A soft place to land

Because they fight like cats and dogs

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 18:54:00 +0000

Hayden has a loose tooth.

Yep, another loose tooth.

This makes six...I think six, anyway. I feel like he's lost at least one per month since he started losing them.

Sebastian finally outgrew some pants that fit just fine at the beginning of the Fall...you know, the time when we DON'T need pants in Mississippi. It's till ridonkulously hot here at that time and the thought of even putting on pants sends me into a sweatty mess, much less thinking about buying them. So I usually don't. And inevitably, we're left with the need for pants, only we have no time during the week, so he goes to daycare with pants a bit too short and I make a pact with myself every time I see him that I need to remedy my procrastination in that department ASAP, because the day is quickly approaching that he'll be teased mercilessly when it comes to everything about him.

And that makes me sad.

We've started something new around the house and it falls into the category of "my husband is a genius" because it works like a charm.

You see, the boys fight like you wouldn't believe. Nothing physical really, but more hateful talk and one person trying their hardest to exert their boss status over the other and the other hates it so they rebuke and even though they may actually be speaking words like "Please brother. Stop talking to me in that manner", my brain computes it as a noise similar to nails down a chalkboard or a car alarm in the distance that will. not. quit. And so I find myself going from patient to incredibly annoyed in a matter of seconds. Spare me the advice that one day it will get better, or just get ready when it does turn physical...I know they're brothers and by design, they will fight like cats and dogs. But believe me, if we can find something to stop the madness, then we will do it!

Yelling does not work. For a moment, yes, because I'm sure they think I'm about to flip my lid. Threats, do not work. Because inevitably, they just return to the nails down a chalkboard banter back and forth and honestly, my cerebellum cannot take it.

So enter the ingenious husband who learned a neat little trick while in the Marine Corps.

If you fight with your brother, you will be forced to hold hands for an extended amount of time. If you continue to fight, you will be forced to sit holding hands while you sit forehead to forehead. Gripe at any point in the process of serving your affectionate time, and we'll just add more time. Eventually, what happens, is nothing short of magical. Because eventually, they start giggling and miraculously, all is forgiven.

And my brain can process real words and thoughts once again!

If only I could remember to do this regularly. We tried it once before last year with the "he ain't heavy. he's my brother", but then I forgot to do it again.

**Sorry for the lack of blogging lately. This baby has totally stolen my brain. I hope to keep up more. I promise.

You can't always get what you want

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 23:00:00 +0000

I never dreamed of this life. I did in one way or another, but all these boys. It's definitely not what hit the high points of what I deemed the plan for my life. I've come to understand that the whole "plan" thing is something God actually laughs about when we make them.

With the impending arrival of our third son, sometimes the reality of life these days blindsides me. Especially the joy. I know I'm hormonal, so I cry easy most of the time, but while pregnant, I'm really prone to sudden bouts of sobfests where the full scale of how much I am blessed hits me at random times.

Like last night when Sebastian fell asleep on the couch and the Christmas lights hit his cheek is such a way that it highlighted every beautiful thing about his face that I couldn't help but gasp and fight to catch my breath.

Or to see one light after another go off in Hayden's head as he finally makes the connection between how the sounds letters make pair with other letter sounds to form words and then sentences. Especially when he's doing it on his own.

That although cramped as hell when our bed is filled with two kids and the belly the third occupies, it's all this tangible example of what love can create.

This family that I'm not sure how on Earth I got so lucky to call my very own...unspeakable joy.

As we approach the new year, I've made a decision. Stop making plans. Stop trying to control it. Stop thinking that my plans are actually the best way.

Instead, let it ride because what He's got in store for me is better than I ever could have imagined.

Truly, asthe Stones said it best, you can't always get what you want, but you'll find in time, you get what you need.

When the going gets tough...

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 17:53:00 +0000

There are times I look at my children and wonder what they’ll do with their lives. What will they be? What sort of interests will they develop? Will they be doctors? Lawyers? Accountants? Actors? Writers? Adventurers?

And the biggie…will they make good choices?

Everything I’ve done as a mother often can be traced back to a burning desire to teach my children some sort of lesson. Lessons about life. Lessons that I hope and pray will serve them well in their pursuit of a fruitful existence. I want them to be liked, to do well, and to be happy.

Well, any fellow parent that’s in the same biz and operates with a similar parental protocol can tell you that too often teaching those lessons is hard. It takes a lot of resolve to stand firm when your child gives you those huge puppy dog eyes rimmed with crocodile tears. It honestly breaks your heart.

This morning, we were presented with the perfect opportunity to teach our oldest a bit of responsibility and if ever my parental resolve was tested to the limit, it was today.

In short, Hayden discovered he’d left his backpack at home….right as we were pulling into car rider drop off. If anyone has ever had the pleasure of experiencing said drop off, you know that there is a magic hour. A time in which you should be merging into the car rider line without sitting for what feels like hours. Morning commute, by nature, has a magic hour when a meager time frame of minutes can make it or break it. Leave the house at 7 and have a smooth sailing commute. Leaving the house 6 minutes later means sitting in traffic that creates road rage of mass quantity. So when my dear first born discovered he’d left his backpack and we were within the magic hour, I knew that turning around to head back to our house was a recipe for timely disaster.

There are a lot of things I’m responsible for as a mother, and making sure my children get from point A to point B on time (and in one piece) is one of them. Not to mention, my own personal responsibility to arrive at my place of gainful employment at the appropriate time. Turning around prior to dropping him off, was simply not an option…as I would have failed in my obligation as his mom to get him to school on time. So I told him if I had enough time after I dropped his brother off, to go home to retrieve the beloved backpack and take it to the school, that I would. Knowing full well, that I wouldn’t have time. With eyes as big as saucers and rimmed with the above-mentioned crocodile tears, he pleaded with unspoken words to please get his backpack. But I turned away and cranked my resolve up to Mach 10 explaining that I would do my best, but the prognosis was not good and he may have to do without.

His responsibility to is make sure he has his backpack. I pack it and he makes sure he actually has it in the car, and he knows this. The lesson that floated to the top was clear…let him experience the mistake of what leaving your backpack at home means. Chances are he’s more likely to remember that thing in the future and not to mention, what that means on a bigger scale with responsibility.

Oh it hurt to see the revelation that he’d messed up! To know that I could easily come to the rescue and needed to choose the harder option, which was to let him fail so he could learn the lesson, had my Mommy heart in a vise.

I went back and forth…is 6 too young to teach this lesson? Maybe just this once? Will he feel as if he cannot count on the one person that loves him more than anyone? He’s only 6!!!

But then a louder voice bellowed above my weakness. The lesson and what it might mean if he never learns it. What if every other choice he makes could be traced back to this very moment. Rescue someone one too many times and they lose the ability to rescue themselves. You know the whole give a man a fish and he eats for a day….teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. And if there is one thing I want above everything, it is to have children that can fend for themselves when no one is left to count on.

I gotta say…the lines of mental resolve going on at 7:30 this morning were thick, and I did not go to the house to get the bag. It hurts me…even now, hours later, to think of what he might have thought, but this is where the business of parenting gets difficult. Sometimes we have to be the bad guy in the eyes of our kids, especially when the benefit of what they’ll learn is greater than what their opinion of us as their parents is.

Truly, the lesson here is bigger than anything and I'm beginning to truly understand why seasoned parents say that the baby years are truly the easiest.

*While I did not get the backpack, I did stop by a curb store to pick him up some crackers and took those to the school office along with lunch money. I mean…the kid’s gotta eat, right?*

You hold them even tighter

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 21:00:00 +0000

To my boys:

You are going to think I’m crazy, because there will be times when I squeeze you so tight you think I’ll make you pop.

You’re going to scoff in protest to my warnings to please be careful over something you see as harmless or when I tell you that you can’t go somewhere or do something you really want to do.

You’ll tell me that I’m off my rocker because if I confess to you all the horrid things I imagine might happen to you, you’d see the probability of said happening as almost impossible.

But bear with me. In my mind, the horrible, nightmarish impossibilities are possible.

Earlier this week, a 10 year old boy was getting on the bus to go to school when a car struck him and never stopped. The boy wasn’t even in a bad place. He was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. He was going to school…and still the nightmare of his mother came true. The next day, he died.

He died.

That news story comes bundled this week with other stories of children that have died in accidents that should not have happened.

There are parents right now that are holding onto nothing more than memories of their children because that’s all that’s left.

So forgive me, my sweet, precious boys…it’s ever apparent to your mother’s fragile heart that time is always ticking and if I can control even an ounce of the possibility that the impossible might happen….so be it, I’ll do.

Because that’s my job as your mother and I love you with a fierceness that you’ll never understand…until one day you have your own children to worry about.

So do me a favor and just go with it. Embrace your mother’s neurotic tendencies to protect you because I can assure you...one day you'll get it.

I wanted a girl

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 16:32:00 +0000

I said I didn’t care, but the closer we got to finding out, the secret I’d buried so deep in my heart, came bubbling to the surface.

I wanted a girl.

As we sat in the ultrasound room, waiting with bated breath, I tried to push that want down. I wanted to only care about the fact that this baby was healthy. I wanted that peace and ambivalence to this baby's gender that I’d had up until a week before our big ultrasound.

We brought the boys to the ultrasound because we wanted everyone to be in on this. They were so excited, dead set on the theory that you were a girl. And I started to actually believe that they were right.

The technician took measurements; long limbs, a steady heartbeat, and everything in between. You were perfect and flawless.

And that’s when it happened.

In that tiny room, filled with our family of four and the technician, my eyes began to water. My nose began to burn. And all I wanted to do was get off that bed and RUN.

Sebastian not only ripped one of the stinkiest farts we’d ever smelled, but he ripped at least two others right after…with only a curtain separating us from the other family in the next room, who I’m pretty sure was having their first child and may have decided pretty quickly that maybe they wanted to back out of the whole parenting thing.

How the technician managed not to laugh, grimace, or offer to do an ultrasound of Sebastian’s belly to see just what died in there to cause the offensive odor, is beyond me. She is obviously a professional in every sense of the word.

And that’s when she gave us the news…boy #3.

I have to admit I wanted to cry a little. Not because boys aren’t great…but because boys will be boys.

Farty ultrasound experience…Case. In. Point.

And I’ll have three of them. Good Lord…please help me.

All I wanted was some pink…possibly even some purple.

But for some reason, the good Lord above has chosen me to raise three men.

I suppose that would make me the queen though right….

Well then, GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!

Drama, drama, drama

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 23:03:00 +0000

I'm sitting on my couch....sitting. And I've been sitting since approximately 1:30 p.m.

I'm sitting because there's not much else I'm supposed to be doing...unless you count laying down. I can alternate to laying down.

It's not bedrest, but it sort of feels that way, because I'm supposed to be "taking it easy" and apparently, I don't know how to just do things moderately. You know...it's the whole "go big or go home" type mentality.

I wanted so desperately to stay incredibly active during this pregnancy. The experts on pregnancy have written countless articles, backed by research, that states that there are very few circumstances where a woman shouldn't be able to continue her prepregnancy level of activity for all nine months. That's my cup of tea...I am not one to sit. So I did that. I continued jogging and walking and TaeKwonDo and that was my plan for the entire pregnancy.

Until Tuesday's checkup revealed that this crampy type tightening I've been having off and on actually sounded more like contractions. They did a cervical sonogram to be sure my cervix had not changed and I left the office with instructions to call if they got worse. Wednesday came and I went walking as normal...nothing too strenuous, but just keeping the legs moving.

There was, of course, the whole lifting all 50ish pounds of the deadweight boy that is The Teenager out of bed in order to speed the whole process of waking him up for school...but, I'm sure that had nothing to do with what happened next.

Whether it was the walking or the lifting, I found myself having contractions over and over and over again....every 3 to 5 minutes apart for 3 hours.

Another trip to the doctor. Another cervical sono. And luckily...no change.

Back today and luckily no change.

But we're back to sitting and laying around in the hopes that these pesky contractions will go away or in the event they do not go away...at least cause zero change, so everything stays locked up tight.

And so it begins...the drama, drama, drama.

Dear baby #3,

When you come out here, you are getting a spanking so you might as well stay in there and mind your manners until I cool off.

Love,

Your mother

When you just don't like this day

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 17:15:00 +0000

Dear Hayden,

This morning I felt like the world’s biggest meanie. The wicked witch of the west, at the very least.

You have arrived at the level of exhaustion that comes from a week’s worth of living and the rest of us can definitely sympathize.

Waking you up for school is probably one of my least favorite activities as a parent. This morning’s episode was particularly laborious and it took at least 50 minutes to get you out of the bed and eventually ended in me raising my voice and warning you of the consequences of not getting out of bed. I admit, those moments are not my finest, but you sure do hop to it when the octave of my voice goes up and lately, my voice is the only stronghold I’ve got.

Yesterday, I tried to move you by force. I did move you by force actually, by picking all 47 pounds of your dead-weight body out of the bed and placing you on the floor. You tried to fight and claw your way back to bed, but I managed to hold you off by locking you between my knees until you quit fighting me. You actually reminded me of a wild animal. *Sigh*Although successful in finally getting you out of the bed, it may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back as I was at the doctor 3 hours later with contractions. Not just measly practice contractions, but real contractions and obviously at 14 weeks pregnant, that’s certainly less than ideal. The irony in all of this is your stance on going to bed. I thought I’d never live to see the day you were actually fighting me to get back into bed. But, I digress.

I’m not sure what did it, but when I finally resulted to the dreaded 1, 2, 3 countdown, you stopped me at 2. Threw your hands up into the air and then placed your hands over your eyes, exclaiming “I just don’t like this day!” as the huge crocodile tears fell down your sweet cheeks.

At 6, your fits are few and far between. You barely have those volcanic meltdowns anymore and your tears are rare. Though this morning, something had gotten a hold of you and pushed you to the edge. As I watched the tears reach your chin, I realized that you’d finally gotten to the place I find myself some days of particularly challenging weeks. You were done. Tapping out and you just wanted to go back to bed.

Just as I have many a morning, hung my feet over the side of the bed and sat trying to will myself to get up, you sat on the side of your brother’s bed, hesitating to put your shoes on. Putting those shoes on seals the deal. You’re up and you have no choice but face the day.

It pains me to know that you’re already there. That at 6 and in Kindergarten, you’ve experienced a time that you just don’t have any fight in you for the day and the only option is to go back to bed.

Just as I often do, I wrapped my arms around you and squeezed and tried my best to reassure you that everyone feels this way at one time or another and I pray you always remember my words of encouragement. That even when the day looks awful, you gotta look for the good and have tunnel vision for that. It’s the ONLY way to get through the days when life is just too hard to face.

To my knowledge, there’s no such thing as a mental health day for Kindergartners, but hang in there because tomorrow is Friday and after that, two days of rest.

Love,

Momma

Six

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 17:15:00 +0000

Hayden,

Today is your birthday and you are six.

Six.

Can we all just take a moment to reflect on that?

A lot can happen in 6 years, and it has. Mainly, you became a big brother and in the next year, will get to do it all over again with another brother or a sister. Over the past year, it’s become abundantly clear that if ever there was a person created to be a big sibling, it was you. While you and Sebastian have your sibling moments, you do dote on him and invite him to follow you around and partake in whatever activity it is you’re involved in. You delight in the fact that he follows you, because you delight in leadership. And so I hope that you always do. Be a leader, Hayden. Be a leader.

At six, you impress me to no end at what you’ve learned and what you’re learning. You’ve formed opinions about the world like Disney World is the coolest place on the planet, next to Utah, of course, and you have it all at your finger tips. I’ve never seen someone so welcome of adventure in all of my life. When you were born, you stayed awake for hours. To the point that even the nurses commented on how they’d never seen a newborn sleep less than you. To this day, bedtime is a four letter word in your opinion. To you, it means you’ll miss something and in your eyes, there is no greater tragedy.

Over the last year, you’ve not only gotten taller….your legs really do go on for miles and miles, but your interests have expanded and we’ve finally gotten to witness what we assumed was the impossible. Which is you, sitting still, for more than 15 minutes. You love to build with Lego’s and have taken an active interest in science. In the bath tub, you’ll mix potions and test what happens when you combine your “ingredients”. Even still, I catch glimpses of days gone by when you were merely months old and you’d stare intensely at objects trying to figure them out. You’re definitely still worthy of the nickname “the thinker” and we often catch you staring out the windows of the car thinking of who knows what all. My hope is that your thoughts reside on how limitless you are and how big the world really is. Because you’re big too, ya know. Big like the world.

Along with your interests, you’ve also shown dislike for very particular things. Like exercise. I so hoped that one day you might take up an interest in running and that you and I would compete in all sorts of races, but you’re showing me more and more just how much contempt you have for anything that causes you to exert too much effort. For instance, your bicycle. Apparently, it’s too hard to pedal and so you’re trying to give up on it. We’re pushing you, but you push right on back. While you’ve enjoyed martial arts, you seem to be pulling away from it as well and I only hope that we can keep you interested long enough for you to see the benefits you’ll receive from the art as you get older. Plus, if I get a Black Belt and you never do…how lame is that? You can’t let your own mother beat you in that game!

Last night, you asked me to read you one of my favorite books, The Giving Tree and after we’d said our good nights, I realized just how appropriate that book is for a birthday. The story tells of a young boy that loved a tree and the tree loved him. And in his youth, the boy needed nothing else from the world but the companionship of the tree. His happiness wasn’t found in things, but rather the experience of the love he felt from simply being with the tree. As he grew older, his need for tangible objects grew stronger until the tree was no longer enough for him. He wanted money and a house and a boat….until he’d reached the end of his days to realize that none of those things helped him rekindle what it was that always made him happy. Truly happy. And so in the end, he returned to the tree, now a stump, just to sit.

And so it goes, that all any of us really need in this life to make us happy, is companionship. And through that companionship, a soft place to land. At 6 and at every year after, I hope you always know that. The things of this lifetime will wither away, but rest your hope and your heart in your relationships. And always know, that no matter how harsh the world may be. No matter the challenges life will throw your way. No matter the joy, triumph, success…no matter….at home, with us, you will always have just that. A soft place to land.

And just like that…I think we renamed the blog.

Happy birthday, my son.

All my love,

What dreams may come

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 15:35:00 +0000

Kneeling before a dresser, putting away laundry, I took a pause to notice my surroundings. The dresser, white. The laundry, white. My clothing, white. The floor, glass.

I gazed through the floor at what was beneath me and gasped at how familiar the person below me seemed, but went back to putting the laundry away. The drawers began to pump rhythmically, like a heart beat, causing me great difficulty at completing my task and yet I was not annoyed. I continued at a steady pace, until I glanced below me once again as I realized.

The familiar person beneath me...myself. Laying on a floor with people surrounding me. One pounding away on my chest to revive me as the others looked on in astonishment. It took only a moment for my senses to come back to me to realize what was happening. I was above myself watching the life drain out of me.

A presence caught my attention and I looked up to see a man, also dressed in white, standing before me. Without pause, he put his hand out, and without words, I knew that it was time. Time to go. My task was complete.

As I reached for his hand, I knew that I had to ask, so I did "I just have one question."

He nodded and smiled, as if he knew what I was going to ask.

"Is it a girl or a boy?"

"Girl"

I took one last look at myself before I looked away.

And it was then, that I woke up.

When I woke this morning, I reached for my glasses so I could see exactly where I was. The dream had been so vivid that I felt for sure, I must be in the hospital, finally coming to after what must have been a near death experience. But there I lay, in my own bed, awake after a very vivid dream.

What strikes me most about last night's dream is not the content of it, although it isn't every day that you stand over yourself watching a passerby give you CPR. What strikes me most is how much peace I felt with leaving. I've often prayed that I'd be able to live a full life to watch my children grow up, to see them live out what we can only hope will be a normal and happy life. To one day hold grandchildren and know what it's like to have a head full of wisdom from all those life experiences. I cling to hopes and prayers that I'm living like I should, leaving a legacy of good. Trying with all my might to put the things I should at the top of my to-do list. You know...the stuff that really matters. I regularly contemplate on whether or not my family knows just how much I love them. Do my actions speak in such a way that even though I tell my children that I love them, that I never have to say it, because they know. Does my husband go to sleep at night or reflect on our marriage and know that every other beat of my heart speaks his name? Do my parents, my sisters, my friends all know it too?

I'm not sure we can ever say it enough. There's even a point of saying it so much that we risk it losing the intensity with which we mean it.

But in my dream...in the moment before I walked away, there was peace. There was no worry that I didn't leave things left undone, because when it's my time, it's my time. And in my Maker's huge and wonderful plan, He'll take me when He feels like I'm done.

I'm sure I'll go back to contemplation at some point when this dream becomes a distant memory, but for now, I feel safe and content in knowing without even so much as a shadow of a doubt, that when I do pass on, there will be good and I hope all that anyone remembers is a smile and great love.

Waving flags

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Sat, 03 Sep 2011 14:44:00 +0000

When we first found out about baby #3, I could say with all honesty that I really didn't have a preference for gender. If it was a boy, that would be fantastic because we're good with boys. We are well familiar with the...ahem science...of little boys. We barely bat an eye when Hayden or Sebastian does something that causes others to say "Did you know your son is....?" We can chalk up the strange and rowdy behavior that makes no sense, to the fact that they're boys and that's just what boys do. Boys keep life interesting and certainly know how to keep a Momma on her toes.

If it was a girl, well, although foreign, it sure would be neat to see how the other half live. Little girls are sweet and pink and frilly and from the strict standpoint of sewing and fabric, girl fabrics are fun!!!!

But truthfully, I really didn't care. I remember with both of the boys, I wanted a girl so bad I could taste it. In all honesty, when I found out that Sebastian was a boy, I sort of wanted to cry. That sounds horrible, I know, but that was the reality of my emotion at the time. Now, moving forward, I look at Sebastian and I cannot imagine if he were a girl. He was meant for our family, just as Hayden was. The way our family has been crafted by the Lord Himself is nothing but perfection and it's just the way it was meant to be. It's the first time in my life that I finally got it and could say with pure honesty that God would give us exactly what He needed us to have.

But then, last night, we took a little family trip to Babies 'R Us looking at a new car seat for Sebastian. I wish I could play back for you the exchange between two little boys over all things pink. I tried to interject with a blue and brown teddy bear, with a "Look at this boys! Isn't this cute?!" But I was totally dismissed and they went straight back to pink.

"Hayden, do you really want a sister?" I asked.
"YES! Yes, yes!" He answered practically jumping up and down. "Lord, please, please, please make the baby in Mommy's tummy a girl!"

And just like that my heart started to burn pink. My heart ached like it did millions of times before, wishing and praying that we might have the chance to....dare I say it?....have a daughter?

But not for the reasons I ever wanted it before. All for them. For these boys that are dreaming with every fiber of their being that they'd get a sister.

Beyond that, I know that God will continue to craft our family as it was meant to be and regardless of what's cooking in my belly at the moment, it'll be perfect in more ways than I could ever imagine.

And hopefully, I'll find my peace again, but for now, I suppose I am waving a pink flag over on the blue team.

And then it happened

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 23:28:00 +0000

I had SUCH good intentions about motherhood.

I would NEVER do this or that and I would be ORGANIZED. The beautiful little creations my children brought home from school would never find their way to a box (or...ahem...the trash) to collect dust for safekeeping. I had plans, I tell you! PLANS!

The clothes would never sit in the washing machine, or dryer, for that matter, for longer than it took for the buzzer to go off and on I would proceed to the next step.

My kids would never wear wrinkly clothes. We'd never wonder if something was clean or not. Clothes would never find their way to a pile in the corner of my room to fold and put away when I got around to it.

Eating a can of Spaghetti-o's would only happen once in a blue moon, because my family deserved a home cooked meal.

The children would be put to bed promptly at 8 pm, and wake refreshed and ready to start their day.

*Sigh*

"They were all very good intentions," I've told the younger part of my self. "Everyone has those intentions and you get an E for Effort!"

Friends, I've failed miserably at keeping up with my intentions. I said I'd never neglect the baby books. But I did it, and now I'm neglecting to keep it all together for this baby.

So I'll try my best to bring you up to speed on where we're at.

Currently, I'm 10, going on 11, weeks pregnant, and I'm still pretty miserable most of the time. If it isn't nausea, it's queasiness, if it isn't queasiness, it's heartburn and indigestion. If it isn't those...it's always a case of constipation. And yes...I just threw that out there for all to read, because I need to remember when I get a case of baby fever, EXACTLY what this feels like. And don't let me forget about the memory loss or the oh so fantastic ability to forget simple words, or how to spell them. Makes it a challenge to update the old blog when you can't recall simple words.

Because I know it will happen. We'll be rockin and rollin along merrily, finding our way as the parents of three kidlets, when an adorable and glowy preggo will cross my path and I'll get all misty and ready to do it all again.

In all seriousness though, this pregnancy has been a total 180 of what I'm used to. Apparently, I was THAT pregnant person, that made everyone else cringe. Because it was all wonderful and beautiful and special. And it is, please don't get me wrong, but I didn't have all of the above going on. I did for a hot minute, but this has seemed to linger...on and on and on. And let me be the first to tell you, when all you can think about is blowing chunks or how exactly you can put the fire out that's currently started in your esophagus, it's hard to remember just how amazing pregnancy is or how special it is that YOU get to do it when there are so many others that can't.

But since we're being honest here, I gotta tell you...it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park.

But I know it will get better. It HAS to get better, right? Even if it takes till March 19th to get there.

*Sigh* Please let it not take till March 19th to get there.

Those little feet found their way

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 22:20:00 +0000

He practically popped out of bed at the mention of it being the first day. Even through groggy eyes, he quickly moved from bed to floor to pull his pants out and begin getting dressed. Through the sleepy eyes, I could see the excitement beaming from them. “Today’s the day” I thought and tried to take a snapshot with my mind and begged for time to freeze as I have so often done.

Even as we hurried to get ready and out the door, I caught myself at least a dozen times so that the tears would not flow. “I can’t cry today. Not in front of him.” We joked that if I did cry, it was just what Mommy’s do and that Hayden should pay it only a passing glance and focus on the fact that today was indeed “the day”. Although his Dad had coached him otherwise that if I were to cry, he should hug me tight and tell me “it’s going to be okay.” Because my amazing husband got the memo that that’s what Daddy’s do. They comfort and coach the offspring to do the same. Apparently, however, Hayden missed that memo and only told me that if I were to cry he was going to tell me “shake a leg lady”. Because that’s what 5 year olds do. In his eyes, it’s ridiculous to cry on the first day of the most exciting moment of his life to date.

Even through the carpool line, walking him to his class, and into the classroom, I kept it together and even still, after all that. Until he bounced off to hang his backpack on a hook and take his seat, that’s when the old familiar burning found its way to my eyes and I dug deep to get through the next step. I kneeled down and hugged him and then I couldn’t stop it. The tears sat at the rim of my eyelids waiting for permission to fall. He hugged me so tight, kissed me on my cheek and turned to start his day…never looking back. One tear drop fell to the floor of that Kindergarten classroom and I turned to leave my first born to get his growing done.

For the mother, it’s what you hope for. It’s the constant echo of your heart. That one day, these little ones will fly the nest leaving you without much to worry about. It’s your job and you look for it, near constantly, the reassurance that they’ll be fine and able to function independently in a world bigger than the grasp of their hands or heads. For Hayden…it’s always there. I never doubt that he’ll be fine. I never worry that he won’t find his way. He makes friends like nothing I’ve ever seen and seems to look at the world with a laugh and nothing more than a nod. He’s my independent one and I don’t cry because of the worry. I cry because he seems to have flown the nest before I was ready. However, I’m not sure I would ever be ready.

It’s the tragedy of the independent child. They’re always ready to go before you are, which constantly sends a message home that you are not needed. Sure you are for reminders and for schedules and for car rides and the biggie, money, but for making their way, they’ve got this.

I remember looking at his feet in the short hours after he took his first breath and prayed that those feet would always find their way. I never dreamed they’d find their way so fast.

The first day.

He’s fine. He’ll always be fine.

I, however, am a big. fat. mess.

Beginning with yuck

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 16:41:00 +0000

Would someone be so kind as to remind me that this annoying queasiness and cloud of blech is associated with a healthy pregnancy?

To be quite honest, I’m having a hard time remembering this to be true since from sunrise to sunset I pretty much feel like I need to barf my guts up.

And while I’m on the complaining train (you don’t mind do you?), my belly is huge to only be 7 ½ WEEKS pregnant, which presents a whole host of issues that one normally doesn’t juggle until much later in pregnancy.

Like last night for instance, I couldn’t sleep because the weight of my belly prevents me from sleeping on my back and the shape of my belly prevents me from sleeping on my stomach. So that leaves laying on my right or left side…and I can’t sleep like that for too long since my arms go numb so I have to maneuver to the other side where I find Sebastian with his feet stretched out ready to kick. In short, I feel like a fat pretzel at night.

I know, I know…shut it, you’re saying, and really I’m grateful, so please don’t mistake me. I feel boiled over with excitement at having even the opportunity to have another baby and since I know what it’s like to see the evolution of your 1st born become a big sibling, I can’t wait to give that to Sebastian. Even though, I swear it, this is going to positively rock his world.

So there’s that, because if you know Sebastian, he clings to his baby-ness in such a way that all you really want to do is grab him up for some snuggles and kisses. Just like you’d ooh and aahh over a tiny baby elephant or a baby panda, Sebastian exudes this smallness that is absolutely precious. Hayden is precious, but honestly, he lingered in infancy for about a millisecond before he was on to bigger and better things. I look at him and see so many qualities of a first born and really and truly, if ever there was a child made for being a big brother, it was him.

Speaking of the Teenager, today is his last day of “preschool”. Tomorrow, we will walk through the doors of his elementary school for Open House and embark on the next phase of his life. I really have been full of excitement with minimal sadness over this change, until now. Actually writing those words I find my eyes hot at the mere idea of him being so big. So I’m a mess, but also excited because looking at how excited he is, just gives me this load of Momma pride and excitement for him. He’s been counting down the days and every day asks me when will it please be Monday so he can finally go to big school. The thing he’s MOST excited about….science. Big kid science. Which makes me so happy I can’t stand it. Science and math always eluded me, so if he is strong in those subjects, he’ll be ahead of the game!

Oy…the mother of a kid in Kindergarten. WOW! Just wow!

Because there's really only 1 in control

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 21:45:00 +0000

For a moment I stood over myself, looking down and realizing that everything was about to change. Almost paralyzed by the uncertainty, I sat down on the floor trying to comprehend what I was seeing.
I had wanted this for so long, but now staring at it point blank, my heart started pounding in my ears and the room started to spin.

Pregnant.

I’m going to be completely honest, so forgive me if this comes across as harsh. As much as I’d wanted a third baby for so long, had prayed and dreamed that one day my dear husband might come around and accept the idea of trying for a third, staring at the reality of a third, was incredibly terrifying and I stood there feeling the room spin as if someone had just jerked the rug from beneath my feet.

How did this happen?

I know the pill isn’t 100%, but I took it every. single. day.

Without fail.

And weren’t all the women that claimed to have birth control babies, fudging just a bit? Guess not.

And along with the uncertainty coupled with having another child, be they planned or a surprise, was the overwhelming sinking feeling that when I shared the news with Chad, his response would not be so good. He’d been very adamant about the fact that he was D-U-N with kids and admittedly, I felt that I was beginning to accept the possibility of having our two boys and calling it a day. But now there’s this? A little more than slight change of plans.

I panicked and found myself on my knees pleading that the dear Lord please walk in there and tell him for me because no way was I going to be able to do it. No way.

So I paced, and prayed, and paced, and prayed and finally decided that this was hardly the worst news ever and a baby is wonderful and giving the boys another sibling, someone that Sebby could now boss around, would be a pretty amazing thing. So I reached down, pulled on my big girl panties and marched in to tell him the news.

I stood over him. He, sleeping peacefully, had no idea what I was about to spring on him, but Lord help me I was about to burst. I nudged him “Honey, you need to wake up.”

“What is it?” he said after cracking an eye.

And with an unexpected and explosive eruption, the sobs ripped from me as I told him that I was pregnant.

What happened next was something only I could have dreamed about. His response…”well, it was obviously meant to be” said with a gentleness and kindness that turned my sobs to softhearted tears of joy. In that moment, in his response, my panic turned to peace and my disbelief of “I can’t believe we’re doing this again” turned into disbelief that I can’t believe we GET to do this again.

It’s exciting, ladies and gentlemen! Because the Smiths are expecting again and our little corner of the world is about to change once again.

And in all the right ways.

God is good.

Amen

This road we travel

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 01:56:00 +0000

Wanna know a secret?

Sometimes we take the lazy road.

Not for reasons you would think though. It's not because we're tired or because we are actually lazy. More so because I can't help but light up when our lazy road leads to buckets of fun for the littles.

This lazy road?

Throwing in a little bit of shampoo while the boys played in the water hose.

The day I got Kicked out of the tree house

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 03:00:00 +0000

I hugged him and fought back the tears and then hugged him again. Wished him a very safe and fun trip with a warning to please listen to his Daddy. He skipped off and I took a beat to remember his face.

I don’t often worry about my children. I mean, I do, because I am a mother, after all, and worry comes with the territory along with dark under eye circles and cellulite, but I don’t worry so much anymore that they won’t come back to me at the end of the day. It used to…oh my word, it used to and I’d find myself saying prayers for God to please, please, pretty please protect those boys so I could see their faces and hug them at least one last time. But now, I have this peace. My worry has shifted from mortality, to their happiness.

This morning, however, that old familiar worry crept over me like a dark cloud of doom. It’s cold and boney fingers found their grip around my heart, threatening to squeeze until it popped. For the first time ever, my first born baby was getting on an airplane without me. Sure, he was going with this Daddy, but without me. Because in my mind, and even though I know it’s false, if he’s not in my presence, he’s out of protection. Welcome to the subconscious of the mother’s mind. No one can protect them like we can.

I almost let myself go, but knew I couldn’t let him see me do it. I had to reel it in, out of fear that I’d be the one to ruin this for him….and after seeing his level of excitement build and build in the days leading up to this morning, I’d be cruel to tamper with that. So I reached down deep to pull up my big girl panties, took a deep breath and continued to keep my focus on that beaming face covered from ear to ear with a smile.

He was on his way. His very first Guy’s Trip. Purposely capitalized because if you ask Hayden…this is epic. I can only imagine how his brain has processed this and what it all means to him. Not only does he have his Daddy all to himself, but there are no little brothers or mothers around cramping his big guy style. Because you’ve got that right…he’s big. So big that when I wanted to talk to him and hear how the flight went and what he thought about everything he’d seen, I could hear him push the phone away and say “I’m on a guy’s trip.”

And just like that, he nailed that sign on his tree house that says “no girls allowed”.

A letter for when they feel there is only one choice to make

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 25 May 2011 13:31:00 +0000

Dear Hayden and Sebastian,

As I write this, I'm flashing forward 10 to 15 years from now and I want you to know that I'm terrified.

You will both be teenagers and I'm quivering just thinking about what is to come because I know the point will come that you'll feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness and feel that the only choice to make is one that will remove you from this Earth and forever leave a gaping hole in my very core.

You will inevitably feel that nothing will ever get better and how will anything ever change. You'll feel stuck and hopeless and helpless. You will experience a time of such darkness that any glimmer of light will be lost.

I'm writing this so you will know that regardless of what we may be going through as a family, I love you and there is nothing you could do to change that. We are going to argue. We're going to fight. I can see it so clearly in the way you roll your eyes already at some of the things we ask of you. You're not going to like us very much, and I know that both your father and I will struggle with finding ways to like you. Hear this though, we will never stop loving you. Ever.

You've no doubt at this time in the murky future heard that your hormones are out of control and you're going to think that's crazy, but it's true. Hormones made your mother hide in a back closet clutching you to my chest, Hayden, because I thought the UPS man was coming to steal you away from me. Yes, it's true, it's not just new mothers that suffer from the overwhelming tidal wave of hormones. Hormones can control your thoughts and make even the passing glimpse of an emotion suck you under till you feel that you'll drown.

What's more, you'll feel like you can't do anything right and that you're a constant disappointment and a screw up. You're going to make bad choices and you're going to make mistakes. You're going to keep your mouth shut when you should have spoken up and you're going to speak up when you should have kept your mouth shut. Your father and I are going to yell at you and ground you and ask you what were you thinking and we'll go round and round. And my guess is that at a certain time, this will happen almost daily. But through all of that, know this, we love you unconditionally. It never stops.

But guess what? It gets better.

Right now, you've rolled your eyes in reading that, but it's true. It gets better. And even though you think your parents are ancient and know nothing, we've also both been in your shoes. There was a time not so long ago when I was 15 and felt my world rip apart at the seams. That I felt like things would never change or get any better. But they did. Whatever happens, promise me that you'll always give it 24 hours. Because things always get better. They just do.

Everything in life is temporary and even when we feel the very worst has happened, life will go on, but not without you because you matter. I know in the very pit of my being that there was a purpose in your creation. You were planned and you were wanted. You are wanted. Always and forever, Amen!

I'm writing this now because there is no distraction of trying to parent a hormonally crazed teenager sucking up my energy to show you how much I love you. You are five and three and there's never been a single day to pass that I haven't thanked the Lord for sending you to me. I've yet to experience a day that you didn't take my breath away and I didn't feel so overcome with love for you that I actually went weak in the knees.

In the white noise of our daily routine and just trying to get through it all...hear me and know that we love you and that will never change.

Now stop rolling your eyes and hug me.

Love,

Mom

In which I see His hands upon me

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Fri, 20 May 2011 11:34:00 +0000

Seconds after the car finally came to a skidded halt, I reached to the back seat with trembling hands to be sure that he was still with me and that he was ok. It was only moments before that I saw a blur of white coming into our lane of Interstate.

Breathless and barely holding back the tears, I managed to ask if he was ok.

It was way too close for comfort and when I think about the could of's and the subsequent consequences, chills run straight through my core.

Even as I write this now, hours later, my hands still tremble a bit when I think on it.

We were on the way to see my nephew graduate from preschool. It was just Hayden and me since Sebastian's nature at 3 has nothing to do with sitting still. I had just passed an on ramp when something caught the corner of my eye. I glanced to see a car speeding from the on ramp onto the Interstate, barely missing a car it'd just cut in front off by zooming into our lane. I'm not sure if they even heard the blaring of my horn as they never even hesitated. Even as my rear wheels hit dirt and gravel and the car began to fishtail, I don't believe I saw the offending vehicle even tap their breaks. Within milliseconds, the car was sruggling to respond to my commands. With brake slammed to the floor, I fought with the wheel to keep us from losing control, but even now that I go through it, I realize I had no control.

There are many people that question the certainty of a God. People talk about coincidences. People talk about luck. Call it what you will, but it is with zero doubt and complete surety that I tell you that God was in that car with us. Do you have chills yet?

No? Well, think on this.

I drive a Honda CRV. They are a respectable vehicle. One with a great safety rating and as far as SUV's go, they have a decent rating with not rolling or flipping. Being that it is still an SUV, flipping or rolling is not an impossibility. When I jerked the wheel to avoid getting hit, my rear wheels hit gravel. On the incline we hit, had my rear wheels not fishtailed to compensate, we would have flipped. But we didn't. My rear wheels compensated, even in an out of control fishtail, so that we didn't.

Still no chills? Keep reading.

With each half spin, my vehicle inched closer and closer up the other side of the grassy median towards the lane of oncoming traffic for the eastbound interstate. Again, had my rear wheels not compensated when they did, even in what felt like an out of control fishtail, we would have found ourselves IN oncoming traffic of the Interstate. A car whistled past mere moments before we twisted and slid away from the edge of that lane. The car that would have hit us at full speed.

When we eventually came to a stop, I got out to review the damage. There's no way the offending vehicle that started all of this, didn't hit us. However, several circles around my car show zero damage. Aside from tall grass and weed clippings wedged into the wheel well, my car has not a scratch on it.

I got back into my car and proceeded to pray thanking Him for keeping us safe. Thanking Him for divine intervention. Without it, I'm not sure I'd be sitting here typing this with only memories of a terrifying ordeal. It was only two hours or so before that I'd actually prayed for Him to keep our family safe and even that He would find some way to show me He was with us. Was He? Without a doubt.

Jesus take the wheel? Indeed.

When little feet get bigger

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 17 May 2011 21:39:00 +0000

I stood on the sidelines, camera in hand, marveling at how quickly the sea of emotion overtook me. As I tried to push back the tears, I focused on the floor that met the soles of their feet. Dressed in their red gowns, I found myself fast forwarding to a similar date 13 years down the line.

The scene, much of the same, but the bodies in those red gowns, much bigger. These babies, dare I say it, older and ready to take on the world.

Its funny when those moments hit, how time seems to slow to a standstill and yet not even blink at the same time. Time waits for no one, including a heartbroken mother that has seen it all flash before her.

What the days that stand ahead of us hold, only One knows for sure. There are countless less constant factors that will account for the time we've yet to live and still more uncertainty we will eventually come to know.

How many times will their own hearts break? How many yes's and how many no's? Will they find the door mostly open and the glass half full and will they turn away to find another way should said door be locked and glass spill to half empty? Will they approach the world with arms wide open, just as their minds operate in the here and now?

What will they be and will they be happy? Accepted. Fulfilled.

Uncertainty.

And while it all engulfed me, I climbed out to find my focus intent on their feet.

I squinched my eyes to clear the tears and whispered in my head to cling to this time. "Just remember their feet. Their feet...their feet."

The moment I walked away

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 22:00:00 +0000

I walked forward, paper in hand, and waited in a line of others to grab the hammer and a single nail.

The paper, a small palm-sized sheet with penciled in confessions of yesterday and long ago. Things that have haunted me. Things I tried to forget. Things that come up at the least opportune time. Things that He has tried to show me I can't until I freely give it to Him.

There are things from my past that I've tried and tried to walk away from. Things I've continued to try and remedy by forgiving myself. But some things are too ugly and scarred to be able to just walk away on my own.

I needed help. I've needed help for a very long time and on Sunday, I got it.

Before I'd had a chance to even think about telling myself no one more time, I found my feet walking me down the aisle to kneel before the cross and nail in my misforgivings so that I could finally sever the bindings those things have kept on me for so long.

My heart beat wildly and my palms were clammy. Mouth dry and face wet with tears, I picked up the hammer and an inner voice caught me quickly telling me this was it. It was time. No more holding on. "Just let go. I promise."

The moment the paper was pierced, a rush of safety surrounded me and the further I drove that nail into my confessions, the more my heart became free.

And then that voice...."See...told ya so."

God doesn't gloat, but He never hesitates to remind me that His way really is so much better than my own. There is no other way to get rid of the really ugly stuff than to give it all to Him.

Let it be known, that I typically do not walk away and I do not give up easily. I get a lot of fulfillment in seeing things through. But this is definitely one case where I've never been more happy to walk away. To give up and throw in the towel.

Because in the moment I walked away and left more of me at the cross than ever before, I was one step closer to free.

The bigger the boy, the harder they cry

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 11:44:00 +0000

I feel like I should start this out with "In this corner weighing in at..." because hearing Hayden's stats at his 5 year checkup (his, *cough* ahem, 6 month late, *cough* ahem, 5 year check up) made me feel like we were about to find out what weight class my oldest boy was eligible to train with.

He's always been at the top of the charts. When his birth weight doubled by his 2 week check up, then proceeded on a similar pattern of growth for the first year to two of his life, our pediatrician gently slapped me on the back and recommended I ship him off to Mississippi State University football camp as soon as he could walk. The term "linebacker" was thrown around, if my memory serves me correct.

He's 5 y'all. Like big time 5 and the next step in front of us is Kindergarten. I'll spare you the sloppy sentiments for this post, because we all know how I feel about this.

Although he's not tipping the scales any longer, he is a big boy, weighing around 42 lbs and measuring 45 inches. That's about 50% for weight and 75% for height. Those measurements are pretty normal, but what happened next was not so normal. Do you know they're now measuring BMI? As in body mass index. As in this set of numbers is the healthy range and this set of numbers signifies childhood obesity? Admittedly, I wanted to vomit that's where we're at in society these days that we actually need that measurement for 5 year olds. But, I digress.

We tested hearing and miraculously, Hayden is not deaf as I thought. So now, does that mean I can actually beat him for ignoring me? They also tested his vision just like they test our vision and for him he's seeing about 20/30. I cannot tell you how proud I was of him as he stood there and called out all of those letters from sight recognition. What's even more amazing is that this time next year, there's a very good chance he could be reading on his own.

After Dr. F had run through a handful of other tests to see how Hayden was doing with other aspects of development, he made Hayden face him and proceeded to put him on the spot with the stranger question.

"Say you're outside playing in the yard. Mom, Dad, and brother are all inside. Mom is making a delicious dinner and it's almost ready, but you want to play in the yard just a little longer. You're SO hungry. You look up to see a man that you don't know, drive up to your yard with his window rolled down. Now, you don't know this man, but he looks nice. He says "HEY! Your mom said I could take you to get some ice cream and bring you right back. Come on and jump in!" Now you don't know this man, but you are so hungry and he said he would take you and bring you right back. What do you do?"

Now...we've talked about strangers. The boys have it drilled into their heads that they don't go with strangers, male or female, if they don't know them. I have confidence in them tha they aren't going to run off from us when out in a crowded place. What's more, we can barely get them to let go of our hands when we're out and about with other people. I have confidence that they've grasped the concept of stranger danger. But y'all....my heart was positively beating into my throat. "What do you do?" I swallowed hard, said a prayer and by the grace of God, sweet Hayden answered "Stay home. I don't go with that man." PRAISE JESUS he got it right! PHEW!

After that, it was time for what I was dreading most.....shots. Have you ever tried to put a cat in a tub of water? You know how they suddenly have the ability to levitate? Yeah, that was Hayden. The minute the nurse pulled that needle out, Hayden went rigid and started screaming bloody murder. I'm not sure the shots actually hurt all that much, but Hayden was not a happy camper. Suddenly, my big boy had regressed to that 6 month checkup with screaming, crocodile tears, and there were those same big blue eyes filled with disappointment and questioning how could you. Cut a Mom a break!

Now, we've got the all clear to be the best 5 year old we can be, and show Kindergarten what we're made of. While Hayden is searching for the best crayons, kleenex, and glue and finding his way in the world with other kids his age, I'm aimlessly searching for those elusive big girl panties I know I need to wear with the upcoming milestones of this age.

I have a feeling, I might need two or three pairs actually.

The MOST relaxed birthday party EVER!

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 02:47:00 +0000

It's over. He's three.

We played. We partied. And said much, much thanks for a beautiful time.

I gotta say, as far as birthday parties go, this was pretty relaxed and perfectly disorganized.

Maybe that's why God wanted me to have boys. They have a way of causing one to let go of Type A-ish madness.

I had this grand idea that we'd throw the Crash Master a neat little Mad Hatter tea party. Despite my reassurances to my dear husband that it would be boyish, he couldn't mask his doubts enough and I ended up giving up and abandoned the theme.

There was talk of blue horses, yes, blue horses. Fish, dolphins, dogs...but ultimately, Sebby decided on dinosaurs. I suppose that is a tad more appropriate for a three year old.

Despite my disappointment in a grand spectacle of a party, it turned out to be a fantastic event. Surrounded by family and friends, we had a ball.

In full glory of the Internet, I found some pretty fun and age appropriate activities for the kids to do. On the cheap too. We dug for small Dollar Store dinosaurs in the sand box and hunted fun dinosaur eggs around the backyard. Instead of goodie bags, our party guests got to take their dinos and eggs home with them.

And how 'bout this cake? I made good friends with the baker at Kroger, Kim, and she did us right! Big time! Cake was delish too!

Now for the relaxing part...presents. Does anyone share in my sentiment that the whole production of opening gifts at a party is incredibly overwhelming? It stresses me out to the core. So when Sebastian followed the suggestion of his older brother and took the initiative to open gifts as our guests arrived, although I was at first put off, started to roll with it when I realized how brilliant the entire concept was. There was no sitting everyone down to watch as he opened while trying to keep other kids from creeping in on his shining moment as the birthday boy. Additionally, all of the kids not only got to see him open what they brought, they all got to play with it. BRILLIANT, because we all know that we get people gifts we'd really like to have ourselves, and as a kid, not getting to do that is the pits. I only wish I could take credit for it, but it was all thanks to the rowdy boys. My brilliant boys!

In other chaos, we let the kids play. They weren't confined to any one activity and rather all ran around like chickens with their heads cut off...but amazingly, it worked beautifully. I gotta say...this one topped the charts as one of the best!

Wherein my heart almost burst

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 04:47:00 +0000

There were so many moments today that I shut my eyes tightly trying to stop the white hot burning that comes before the tears. So many instances, I needed to catch my breath, so many instances I felt that at any moment, surely, my heart would burst. Above all of that though, there was joy. Unspeakable joy.

Today our teensy Seb's turned 3. In keeping with tradition, I took the day off to spend with our birthday boy. I know the day was not about me, but I can't help vocalizing thanks to sweet Sebastian for giving me what I desperately needed. A heart so full of happiness it almost popped.

I'm sure parents of multiple children can back me up here when I say that during one-on-one time with kids, they just act different. It's as if nothing but the good aspects of their little personalities come out to play. I love spending time with the four of us, but something is hindered in that with seeing who your kids truly are.

As if I needed another thousand reasons to love this kiddo any more...

I caught some flack the other night over this photo, appropriately titled "Dinnertime Standoff".

It was during this dinner, that our resident preschooler chose to assert himself by way of food refusal. If I thought for one second that he'd actually eat his supper, I thought wrong. We tied up for approximately an hour, after which we called in reinforcements (his big brother) to use a bit of playful psychology (Hayden: "Sebby...okay then...if you don't eat your supper, I'm going to!") But Sebs wasn't biting and happily let his brother enjoy his plate. My audience collectively agreed that it was pretty heinous I try to feed the poor boy lentils and demanded he get pancakes.

So on his birthday, where else would we go to breakfast than IHOP?

Only, he took one look at the kid's menu and decided against pancakes. Apparently, they're so last season. He opted for a classic dish of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and a side of fruit. Because on your birthday, you can have mac & cheese for breakfast.

Before I move on, it's important you get a full dose of adorable and see what Sebby is wearing.

He's been asking for months if I'd please, please, please make him a dinosaur costume. I figured it was about time. So I stayed up and got that costume in fighting form for our sweet little Prince to enjoy on his birthday.

And enjoy it he did.

All. Day. Long.

Not that I mind. He's got plenty of time to grow up and wear clothes deemed appropriate for days outside of Halloween.

It actually worked in our favor too. That costume was nothing short of magic. Seb has charm on any day of the week, but throw him in a dinosaur costume and his cute factor goes even higher.

That boy charmed every single employee at the IHOP and before we'd even finished our meal, they got together to sang him Happy Birthday with chocolate ice cream in hand. Even threw in some dollar bills so he could buy himself something special on his birthday.

I was fighting tears, while Seb was fighting embarrassment. Before we left, he made a total of $8.

Yep. The boy got tipped. Maybe he will get by on looks for the rest of his life. I'm pretty sure he made more in 30 minutes than those sweet servers made in an hour at work. It was incredibly sweet and sure made our day kick off to a great start!

From there, we decided to hit up our local children's museum for some play at your own pace playtime.

And yes, he wore the costume there too.

Admittedly, I worried about that tail getting stomped on by other kids, but I discovered the beauty in the costume in a crowded place pretty quickly: there were no other dinosaurs playing there that day, which made it pretty easy to keep up. Besides, even if I lost sight of him, that tail was always in view.

He played and played and played and played.

Three hours later, he was still going strong, but this Mommy was not. I may or may not have bribed him with a cupcake, but it worked. So we headed from there over to a fabulous little cupcake shop called Gigi's Cupcakes.

On your birthday, you get a free cupcake. Sebs had the Wedding Cake Cupcake and I indulged in the S'more Cupcake.

Mmmmmm.

I'm not sure if it was the sugar or the fact that Sebby can be so insanely cuddly, but I was on cloud 9, and he was too.

And although he was having a pretty good time, I could tell he was fading fast. So a quick trip to Target to spend his IHOP money and he was out like a light!

Not since 1998 at least

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 16:57:00 +0000

I remember the feeling like it was yesterday.

University of Nebraska. Summer 1998. International Thespian Conference.

I had just rehearsed one last time before going in front of a group of people that would decide my fate.

A whole bunch of people.

They called my name into the auditorium-style room, decked out with stadium seating.

A young 17 year old junior in high school stood trying to focus. "Just don't fall" I remember thinking and repeating inwardly as each step brought me closer to the center of the room.

I don't have a problem performing in front of an audience. In fact, I believe it's what I was made to do. But this, this was different. These people could make me or break me, so I thought. This was important.

Those people...recruiters.

It's possible someone from Juilliard might have even been in the crowd. I had such high, high hopes and expectations for myself. I HAD to do this. I had dreams and these people could make them come true.

Sweaty palms gripped with tension and a dry mouth held me in their chains.

"Kellye Smith. 17. Tupelo High School. Tupelo, Mississippi" The words rolled out of my mouth and sounded as if they were coming from someone other than me.

The sound of my heart beating into my eardrums distracted me from the rolling wave of queasiness threatening my innards.

I began and 2 lines in, I promptly forgot.

Every. last. thing in my monologue.

Forgot.

Blank.

Standing in a room full of recruiters that would decide my fate. I'd rehearsed. Prepared. Done the work. It was go time and my body chose to abandon me.

I feel like that right about now.

Granted, what I'm doing today is not going to make or break me, nor will it decide my fate for the next few years, but I'm just as nervous now as I was then because it means a whole lot to me.

Today I'm competing in my first regional Taekwondo Tournament.

There will be sparring. There will be forms. And I will be judged.

Lord I pray this goes better than the summer of '98 or at least the beginning anyway. It's easy to focus completely on the way it made me feel and how much of a failure I felt after forgetting my lines. I keep forgetting what happened after all of that though.

Some how, some way, I managed to improv my way through the rest of the monologue, mustering appropriate laughs and giggles from the recruiters. The monologue? A high school valedictorian that forgot her graduation speech. How appropriate.

Although I didn't get accepted into Juilliard, I was accepted on audition into the New York School for Film and Television, which I later attended after my senior year, an experience that promptly changed my life in a mere 6 months.

3:45 this afternoon, it'll be go time again.

As my good friend Jennifer reminded me this morning. "But you are a BAMF. Walk in with that attitude and walk out with names."'

I like it.

Thanks for that reminder, JP!

Now, let's take it to the mat!

Honest cries of breaking hearts.

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 21:04:00 +0000

Google neuroblastoma.

Actually, don't. I'll save you the time. It's cancer and it most commonly affects children under the age of 5. It affects the sympathetic nervous system, among other things.

While the prognosis with treatment has grown more and more positive, it's still cancer.

Kid's cancer.

And as if Monday's news wasn't sobering enough, let's talk about what Tuesday brought us.

My friend, Jacki, shared that her daughter, Allison, has cancer. Neuroblastoma. They originally thought maybe her lymph nodes were swollen due to a slight illness she'd just overcome, but learned incredibly quick that they were swollen for other reasons. Allison will turn 3 at the end of April.

I'm not sure what hit me hardest about the diagnosis, but after I read the email, I fell into what can only be described as a really ugly, messy cry. I usually try to keep the ugly cries like that hidden from the boys, but there was no hiding it. In fact, looking at them bound over to me to tell me they'd picked me flowers during my absence, only made the crying worse.

They are healthy.

"What's wrong, Momma?" Hayden's big & expressive blue eyes filled with concern, peered right through me. I pulled them both in and tried to drink them up. To make them feel just how thankful I am.

How do you explain cancer to a kid? Or what's more, how do you begin to explain the fear that grips you on a daily basis that you could just as easily be staring down that same tunnel?

As a parent, cancer tops the list among your worst fears. It's inherent in a parent to fight for our babies. I call it Momma Bear Syndrome. Go ahead and mess with my cubs and you'll never be more sorry, I promise. But to watch your child bear that fight and all you can do is pray from the sidelines, perish the thought.

Honest cries of breaking hearts.