Here’s the story behind this photo: It was taken in my grandmother’s backyard on Thanksgiving Day, by Dana Leopard of Southern Pearls Photography. Dana dates my cousin, who was standing behind her, making ridiculous and hilarious faces so Blake wouldn’t flee the scene. Older brother Dillon is laughing because a) my cousin is a nut or b) we were trying to NOT to sit on dog poop and when you’re five, dog poop is hysterical.

Moments after Dana snapped this photo, I took her brand new Ford Flex for a test drive and backed it into a mailbox. She was super cool (of course we fixed the damage) but her comment afterward was priceless: “It has a backup sensor, but I guess you didn’t hear that.”

The only thing I heard was smack! Years ago, when I was pregnant with Dillon, I side-swiped my friend’s Lexus trying to parallel park before a Bunco game. You think I would have learned to stay away from cars that aren’t mine when I’m pregnant. But nope.

This photo also makes an appearance in this month’s issue of Lowcountry Parent, in my column about things I’ll never learn about raising children. Robin O’Bryant, author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Mom Tell Themselves helped me compile the list. (Thanks, girl!)

I don’t write about my terrible pregnant driving in the Lowcountry Parent column, but I do share how the boys reacted last summer when we told them our BIG SURPRISE was not a dog, but actually a new baby. (See above point about dog poop).

I hope you’ll let the folks at Lowcountry Parent know that you think I’m swell (or swelling. At this point in the pregnancy both are true) and pop on over. Just one click and boom, you’re there! 

Have a great weekend everyone!

If you’d like to subscribe to my blog, click here. 

• I took all the toys out of the playroom and found homes for them in the boys’ rooms. We decided not to have them share a room for various reasons, one of them being my sanity. Blake is still in a crib and is a good sleeper, and I concluded now was a terrible time to rock that particular boat.
• The whole family participated in the search and purchase of a car safe enough and large enough to haul three kids. Enter the Honda Pilot and my debut as a rapper and wanna-be music video star.
• Shawn painted the former playroom a color called “pink whisper”.
• I cleaned out the walk-in attic. This resulted in quite a large donation of clothes and toys to our church’s thrift store. (This is also how I got the boys’ toys to fit in their rooms. I gave a lot of it away.)
• I leaned on Peter Walsh for support. See above bullet points about purging things we no longer use. I needed a pep talk.
• My childhood friends and my neighbors held showers where I stocked up on girl clothes. My friends and I have repopulated the world with boys. The ones with girls had already given a lot of their baby-sized stuff away.
• I spent several hours raiding the baby store: think nursery decor, essentials and necessary gear. These days, I have a much better sense of what babies need and what they don’t.
• I got a decent head start on taxes (I am the family CFO) and wrote thank you notes.
• Shawn, my mom and friend Lisa helped me decorate the nursery.

Welcome to Cate’s Butterfly Garden:

The walls created a design challenge, so we worked around it. I had envisioned hanging the mosquito net over the center of the crib but had to adjust that vision.

I also decided to pull the changing table out from the wall a bit, so she won’t pull down the letters when she gets all grabby. FYI, a hot glue gun works wonders when you’re trying to hang letters with ribbon. I opted not to use the hardware that came with it.

Cate’s Butterfly Garden is a wonderful addition to Dillon’s Beach Shack:

The Legos on top of the dresser add a nice touch, don’t cha think?

The monkey hammock is my favorite. The fishing net is a close second.

Across the  hall, you’ll find Blake’s Boat House:

And the best part about all this????

Our bedroom is downstairs!

If you’d like to have my blog delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

My friend Andra and her husband renewed their vows recently. To me, they are a wonderful example of what it means to love, honor and cherish one another. I’m sure Al Green would agree.

But what would Al think about Heidi Klum and Seal? When I read the headline, I threw down the latest issue of People and walked to the other room, where Shawn was helping Dillon build Lego ships.

“Did you know Heidi Klum and Seal broke up?” I asked, my voice filled with shock and disbelief.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” he said. And he was totally NOT mocking me. It is a shame. I’ve come to expect Hollywood couples to get divorced eventually. But Heidi and Seal? Not them! 

The article in People makes it sound like they just grew apart. He’s been touring. Her career is taking on a life of it’s own. I won’t spend much more time speculating about people I don’t know, and I’m definitely not judging. Growing up, I witnessed a lot of goodbyes.

I know why people don’t stay together. And I believe that sometimes walking away from a broken relationship is the only way. Sometimes letting go is better than holding on out of obligation or fear.

In my memoir about leaving my career in TV news, I reveal much of my personal story that I’ve never shared here on the blog. I’ve never explained to you what was driving that success. I will tell you this: Along the way, I committed to healing old wounds and asking myself, “What do I really want?”

And Shawn and I had to figure out how two ambitious people build one life. Luckily for me, when we reached a crossroads, Shawn and I decided we wanted the same things.

I don’t have advice for anyone. It feels like a mix of magic and hard work. Every single day.

My family is about to enter a new chapter. Very soon, we’ll have a new addition. And that baby will bring more magic, and more hard work. Shawn and I will continue to ask the question: How do two ambitious people build one life? And I hope and pray the answer is always this: Let’s stay together.

We all know what tears love apart. Today, let’s talk about what makes it last. 

And if you’d like to get my blog posts delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

To mark the occasion, Dillon and his kindergarten friends each collected 100 things. My husband suggested our son collect kisses. I pounced on the idea and immediately started singing, “I always have to steal my kisses from you…” and although Dillon thought the song was neat, he asked if we could modify the project.

“Can we do hugs instead?” And then he listed all the little boys who would not want to kiss him.

“Dillon, that’s an even better idea!” I said.

So we spent the past two weeks taking advantage of every hug opportunity we could find. And the result was this:

The project was a family affair, with all that snapping, say cheese!-ing, cutting, sorting, and pasting. I know I’ll keep this forever. It’s one of those things you have to see in real life to get the full effect, but if you look closely at the facial expressions, you witness the unwavering power of a simple embrace. (You will also see Spongebob and a Justin Bieber CD. What can I say? Love doesn’t discriminate.)

It’s like that Dave Matthews song, “Everyday”:

Pick me up love!

Pick me up from the bottom… up to the top (love) everyday

I take my chances on every day.

I can’t watch this video without experiencing a sudden onset of happiness. All you need is, all you want is, all you need is… Love.

Who will you hug today? 

And if you’d like to have my blog delivered to your reader or inbox, click here. If I could, I’d definitely hug you for it.

I first heard about Pinterest this past summer, on the night I wore the cheetah suit. My friends were going on and on about how ah-mazing Pinterest is, and I was one step away from rolling my eyes in between sips of my I’m-too-pregnant-for-happy-hour non-alcoholic spritzer. I recall having a similar attitude about Facebook four years ago. I don’t get it. Oh, I don’t have time for that. 

But I finally broke down and requested an invite. And now, I’m beginning to understand.

According to the FAQ page, “Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Pinterest allows you to organize and share all the beautiful things you find on the web. You can browse pinboards created by other people to discover new things and get inspiration from people who share your interests.”

Pinterest is still in the beta version so it’s invitation-only. Sounds exclusive, but I bet you could find someone willing to send you an invite before I finish typing this sentence.

I like Pinterest because it’s visually appealing. When I go to my Pinterest page, I see rows and rows of pretty pictures. It’s like the best. magazine. ever. I’ve gotten hairstyle, recipe and fashion ideas from Pinterest. It’s peppered with inspirational and motivational quotes. And it’s polite. Pinterest etiquette rules include: Be nice. Credit your sources. Avoid self-promotion. The site explains, “Pinterest is designed to curate and share things you love. If there is a photo or project you’re proud of, pin away! However, try not to use Pinterest purely as a tool for self-promotion.”

And Pinterest is so pretty. Did I say that already? Disclaimer: My personal Pinterest page is sad. As in, there’s nothing on it. But I’m getting there.

I wrote this post in order to get sucked in. I’m ready to move from “This is so neat” to a full-on “Pinterest, you complete me” kind of attachment.

So tell me all the things you love about Pinterest. Is it purely for pleasure? What are the benefits? Can you justify the insane amount of time you spend on the site? 

Still wondering what it’s all about? Ask questions. I’m sure some Pinterest pros out there will be happy to answer. 

And please, enable my border-line addiction. You can follow me on Pinterest at pinterest.com/angiemizzell.

My childhood friends threw me a baby shower recently and the guests offered advice for handling three kids. The words of wisdom included:

Lower your expectations. And, Remember, it’s kind of like AA. Take it one day at a time. And, Call your husband at the end of the day. Tell him you’re cracking open a beer and if he’s not home in thirty minutes, you’re cracking open another one. (I suppose that’s the opposite of AA.)

If my writer mom friend Abigail Green had been there (she lives in Maryland… I know she loves me but not that much) she’d have fit right in. In her new e-book, Mama Insider: Laughing (And Sometimes Crying) All the Way Through Pregnancy, Birth, and the First 3 Months, Abby tells it like it is.

“I really thought I was prepared to have my first baby,” Abby says. “I’d read the books and blogs, seen the movies and reality shows. In my 15+ years as a journalist, I’d even written articles on pregnancy symptoms, babymoons, and co-sleeping. And heaven knows I’d been to enough baby showers. Yet I was still surprised by so much of what I experienced during pregnancy, birth, and my first 3 months as a new mom.”

Now, a warning. If you’re pregnant for the first time and read about Abby’s birth story, it may make you question what you’ve gotten yourself into. But trust me when I say she’s doing you a favor. Sometimes (a lot of the time) the best laid birth plans don’t go according to plan. And you need something real to balance out the crap you see in baby magazines designed to make you buy stuff. Take this for example:

I got this the other day. I know enough about childbirth to know that getting in and out of the bed to nurse a baby in the middle of the night can be downright painful. It takes my body weeks to recover and my bed is so high off the ground it requires a mini-trampoline to hoist myself onto the mattress. I bought this snuggle nest so I could let the baby sleep next to me without worrying that I’ll roll over and crush her.

But take a look at the models on the box. Come on. Nobody looks like that when they have a newborn.

For moms in the trenches, Abby’s e-book will validate you and make you laugh. If you read it after you’ve “been there, done that” it will still validate you and make you laugh.

I can relate to Abby’s story about not knowing (with her first child) that she was pregnant. And she’s smart, people. Phi Beta Kappa from Vassar smart. And how she charted her newborn’s sleep patterns. I spent a ridiculous amount of time filling in a color wheel documenting the times my first born ate, slept and took care of business.

And then there was the time Abby’s husband unplugged a freezer full of breast milk. What!? I remember the time my husband poured one ounce of breast milk down the drain. I lost my mind. “That’s my freedom!” I shouted. “That’s my freedom and you just poured it down the drain!” Now I’m thinking I was too hard on him. If he had unplugged a freezer full of the liquid gold, I’d have gone after him with a kitchen knife.

The book is filled with Abby’s signature honesty and humor that reminds me it’s okay to give myself a time out, it’s okay to NOT love every second of parenting and that I’m an awesome mom. In this generation of super-parenting, moms need to hear that even on the worst days, they’re doing a good job. Guilt is overrated. Laughter, however, is not.

Mama Insider by Abigail Green is 50 pages (perfect because chances are, your brain is fried) and can be purchased for $4.99. Click here to get the e-reader version. If you don’t have an e-reader, you can buy the PDF version directly from Abby’s site. Go Abby! Friend to friend, writer to writer, and mom to mom, I’m so proud and happy for you.

If you’d like to subscribe to my blog, click here.

THIS is Baby Cute:

Blake pulled her out of a bin at Walmart weeks before Christmas and I couldn’t ignore his squeals of joy. Instead of controlling my child, I snapped photos instead:

Then my people called Santa’s people and explained that we needed Baby Cute to arrive on Christmas morning, and we needed a pink stroller to go with it.

Some think this is great—that I, I mean, Santa, got my son a baby doll for Christmas. Others think it’s strange. Still others have suggested it may be difficult to pass the doll over to his sister after she’s born. I just smile and say, “The doll is not for the baby. It’s Blake’s.” In fact, he’s the one who came up with the name Baby Cute.  The Christmas before that, we got him a kitchen because I noticed he played with the one at the gym daycare. (Random side note: if you stand outside Big Lots before it opens to take advantage of a $10 kid kitchen, it may or may not be a piece of junk).

Yes, the boy who rocks his Paper Jamz guitar and tries to vaporize me with invisible lasers shooting from his fingers also plays with kitchens and dolls. Unlike what some people suggest, this is not because he has a baby sister on the way. At preschool, Blake goes straight to the babies. He sings to his teddy bears and gives them juice. The other day I overheard him consoling Baby Cute.

“Baby Cute sad. She cry,” Blake said.

I have no idea how he’ll feel about the real, live baby who’s about to come into our home. We’ve told him about Cate, but I think he has her confused with Baby Cute. Here’s what I do know: I have a husband who will rock a baby to sleep, change a diaper, clean the house and cook dinner. I couldn’t imagine telling Blake he couldn’t have a doll or a kitchen because it’s a girl toy.

Cate’s room is almost ready. It’s spewing pink. But I don’t have any preconceived ideas about her personality or the types of things that will interest her. That’s part of the fun. It’s part of the learning.

Let’s talk: gender roles and stereotypes. Go.

And if you’d like to have my blog delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

Those words have stuck with me over the years (please don’t judge my addiction to pop culture) and at random times, depending on the mood and situation, I can be be heard blurting out those famous last lines from the character listed in the credits as Happy Man.

“What’s your dream?”

Today, as many of us enjoy the benefits of a national holiday—no work, no school, a sale at Babies “R” Us (oh, is that just me?)—I’m reflecting on my own dreams. Not those created by the false promises of Hollywood, but the ones rooted in faith.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” MLK had a big dream. He dreamed of a day when sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners would sit down together at the table of brotherhood.  A day when his children would not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. A day when black children would join hands with white children. A day when all people could say free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

I see Dr. King’s dream today. It is alive and well. I also see how it remains a work in progress. Most dreams—the ones worth having and the ones worth stepping out on faith for—are like that.

So, friends. What’s your dream?

If you’d like to subscribe to my blog, click here.

2006

Even though many of my posts are about my life with kids, I don’t necessarily consider myself a mommy blogger. Yes, I’m a mom. And yes, I blog. So what’s the difference? I think the big difference is the readers. The comments on Wednesday’s post show how we’re all in different stages of life. We come to this corner of the internet from different backgrounds and viewpoints.

I try to find the universal thread in my stories. I ask myself, What makes this adventure in the life of Angie more about the human experience and not solely the “mom in the trenches” experience? Some days I don’t mention my kids or my role as mom at all. During those times, I have the little people tied to the coffee table.

But let’s face it. I’m about to have a third child. Not, like, tomorrow. But soon. I was thinking about it, and there’s no way I can pretend that’s not happening here on the blog. Much of my focus is shifting towards prepping for the new little person who’s moving in. To my house. Not for an extended visit. To stay. So perhaps that does make me a mommy blogger. It’s just a label. It doesn’t matter.

2009

All of this to say I hope you’ll embrace this part of the journey with me. It will be interesting (in light of Wednesday’s post) to see how it goes. The newborn days with Dillon were particularly difficult for me. I had no idea how my overwhelming love for this angel of a baby would be eclipsed by raging hormones, sleep deprivation and the unsettling realization that so many things are out of my control. With Blake, I had a (somewhat) easier time, and I’m sure some of it had to do with perspective. I did some things differently. But sometimes it was deja vu, and I had to remind myself: I may be tired and depleted today, but I won’t be tired and depleted and um, unshowered for the rest of my life. 

Before I got pregnant with our baby girl on the way, I told my husband, “I’m not under any false impressions that having another is going to be easy. I can’t promise I won’t have less-than-shining moments. I still have no idea how to balance raising children with my personal and professional aspirations. But I don’t care. I know what I’m getting into.”

Wednesday, Bella wrote about her experience as a grandparent:

We have more patience than when we were younger, and we have less stress and deadlines and other priorities. Our grandchildren are the only thing in the universe when we’re with them. It’s different than being a parent with all the responsibilities.

She’s right. It is different. We don’t get do-overs in life. Instead, we get seasons. With each season comes an opportunity to learn and grow and live life more fully than we did the day before. In 2009, before Blake was born, I wrote,

Some nights I put my head on the pillow and tell myself, “I got it right today.” But there are other nights I pray for a chance to love my son a little better tomorrow. This realization makes me think of my own mother, and her mother, and all the mothers who came before them. And suddenly, I’m filled with forgiveness. I’m overwhelmed with understanding. And love.

Maya Angelou has said, “You did what you knew how to do, and when you knew better, you did better.” And those words remind to forgive myself.

So perhaps I can tie these thoughts into a pretty little bow by saying this: This is what I love about my blog and the readers who help make it what it is. Together, we shine new perspectives on the business of living life. And if you want to come visit, babysit, clean my bathrooms, take the the overnight shift… sign up in the comments section below. (Kidding).

If you’d like to have my blog delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

Last summer, hugging a tree in our yard that's almost dead

Blake and I were walking out of the gym the other day and he was taking his sweet time. He wanted to walk down the ramp instead of stepping off the curb. He wanted to use the speed bump as a balance beam. He turned the act of searching for our car into a game.

“Where’s our new car?” he asked, saying neeewww car! like the announcer on “The Price is Right”. “Is this it?”

“No, it’s that one.”

“That one?”

“No, that one.”

When we got to the car, he stuck his finger into the tailpipe of the sports car next to us. “What are these hoses?”

“Smoke comes out of those,” I said, grabbing his chubby hand which was now covered with grease. I had been consciously not rushing. I was okay with all the lingering, but I had reached my threshold and picked him up and put him in his car seat.

“Whheeeee!” he said.

In the midst of this grand adventure of walking through a strip mall parking lot, I felt a quick pang of sadness. I missed Dillon. Turn the clock back 3 1/2 years—before my almost 6-year-old had a little brother and a baby sister on the way and started kindergarten—and you would have found us doing the same thing.

And I thought, wow, it goes by so fast.

As I drove away, I flipped through the Rolodex of memories and wondered if I was as patient with Dillon as I had been with Blake just a few seconds ago. I reasoned that yes, on some days I was. And on others, I wasn’t. Much like life today. Sometimes I’m all fa la la la la and others days I’m like hurry up people, let’s get a falalalala move on.

Last weekend Blake was standing in the kitchen in nothing but a diaper and an Iron Man helmet. My mother-in-law told my husband to take a picture and my husband said, “We could take pictures of that kid all day.” I think people tell moms with young children to enjoy every moment because maybe there’s just not an easy way to describe how it feels when the time has passed. They want us to recognize how fleeting it all is, because when we’re in the moment (as in trying to get to the car in the gym parking lot) it feels like it’s taking forever. They’re looking back with perspective.

Memories are selective.  When people tell me to enjoy the time of life that I’m in, I usually smile and say something like, “Oh, I know.” Because I do know what they’re really trying to say. It’s just extremely difficult to articulate. There are so many periods of my life that I would do again (and many times I wouldn’t dare repeat). If I knew it wouldn’t alter the course of the universe or change where I am today, I’d go back to college again, I’d marry Shawn again, I’d have my kids again. I’m not saying I enjoyed every single moment. I’m just saying I’d do it again.

What would you do again?

If you’d like to have my blog posts delivered to your feed reader or inbox, click here.