at an equally cherubic three year old. Especially in a context say, such as this:

AHHHHHH! YOU BROKE MY MONSTER TRUCK! YOU'RE NOT MY FRIEND ANYMORE! YOU'RE! SO! STUPID!!

Then the word Stupid causes my eyeballs to bulge and my heart to speed up and I gasp as loudly as twelve four year olds.

But Stupid is also a beautiful word. Other words just don't suffice for how I feel when I am talking on my cell phone and take the wrong freeway. Stupid. Or the Flight of the Conchords songs that make me laugh the most. So Stupid. Or the antics of Michael Scott. So, so Stupid!

Really, there is just no other synonym that works as well in these and other situations. Believe me I've looked for one.

There is power in Stupid. It even feels good to say. Stupid. "It's just so stupid." A sweet and simple catharsis contained within six letters.

Stupid is also a word used very frequently on the radio, from NPR to Focus on the Family. And on TV. And in Disney movies. And in a lot of books. And by grandparents and other admired, kidless adults. And this other book called the Holy Bible.

So, I have been very torn. On the one hand, I have drunk the Mommy KoolAid that deigned Stupid to the butt, crap and hell category. (Butt is another one that is becoming so accepted, Shep learned it from a teacher - but I just cringe when I hear little ones use that word.)

On the other hand, I think the censorship of Stupid is stupid. I've grown weary of excusing news commentators to my children. I have wondered if my drawing attention to it is only inclining them to use it more.

And I miss Stupid. I've been at an utter loss to describe some things, like, the Ft. Knox packaging of new toys, or our cordless phone that only holds a charge for an hour.

Today I read this post by Scribbit, which greatly helped me to clarify:

It is not okay to call someone stupid.

In the same way that it is not okay to call any names. That's it. That's the rule in this house. No. Name calling. No hateful words. Words are for healing, not hurting. Our home should be the one place in the world where we feel loved; name calling absolutely will not be tolerated. You will not call my child an ugly name. Come here. Stick out your tongue, it obviously needs a bath. Well, I hope you remember that next time. I love you, I forgive you. Now go apologize to and say three nice things about your sister.

However, as far as objects and situations and SNL skits go, stupid is as innocuous an adjective as any other.

So there you have it. Stupid is back.
With boundaries.

And oh, I've missed it so much, it's just stupid.

Oh, the wisdom! The wisdom! My head might explode!

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the posts! I loved reading them.

Lady Hormone read them over my shoulder and she and I just welled and welled and welled.

Get your Kleenex and go here to read them all.

Here are some of the things I want most to remember. A Cliff's notes version of "Older" Mom Wisdom. But you really should go read the full posts, because Cliff's Notes will really only earn you a C on the test.

• I would have greeted my husband when he came home with funny kiddo stories rather than gripe.
• You'll miss being Mommy Everything to them, before they have friends they enjoy better, spouses they love more and pudgy little children of their own.
• It has taken me years to learn that putting my husband before my children's needs is actually allowing my children's needs to take top priority.
• If any of the other people in this house are awake, it is their time, not mine.
• Your kids won't remember most of the things you agonize over, and in a few years neither will you!
• Stop wishing even these tough days away. When they are teenagers it will be hard to even remember the days of tousled hair & snuggles after naps or tears & tantrums (yours and theirs!). You'll have plenty of time to yourself later.
• At 46, you will still say, "pee-pee" without even thinking about it.
• One last thing about marriage: you should take that date night thing seriously.
• Being a SAHM is something you will never regret. Never. Not one time.
• You do need the friendships of other women...Your husband cannot meet every emotional need and will not understand the things that thrill you and your friends, like a great find at Ikea or trouser jeans. And that is OK.
• Keep the topic (of sex) on the front burner so that you can pick up the conversation at any time without it being a weird moment.
• Treasure this time. Absorb as much into your memory as you can, because these days will end. Believe it or not, you're going to miss the chaos. You're going to miss the noise. You're going to miss the fingerprints on the windows. You're going to miss the look on their face when they go all day without going potty in their pants and they declare themselves a big boy/girl. You're going to miss reading "I think I can and I Love You Forever" 25 times a day, and you're going to miss the silliness that goes along with sweet, simple childhood .
• Make your home a place where there are clear and consistent rules for them and their friends but that is open and welcoming so they want to be there.
• Encourage them to have their own opinions even if they aren’t the same as yours.
• Put God alone at the center of your heart, at the center of every decision and every heartbreak and every mistake, and He will bless you and keep you and allow you to forgive yourself for the big mistakes and the little ones.
• You will be heart-sore from joys and trials from here on out. But sleep, and kids having the ability to buckle themselves, wipe themselves and pour their own milk will make the toll on your body and mind a little less costly.
• Don’t feel guilty about not being led to homeschool.
• Don’t blink. This is over before you realize it. Your breath will be taken away. Every single age that your children are will be your favorite age yet….
• Go ahead and buy those matching dresses from Old Navy. Turns out in a few years they won't think it is so fun to be matchy-matchy.
• Leave Bibles out all over the house where you can read a verse or two in stolen moments. There will be seasons where you can do in-depth Bible studies and Greek translations and word studies, but this is not it, and that is ok.
• On the days you don't think you can survive until naptime, remind yourself there will come a day when YOU get to take a nap while the kids unload the dishwasher, vacuum the living room, and gather all the trash.
• Write down their first words and funny phrases. Even the last child. Because it is going to stink when you have to make it up.
• You are doing such a good job. I know it feels like you are failing in a hundred ways, but you aren't. You are loving them, showing them God, and teaching them about His world. They are going to turn into amazing kids.
• A moment of raising your voice too loud or giving a look that is harsh will not send your child to a future therapist. Laughing a lot now will save your munchkins a truckload of money in their adulthood!
• A messy kitchen or bathroom is a lived in & welcoming place.
• Read, read, read.
• Give them time to spend alone in their own space. Whether it is a naptime (required around here until they were 6), or just quiet time with a book or favorite toy. This is good for them to develop thinking skills and for you to get a break. Give them time to dream.
• Also chores are not just boy and girl chores. Boys will have clothes and dishes to wash, girls will have cars to drive and homes to fix.

This quote seems to sum up everything that everyone said:

Enjoy every moment. There will finally be one last diaper, one last orthodontist visit, one last sporting event, and one last time they sit on your lap. Savor every moment, and when you think you have savored the moment, stop and savor it all over again.

Spectacular Sins Book Club - Chapter 3

I'm over here today at The Preacher's Wife!
Come join us!

And now, a word from our sisters

Love wisdom like a sister; make insight a beloved member of your family.
Proverbs 7:4 (NLT)

My husband gave me a 30 minute extension tonight because we had to run an errand after work. I have like six more minutes until Walker Texas Nazi comes in here and kicks me off.

So this will be brief:

I sat in the shower after I wrote that letter to my 20 year old self and thought, hmmm. I wonder what I would say to me now, in 20 years? The more I thought, the more I got very welly. As in, my eyes were welling with tears.

Because I think my letter would probably go something like this:

Dear Missy,

Turn off the stupid computer and play with your kids. They are going to be grown so quick, you won't even believe. I know it is exhausting now being their everything, but believe me, one day you will miss it. The clock is ticking.

Love, Missy

And so that is what I am trying to do more of.

And that is when I did a cry out to you "older" moms. And I am so excited that so many of you agreed to participate!!

There are a whole lot of mommies out here who are desperate to hear what you have to tell us and so blessed that you are willing to do so.

I myself am a little giddy with anticipation.

So get on with your Titus 2 selves!!

1. Penny (Shep, Eva Rose, Maggie & Ike's Mimi) 2. lisasmith 3. Mocha with Linda 4. 2nd Cup Linda

5. Dena 6. Debbie@Like a Rose 7. Julie 8. Lindsey @ A New Life

9. Pam 10. Cindy-Still His Girl 11. Brenda Susan 12. Nancy

Powered by... Mister Linky's Magical Widgets.

A little note about Fit Friday.

Sarah at All Pain, No Gain is taking over Fit Friday.

For a variety of reasons.

Mainly having to do with me shirking responsibility.

The pressure, y'all - it's too much! It's too much!
Seriously, I have just been having a whole lot of Calgon days lately and that was just one more thing for me to feel guilty about not doing.

But enough about me.

Please pop over to Sarah's. She will fill you in on all the details, including the winner of the $25 Tar-get Boutique gift card!!

Whine connoisseurs

It’s 6:24am and I have just given my infant son his bottle. I gaze into his little round face, get in one last snuggle and sniff before I lay him back down, when a thought passes through my drowsy brain: He never ever said thank you?

Not once!

No “thanks Mommy for getting up with me every hour on the hour to pop my pacifier back in my mouth since 3:30 this morning.” No “thanks for interrupting your dreams at 6 to make my favorite breakfast.” Occasionally I might get a smile or a coo, but this morning, not even that. In fact, he is fussing at me right now.






Please click over to the Internet Cafe to read the rest of this devotional. Also - I originally wrote this a year ago, when Ike was new. He's the four month old. I'm not hiding a kid from you. :)

My people will be so proud

We try and eat healthy around here. I mean, I don't go overboard. Today I bought Shepherd some Scooby Doo Yoplait even though the second ingredient was sugar and the third was high fructose corn syrup, which in case you did not know, is mined and refined in a factory smack dab in the middle of hell. So they say. But those was a special treat.

Usually I stick to as much organic as possible, only brown rice and whole grains blah blah blah.

Occasionally, some things override health. I make exceptions for things that will encourage my children to experience culture.

Like escargot. (That was a joke. Hahaha.)

I mean, our own culture, which would be Deepest Eastest Texas. And by my people's food I mean chicken fried steak. Fried okra. Grits with a pound of butter. Black eyed peas with saltback to season the pot liquor. Cornbread made with real bacon grease that your momma keeps on the cabinet shelf. Blue Bell ice cream and sticky pecan pie (and that's pronounced paCON, btw).

My children eat all that glory on a regular basis - except for grits. I am ashamed to say, I missed the age threshold for grits somehow. When I finally made them, Maggie and Ike gobbled away, but Shep and Eva Rose turned their noses up. Whereupon I collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor, crying, "My children! My children! I've ruined them!!"

I swore right then that, with God as my witness, I will never have a grits experience again.

There was one more extreme delicacy that is so very important to my people, but I had not given to them yet. (Mainly because they have been on very few roadtrips.)

I walked in the valley of the shadow of grits rejection. I knew the clock was ticking.

This morning I saw the bag at the grocery store - on sale - and thought, hmmmm. Could today be The Day?

Indeed...indeed. Today was The Day.

I gathered my precious offspring around, and introduced them to what I know will become a dear friend:


This friend actually will be consumed on only special occasions, I explained. Usually a tank of gas, some beef jerkey, and a moon pie will share the bill. But she will wait patiently in the Quick Food Mart until you beckon her. She remains faithful.

The children tasted, and declared that it was good. All four of them crunched and crunched and asked for more.

And I breathed a sigh of cultural relief.

Bring on da wisdom

I want to post a wee little post because I want to get some of y'all prepared.

Y'all consisting of mommas with older kids - like Linda, and Linda, and Lelia, and Kelley, and Sarah, and Sallye, and anyone else who qualifies. Including the mothers of any of you bloggers, including my own mom-in-law. (You could post your mom's letter on your own blog, if you can get her to write it.)

When I wrote my letter to my 20 year old self, it got me to brooding, as Walker accuses me of doing almost nightly. What I was wondering about was, what would I say in the future, if I wrote a letter to me NOW?

It was a little, well, a lot, convicting.

So I am asking y'all with older kids to do this for us, because if there is anything I can not get enough of, it is wisdom from older moms (older referring to the ages of your children only!!)

What would you say to yourself, when you had pre-schoolers? What do you wish you knew then, that you know now?

I would like to be able to post this by Friday, with a Mr. Linky. Please, please share with us!

Love, Mis

The Year of our Marriage

I mentioned in my New Year's resolution post that this was to become the Year of our Marriage.

We were married a full three weeks before we became pregnant. Another eight days before I knew we were pregnant. Y'all know that the minute you find out a baby is coming, that becomes The Focus. All conversations, all thoughts, every breath you inhale and exhale centers around that baby. Every minute. Of every day.

If you are married for only one month to the woman that this happens to, this means one thing: you get screwed.

I have had several older women say things to me along these lines: "You cannot neglect your marriage during these child rearing years. You cannot put your husband on the back burner. You must keep him first. You must keep your marriage first. Otherwise, 18 years from now, your kids leave, and very soon afterwards, so does yout husband. If not physically, then emotionally and mentally, he is already long gone."

And I must say that this has been one of the hardest parts of being married.

Having four small children so close is the most exhausting undertaking. I am overwhelmed. I am understaffed. I feel like a failure at the end of almost every day. Even on the days that some of them are in preschool, the stretch from 2:30-6pm is so emotionally, physically, and mentally draining that all I really want to do is escape to my cave, which happens to be this computer.

And I can do this, because if I ignore Walker, unlike the other four people in this house, he still gets fed and he still gets bathed. His nose still gets wiped, not to mention his bottom. He functions very well without me.

Unfortunately, our marriage does not.

Now that Ike is out of his babyhood stage and my head has been starting to clear a bit, I have begun to realize that I needed to put down one of the 17 parenting books forever next to my bed and blow the dust off one of those books on marriage. And then this weekend, we have had a series of talks - you know those talks - that have confirmed this for me 1000%.

Because my husband is not functioning very well without me. And I need quite desperately for that to be The Focus. For The Focus to be him.

So that's the plan, Stan.

There are a few intentional things that I want to do to achieve this.

1. Read the book A Marriage Without Regrets by Kay Arthur (see my Amazon store up above). This book has an interesting story to it. I was recently at the Big Ole Baptist Church library with the kids. When I walked in, Maggie picked up a book and said, "Here Mommy, for you." I said thank you, glanced at it, and set it down. Later when we were checking out, I noticed it was in the stack of books already checked out. I started to put it back but thought, oh well, this is the second time it has been given to me, maybe I am supposed to read it.

A week later I was at my Moms & Mentors meeting and the women's ministry leader announced the bible studies they were doing for the fall. One of them was Kay Arthur's Marriage Without Regrets. Okay God, I get it! I started reading the book and it is phenominal. Just started the bible study - and I am doing the In and Out version, ie, the Weenie Precepts that I did not know existed - and it is fantastic too.

Walker also promised he would read it. (Why don't men want to read these books? You'd think I was asking him to Epilady his chest hair.)

2. Read Love & Respect by Emerson Eggerichs. Also in the Amazon store. My counselor told me that this was the best book on marriage she had ever read. I am coming to understand that when it comes to respect, a man's definition of this is nothing like ours. I need someone to 'splain it to me.

3. I heard about this Forty Day Prayer Challenge on Life Today (I started watching Life Today for Wednesdays with Beth, and I am hooked now. James and Betty crack me up. My heart does a little dance whenever the theme song comes on, like I am turning on to my grandma's street.) We have been doing this since the new year and it is very powerful. I also find out a lot of things about my husband based on what he prays about. Hmmmm.

4. I didn't think this was part of TYOOM, but Walker said it was. To combat my mommy mush brain, and to deal with the fact that the majority of my history was taught to me by high school coaches whose lesson plans included John Hughes movies and long discussions on fighter jets, we are giving each other "assignments". Each of us gets to pick a topic for the other, who will research via wikipedia, books, movies, whatever, and then do a little presentation about what they learned. Walker chose Berlin for me, because my lack of WWII knowlege is downright shameful. I chose Frida Kahlo for Walker. Why? Because I am utterly intrigued by a woman who voluntarily maintained a unibrow and a mistache, aka, the anti-Missy. Tell me more!!

5. This last one is a biggie. And the way I feel about it can best be conveyed using a visual aid:




We're gonna turn off the computer at (inhale, exhale) 8pm.

And hang out together, yo.

Any blogging, emailing, facebooking, tweeting, et cetera will have to be completed during naptime.

It's gonna give a whole new meaning to the name of this blog.

And I will have to restrain myself from believing every sniffle warrants a teaspoon of Benadryl.

Most of all, I am praying that the sovereign God who saw fit to give us four small children in under four years will equip us to create the home for them that they deserve, one that honors each other and honors the Lord. And I covet your prayers to that end.

This is something like my 500th post.

And to commemorate the momentous occasion, I got nothing. Seriously. I am drawing up a big bloggy blank.

The only thing even remotely exciting to happen to us this weekend is we are pretty sure our car got sprayed by a skunk at the park on Saturday. After thinking that a gigantic sewage monster had attacked our neck of Houston, we finally realized that, hmm. We were the only ones smelling. So either a ticked off skunk has a vendetta against minivans, or there is a really, really scary diaper hidden somewhere under one of the carseats.

Please, oh please let it be a skunk.

Yet since I can't seem to pull that experience into an entire blog post, I will say that today is a perfect day for:

a delurking post.

Oh, invisible friends, can you just show your faces for one day? Then you can go back to your lurkdom.

I have had a couple of you delurk lately and I have clicked on your blogs and you were fabulous!! You were! I was honored to meet you! So, two down, around 500 to go!

Come out come out where ever you are!