Somehow she went from being born just moments ago to suddenly being five. I have a good chunk of her life documented here on the ol’ blog-er-oo, but it doesn’t seem like five years have passed. “They” weren’t lying about time flying.

Everyday she cracks me up with her goofy faces and her sense of humor. She is cuddly and kind-hearted, feisty, competitive, bossy, and still vocal, sassy, and tiny.

For her birthday today, I’ve played a very odd imaginative play scenario with dinosaurs, a Moxie girl, Spiderman (as the dad-OBVIOUSLY), and some construction trucks. She chose two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and goldfish crackers for lunch and for dinner she’d like to go out for sushi and ice cream. We had her birthday party on Saturday where she and her friends painted butterflies and ate A LOT of sugar. It was perfect.

In the fall, she’ll be a Kindergartener, which is like, WHOA. We had Kindergarten roundup last week. Please allow me a moment of bragging, but she scored a 92 on whatever test it was that they gave her. So I should add “smart” to the list of her traits above. I just can’t imagine that come August, I’ll be sending her to big school everyday, even though I’m a seasoned pro at sending kids off to Kindergarten and surviving.

Five years old is OLD for a baby. She’s still a baby, right? My baby, anyway.

Grade: Preschool

Favorite thing about school: “I have no idea.”

Favorite TV show: SpongeBob

Favorite food: Peanut Butter and jelly sandwiches

Favorite toy: horses

Best thing about being five: I’m getting bigger

Favorite book: SpongeBob

Favorite color: Pink

Favorite thing to do: play horses

Favorite song: God’s Not Dead

Favorite sport: soccer

What she wants to be when she grows up:  A mommy

Happy 5th birthday, sweet girl.

(Her party was hosted by a local company, Smock, Paper, Scissors. They did an AWESOME job. Read all about the party right here!

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

I finished my first half marathon according to my Garmin in 2:22. The official time was 2:24, but that time includes all the zigzagging I had to do around 30,000 other runners. By the time I crossed the finish line, I’d run almost 13.6 miles. So 2:22 it is!

The race was…hard. It was way harder than I expected it to be. Having trained and run so many miles (236.4 miles, but who’s counting?), I ASSumed that the race would be a breeze, it would be that “victory lap” that so many people call their races. WELL. I hadn’t planned for it to be so HOT, HILLY, and SUNNY. I mean, I love sunshine, but I don’t love sunshine when it’s beating down on you while running 13.1 miles, making me feel like a turkey roasting in the oven on Thanksgiving morning. And the hills, geez louise, the hills. Knoxville is super hilly, but there are downhill rewards. Nashville was one uphill after another with very few downhills. My quads are still recovering.

But despite HOT, HILLY, and SUNNY it was the best thing I’ve ever done. (Except for having Carson and Ella, obviously.) I did have to walk a lot between miles 11 and 13, but I’m still really, really proud of myself. The second it was over, I was already thinking about the next time, even though I could barely walk and my left toes were covered in blisters thanks to my wet socks.

I did cry when I crossed the finish line, but when I crossed, none of my girls were with me. I cried for having finished and I cried for crossing the finish line without them, but instead with a bunch of stinky, sweaty random people that I didn’t know.

Seriously, are we not cute? You’d cried, too, if you didn’t get to cross the finish line with them.

We followed the race with champagne, chips, salsa, margaritas, guacamole, tacos, shopping, ice, beer, wine, and pizza. And we made plans for our next race together.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

I’ve tried to write before how much this whole running thing means to me, but I don’t have the words. Saying I’m proud of myself doesn’t really convey what I mean. Saying that I’ve worked hard doesn’t come close to describing what “work” and “hard” mean. Aside from the two moments that I gave birth, there is nothing that comes close to the feeling of accomplishment that I feel for having come this far.

In less than 24 hours it will all be over and I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I’m going to miss getting up at 6 am on a Saturday morning to run with my girls. I’m going to miss our long talks and the laughing and the breakfast afterwards.

I guess I better start planning for my next race.

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I wrote some running tips for people who want to get started running over at my Babble blog, Southern By Proxy. Totally unrelated, I also wrote about how much I hate the school car line. Feel free to commiserate. It’s therapeutic.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

An artist at work.

Ella is adamant about two things. One, she really dislikes mornings, or being woken up in general. And two, when she grows up she wants to be a mommy.

“I want to be a mommy, like you,” she tells me, sentimental and teary eyed as if being a mom is the most beautiful thing in the world. (It is, by the way.) (Usually.)

Surely she’s not just saying this out of some human biological urge, but because she sees how awesome I’m doing as a mom and wants to emulate me, right? RIGHT?!

I always knew that I wanted to be a mom, too. So many of my childhood memories center around playing “house,” where I lived with my husband (Mark, then Robert) and our endless stream of babies (Melissa, Tracy, Lisa…). Even as I grew older and discovered that there was so much that I could do in life, I still wanted to be a mom, but I also wanted to go to college and study for a career.

Ella is painting her Hallmark Recordable Storybook Canvas.

While she is unwavering in her decision to be a mommy, she told me awhile ago that she was going to be a painter someday and the other day that she wants to be a “computer worker” when she “gets big.” The day after that when I asked her about being a computer worker, she sighed and said, “No Mommy, I’m going to be a ‘money lady.’”

Well, DUH, obviously. I don’t know what it means to be a computer worker or a money lady, but I’ll do whatever I can to help her. Maybe there’s a summer camp I could send her to for future money ladies?

Carson is adamant about A LOT of things. He loves cinnamon apples, he shouldn’t have to share the Wii with Ella, thunder and lightning are some of the worst things ever, and when he grows up, he’s going to drive monster trucks.

Hallmark's Kids Encouragement Greeting Card to Celebrate Another Great Report Card

We recently celebrated his fifth straight all E’s report card from Kindergarten. Learning comes easily for him and I think that he can be anything he wants to be when he grows up. Of course, I am at least 75% certain that he’ll become a engineer like Tate-I swear I can see those analytical wheels spinning in his little brain when he thinks. But like Ella, I will help him to grow up to be whatever he wants to be, whether it’s a monster truck driver, engineer, or even a rodeo clown, though I’m keeping my fingers crossed that being rodeo clown doesn’t turn out to be his life’s passion.

I love their imaginations and certainty about their futures. While they’re little they can dream as big as they want to dream without life’s responsibilities making their career choices for them. It’s fun to imagine who they’ll turn out to be, but for now I just want to give them every opportunity to find out who they want to be.

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I’m honored to be working with Hallmark this year for their Life is a Special Occasion campaign. Hallmark provided me with the Recordable Artwork and Kid’s Encouragement Greeting Cards and as always all opinions are my own. Ella was thrilled that I finally let her paint, it’s something I usually fear(!!), and Carson loved getting real mail!!

Sign up here for Hallmark’s e-newsletter to get special offers and discounts!

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Since I don’t like to announce to potential stalkers that I’m a prime target and I couldn’t seem to pull thoughts together that didn’t have to do with Tate’s absence, I didn’t say anything at all.

Anyway, he’s home safe and sound and very cultured and filled with weinerschnitzel and apple streudel. I’m in no way jealous that he got to spend two weeks in Europe traveling to Vienna and through London.  Nope. Not jealous at all. Being home alone with the kids, filled with frozen pizza and oreos, was just dandy.

I feel like a lot has happened lately.

Ella started dance class. It is just about the cutest thing I ever saw. I’m over the moon that she chose dance over t-ball this year. I’m all for girls playing t-ball, but I just wanted to see her twirl and dance and do something girly.

My birthday just so happened to fall during Tate’s trip (alone, to Europe), but it really was a great day. Really. The kids surprised me with a new running tank. Ella took me out for sushi. Tate planned ahead (I KNOW!!) and had flowers sent to me. My girlfriends took me out for Mexican food and margaritas after running class. It was one of the best birthdays ever.

My brother and his wife had a baby! Well, actually his wife had the baby. Just want to be clear about that. I’m an aunt! She’s precious and perfect and I can’t wait to meet her.

During the month of March, I ran 93.5 miles.  I can’t even believe it.  It probably explains how I was able to survive two weeks as a suddenly single parent. Running is amazing therapy.

This past weekend, I ran in the Knoxville Marathon as part of a relay team.  I ran the 7.9 mile leg of the race and other than being hilly, hot, and semi-ugly scenery, it was a blast. Tate and the kids came out and cheered me on around mile 3.5, which meant a lot to me. In less than one month, I’ll be running the Country Music Half-Marathon in Nashville.  Woo!

What’s new with you?

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

There was a segment on CBS Sunday Morning recently that featured a museum dedicated to the history and promotion of cleaning. It is called The Museum of Clean. Clever name, right?!? It’s in Pocatello, ID just in case you’re interested in visiting. I’m telling you about this because of the man who was featured on this segment, Don Aslett, spent his entire life savings to build The Museum of Clean.  He must really like cleaning. Mr. Aslett said something that I’ve been thinking a lot about.

This is what he said, “How you clean will be how you live. That’s just the way it is.”

Hmm.

The truth is, I’m just not a very good housekeeper. My home is not filthy, I just wouldn’t recommend eating dinner off my floors. The toilets are as clean as toilets can be, I change the sheets on the beds…sometimes, the microwave is clean, and we don’t have roaches or any other bug problem for that matter.  For me, there are far more important things in life than having dust-free bookshelves and perfectly vacuumed “vees” in my carpet-like watching Mad Men on Netflix for six hours straight or taking the kids and a picnic lunch to the park on beautiful days.

Cleaning isn’t something that I overly stress with my kids, either. I’m more concerned about them playing and using their imaginations as much as possible, doing well in school, and learning to be kind to others than I am with their ability to make their beds so perfectly that a quarter bounces. We do have simple rules about putting their dirty clothes in the hamper and clearing their plates from the table after meal time. They are expected to help out around the house and not be complete slobs, but unmade beds and their messy playroom do not bother me. This is why doors were invented! Messy bedroom?  Shut the door and voila! Instantly cleaned!

There are times, though, when the clutter and toys get to be too much.  Piles, piles everywhere!! I’ll get a sudden urge that the house must be cleaned RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT. This is usually right after I’ve stubbed my toe on a monster truck or misplaced one flip flop, only to find it and twenty other missing items under the couch.

When these bursts of cleaning energy hit, I get the kids involved as much as possible in the endeavor so that when they are grown up and married, their spouses won’t think that I never taught them about cleaning. That, and the fact that the vast majority of messes in the house were created by them. We do have a rule-more of a guideline, really- that in our house, as a family, it doesn’t matter WHO made the mess, but EVERYONE will help to clean up.

Seeing the entire playroom floor covered with toys and saying, “Clean it all!  Clean it all, right now!,” typically results in a two-way meltdown between Carson and Ella. Instead, I’ll tell Carson to find all the monster trucks and put them back in their bin and I’ll tell Ella to find all the dress-up costumes and put them away. Giving the kids specific instructions helps make cleaning a little less horrible.

I also set a timer for 30 minutes and tell them that all the cleaning has to be finished before it rings. Not only do I get a hearty chuckle from watching the kids run around cleaning while trying to beat the clock,  it gives us an actual ending time so that we won’t feel like we spent HOURS cleaning.

I haven’t always been this laid back about cleaning, but the older I get, the further down my priority list cleaning falls. There’s just SO much more to life than a perfectly cleaned house.

So thank you Mr. Aslett of The Museum of Clean. You are exactly right.  How I clean is exactly how I live: If it’s important, it deserves my attention.

This post is sponsored by Hallmark for their Life is a Special Occasion campaign. While Hallmark is compensating me for participation in this campaign, all opinions expressed are my own. Have I mentioned how honored I am to be a part of this campaign?  THIS is way better than cleaning a toilet, that’s for sure!

Sign up here for Hallmark’s e-newsletter to get special offers and discounts!

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Having known him for a long as I have, I usually can just ride out these whims of his. If I just ignore him when he goes on and on about horsepower and Craigslist deals, he’ll typically just drop the idea. This time, though, he just kept wearing me down.  Every night after the kids went to bed, he’d show me thousands of boats online.  On weekends he would drag us all over looking at used boats, having us climb up on them and show us all of the features.

“Look!  There’s a changing room with a mirror and a place to put a potty.”

“This boat could fit all of our friends.”

“Just think of us going out fishing as a family.”

“We will have so much fun together on the boat.”

I could tell that getting a boat was inevitable. Either I could spend the rest of my life hearing about and looking at boats or we could just get a boat and get it over with.

We’ve had the boat just a few weeks now.  Spring has made an early arrival, making it warm enough to take the boat out for rides on the lake.  And as much as it feels like swallowing glass to admit, the boat is pretty awesome.

I concede that it appears that the children find the boat to be enjoyable.  Smiling and whatnot.

I guess, JUST THIS ONE TIME, Tate was right.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Actually, that’s not really true, Silly! I think Carson is a bit too young and I’m a lot too old for a spring break filled with debauchery, don’t you think?

It has made me think back to my one and only wild spring break trip, way back in the 90?s. For all you youngsters out there, that’s what you might call the “olden days.” It just happened to be my 21st birthday and I may or may not have had a little fun.

Please enjoy this walk down memory lane to spring break 1996, as a single footloose and fancy free gal, compared and contrasted with spring break 2012, as a 36-year-old married mother of two.

Click on over to Southern By Proxy to read more (and see pictures of me bonging a beer in 1996!).

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Before leaving for Nashville, I tried to get the house in order for my in-laws arrival.  The toilets were clean(ish) and the guest bedroom sheets were freshly laundered.  I even mostly cleaned the kitchen, with one exception.

I did not clean the microwave. I did not clean the microwave because I’m on a microwave cleaning strike and have been on strike for about three months.  And I’m on a microwave cleaning strike because SOMEONE in my house refuses to cover their food with a paper towel, thus making a big mess every time they reheat food.  That same SOMEONE then never cleans up after him (or her) (but not really her) self and apparently doesn’t care about the glop and gloop inside the microwave.

Well this someone RIGHT HERE (that’s me, okay?) I do care about the glop and gloop in the microwave, but I’m so tired of cleaning up after SOMEONE else’s messes. I am not a maid!

*deep breath*

We’ve been at a bit of standoff, one that I was SO going to win. Which is why, when I left, the microwave was not exactly clean.

Of course, I failed to mention my microwave cleaning strike to my mother-in-law because, really?  It’s pretty childish. I admit it, OKAY?! But childish as it may be, it made me feel like, “HA!  See that dirty microwave, SOMEONE in my house?  YEAH! Well, you’re just going to have to live with it!!”

When I came home, I discovered that the microwave had been cleaned.  By my mother-in-law.

Sure, I’m happy to have a clean microwave, but man.  All those months of work for nothing.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Here’s just a brief glimpse of the evolution of my social behaviors at Blissdom ’12.

Wednesday night: Arrive at the Opryland Hotel and panic when I see people I know, sure they won’t know me.  They do.  Hug awkwardly, followed up with nervous conversation.
Decide to hide in my hotel room until my conference wingman arrives.
Realize I’m hungry. Check Twitter and see if anyone I know is tweeting that they are going out to dinner.  Phew!  See Rachel‘s tweet and spend ten minutes giving myself a pep talk to walk out of the hotel room.
Spend a lovely dinner with several bloggers and even make conversation fairly easily with several people I had never met before.
Feel puffed up like a peacock for actually talking! To other people!
Go to bed promising myself that I’m going to be a new, chatty, super friendly version of myself on Thursday.

Thursday: Say hello to old friends, hug, squee.
Go to a meet-up for new conference attendees.  Feel armpits become increasingly sweaty. Force myself to say hello and be friendly to three strangers.
Feel paralyzed with social anxiety after that three stranger exertion and decide to go back to my room.
Go to a cocktail party where I feel like a dud at making conversation.
Search the party frantically for people I know, while feeling annoyed with myself for not branching out.
Go to bed promising myself that I’m going to be a new, chatty, super friendly version of myself on Friday.

Friday: See more old friends, hug, and squee.
Play the role of community leader during several photography sessions.  Smile and make small talk with new people.  Think to myself, “see?  This isn’t so hard!”
Go to lunch and completely fail to introduce myself to most of the people at my table.  Think to myself that NOW I’m going to introduce myself.  No, NOW.  Okay, for real-NOW.  Get up and leave without introducing myself.
Kick myself on the way back to my room.
Go to the Hallmark bloggers get together and talk to Rachel and think to myself, “Why can’t I talk to people easily like Rachel does!?!”
Head out for the Girl’s Night Out festivities and drink a few alcoholic beverages.
Feel a bit (okay, A LOT) of liquid courage.
Become incredibly friendly, talk easily with strangers, and even introduce myself to blog crushes.
Go to bed promising myself that I’m going to be a new, chatty, super friendly version of myself on Saturday, minus the liquid courage.

Saturday: EXHAUSTION sets in.  Unable to make conversation with anyone.
Awkwardly smile and stand around most of the day, completely unable to spend the energy it would take to put a sentence together.
Go to the Girl’s Night In events and watch as people dance and sing Karaoke and think to myself, “Damn, I’m missing out. LIKE I ALWAYS DO.”
Go to bed promising myself that I’m going to be a new, chatty, super friendly version of myself NEXT year at Blissdom.

So in conclusion, if we met anytime other than Friday night-oh, say-between 9:30 pm and 2 am, then, “Hi!!  It’s really great to meet you!  What’s your blog about?  Where are you from?  Those shoes?  Are amazing!  Did you hear Rascal Flatts is coming Friday night?  Won’t that be fun?! Are you having a good time?  Blissdom is really great, isn’t it?!  Yeah, it’s been great getting to know you!”

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.