B.F.F.

Oh, Tylenol PM, I love you so much.

When a girl gets to be of a certain size in her midsection sleep can become elusive. Sleep can become even more elusive if said large bellied girl catches a cold where she can't breathe during futile attempts at sleep.

Cranky preggo + head cold = a side of preggo that is generally reserved for those who love her the most and are more apt to forgive her for ugly behavior, showing up at work.

Consult with nurse at doctors office, get list of approved medicines and hit up the drug section of the grocery store like a mad woman.

Enter Tylenol PM riding in on a white horse and delivering two nights of sleep that isn't perfect but damn close.

From the mouth of my doctor at today's appointment: "Tylenol PM is perfectly safe. You could take it every night if you wanted to." How did she know that was exactly what I was contemplating?!

Invisible Woman

I have gotten this email a few times and each time I do, I think about posting it. Finally, here it is!

If you are a mom, I'm sure this will speak volumes to you. If you are not a mom, it will at least make you think about how your own mother feels about you.

The Invisible Woman

It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street, I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible.

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She's going, she's going, she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought this for you."

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

* No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
* The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder...as one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Far Sides

Orange Wishes

Happy Birthday to Jim!

Today is Jim's 40-something birthday! Yippee! I'm sure he's celebrating in high Home Depot style! (He's a store manager where I Can Do It and He Can Help.)

My mom is so crazy. (Have you ever wondered where I get it?!) She had a bobblehead of Jim made for his birthday! I think the people did a pretty good job with his likeness, don't you?

Too bad the bobblehead people couldn't put a Depot apron on him!

Bugaphobia

Saturday David and I took Ella to K-State's Insect Zoo. She wasn't hesitant about going since I told her that all of the bugs would be behind glass where she couldn't touch them and they couldn't touch her. She's so cool.

There was one section of the place that had a 'petting zoo' and she did touch the wandering leaf bug. In my attempt to get her to touch the other things, I had to go first. So I touched a giant millipede and a tarantula. Yeah. A TARANTULA! Which she did not touch, btw. Holy crap the things I do to try and be a good mother!

Generally I can handle bugs OK, especially in front of Ella because I don't want to transfer my fear/grossed-out-ness to her. I am very hard pressed, however, when it comes to roaches. I just can't stand the nasty, nasty, super speedy little shits. (I always imagine them crawling up my arm or something.)

So here we go, tra la la, through the insect zoo. All the way up to the big freakin' display of roaches. Ugh. I start to get a little uneasy, maybe feel a bit of a chill and perhaps hold back the urge to throw up. Now it seems very rational and likely that they will escape from their little glass boxes and crawl all over me. These are no little shits, as mentioned before. Oh no, these are BIG, FOUR INCH LONG mo-fo's that could take a person down if they wanted to, I'm sure. AND THEY HISS. Heaven help me.

I had to walk away.

Ella Grace, in her kind, unfreaked out by the ginormous roaches way, says "It's ok, Mama, they are behind the glass". Such a dear, sweet child. I say "Thank you, baby, I know" from my safe place way across the room.

I think I'll take another round with that tarantula.

Teaching mama how to be cool with bugs is tough work.

RSVP

In the past month or so I have put my name out there to three potential places of employment and one mother requesting a play date.

Take a guess at how many replies I have gotten.

Go on, give it a shot.

Did you guess ZERO? Because that would be how many. What in the hell is going on here?! Don't these people know that I am not to be messed with given my current state of affairs? For now I am going to place the blame on the non-respondents for their non-responsiveness. (I don't know how they can sleep at night.)

Update: Ella knows that the one thing holding up her play date with Lily is a phone call from Lily's mother. So she asked her to call me. Damn, that girl is sharp! E tells me last week, out of the blue, that Lily's mom will call me when she gets back from vacation. Hmm....She better or else this could make for an awkward encounter some day at preschool!

Little Hamilton

This is Hamilton, the son of our friends Andy and Beth. I thought he was SO stinkin' cute that I had to share with everyone. I told Andy that maybe Hamilton and baby Ashley could be boyfriend/girlfriend? Unless he aims high and goes for an older woman in Ella Grace!

There's a not-so-subtle message here...

Impulse buy-a-thon

These things started it all.


They are crazy good and crazy addictive. I had some a while back and scarffed them down in no time but hadn't bought any more because they are a little expensive.

I had to run to the grocery store over lunch in hot persuit of soap and tea bags. TWENTY-FIVE dollars later, I emerged from the grocery store with my soap and tea bags... and a few other items.

Here is the thought process of a crazy pregnant girl (see if you can follow along, I dare you):

'It's lunch time and I haven't had the Chinese food from here in a long time. I'll take the #3 meal, please... OK! Tea bags!...Here's the tea bags... Mmmm, the next aisle over is cookies...Hey! I could get some of those Pirouette things!... There they are! Chocolate hazelnut, that's the kind I like. But look! They have chocolate mint too! I bet those would be really good, kind of like an Andes candy, but damn they are expensive!... Andes candy? I used to eat those all the time at Granny and Grandaddy's house. I wonder if they have those here? Where's the candy aisle?... Here they are! Andes candy! And a lot cheaper than the other things! One box for me and off I go to check out... Except wait! What was right next to the Andes? Ooohhh, Milk Duds! Yum! A box of those for me too!'

I would say Somebody Stop Me! but I don't think anyone is brave enough to try!

Georgia on my mind

Why, why, why?

Why do all of the crazy ass stories have to come from the homeland?! As if everyone around here doesn't have enough to make fun of me about already, this story comes out. (I had two people forward this story to me, asking if I knew this dude. ha ha.)

Armless Man Delivers Fatal Headbut?! In Georgia, no less. Lovely.

(I'm thinking that if I got killed by an armless man I would be ashamed.)

Birds

It was like a scene from The Birds. All these damn gulls just kept making the rounds around the fields near our house and I knew that eventually they would show up right by our house... and sure enough. These pictures were taken from my deck and if I didn't keep myself steady with dreams of a shotgun, I would have freaked the eff out!

Gotta Have Faith

Today on my drive to preschool, my favorite radio morning show took a few minutes to talk very seriously about suicide (in response to the news about Owen Wilson). The DJ told a story about how suicide had touched his life, including the death of his nephew. He quoted his brother as saying 'no father should outlive his son'.

Bring on the tears for me.

Even as hormone riddled as I am, I would have begun crying anyway. Losing one of my children has got to be my biggest and most real fear. So much so that I can't even really discuss it further here, because I'm about to cry as I type.

On the way to work I compose myself and prepare for the next few hours until the weekend. Until I fire up my computer and read an email from Karen. Yesterday was the three year birthday of her twins Gavin and Colin. Unfortunately, yesterday was also the three year anniversary of their death (baby Gavin and baby Colin were born so early that even the sons of two Army Captains couldn't soldier through).

Karen writes:

"Today was the first time in a long time that Gavin & Colin's birthday did not consume me in grief. No. Instead, I decided to remember them, and what could have been. I decided to join the Fight To Save Babies. Together, we can make sure that another family doesn't grieve over the loss of their baby."

Did I mention that I started crying again? After my waterworks earlier, my eyeliner didn't stand a chance. I followed the link and donated to the March of Dimes in honor of two wonderful little boys that I never knew.

In the time since September of 2004, Karen's husband got deployed for another tour in Iraq, she joined my boxing class and became my partner, got pregnant (gotta love those 2 week R&R breaks!) and had an adorable baby girl. Who they aptly named Faith.

In honor of Karen and her family, who have endured my own greatest personal fear, I am trumpeting her cause here. If you have a few extra dollars that you would like to donate to the March of Dimes in memory of two little boys who would have surely been Ella's boyfriends, click here.

Perhaps you have personal experience with a baby being born prematurely. Or perhaps you were one yourself. Or perhaps you have children that made it to full term and are very grateful. Or, even better, you had a wonderful labor and delivery nurse (which Karen is, btw) that helped you or your wife through one of the toughest and most rewarding experiences of your life.

If you don't feel your mouse moving over to the very fast, very easy link (click here!) please keep my plea in the back of your mind the next time that you see a March of Dimes bucket asking for your change or the cashier at the grocery store asks you to add a dollar to your bill for a donation.

The Filipino goddess, big K, with her smoldering husband and beautiful baby Faith.

Play Dating

In Ella's cubby Monday was a note that said:

'Sarah Somebody
Lily's Mom
785-123-4567
To set up a play date! :)'

When David gave this to me (since this is Mom territory, after all) I didn't know what to do/how to respond. My initial reaction was 'I don't even know which kid Lily is, much less who her mom is!' Then I wondered how this play date business goes and what do we do and does this mean that I have to sit and chat with a total stranger while our daughters play?! Then I couldn't figure out what my problem was and why didn't I want to be sociable and possibly make a new friend?

I somehow associated play dates with military wives (set me straight, Karen!). What if Lily's mom is military and perhaps her husband is deployed... Shame on me for not wanting to get together with a woman who could probably use some companionship! But then again, maybe this is something that is absolutely a standard Mom thing and I need to get on board?!

(All the while during my internal struggle with accepting a perfectly friendly invitation and having to make conversation with a total stranger, David is there for me. Laughing. In a mocking way. What a stinkin' turkey.)

Maybe this is how I should be approaching things!

In a moment of weakness...

I must be feeling brave, or just crazy, but here you go. Andria has been very forthcoming with her preggo pics but I just can't manage to stomach it (get it?!).

This cracks my head open!

Scrub-A-Dub-Dub

Scrub a dub dub, a sheep in a tub? Not exactly in a tub, but there were sheep were getting washed Friday evening, nonetheless! Being friendly with the sheep barn manager allows for all kinds of educational and fun activities for a 3 year old girl (remember feeding little lambs?)!

The barn guys are taking a few ewes down to the state fair and needed to get them squeaky clean before their big debut. Ella couldn't resist the opportunity to get dirty and bury her hands in all of that wool! The ewe seemed to like her little massage to boot!

Ta Ta Nation

Check out the new Tough Enough to Wear Pink shirts! I think the slogan is great! If you do too, or just want to support breast cancer research, let me know and I will order you a shirt ($10). I think I'm going to have to get two, one to wear on the day of the event and then one that will fit me once I deflate!

Chore Time

Maybe it's time for David to empty the manure bucket? Good grief!

Do you suppose these are 'special' mushrooms?!

Tatt Envy

I indulged in a guilty pleasure the other night and watched LA Ink. One of the artists did this tattoo that I just loved.

I'm not into tattoos for myself but I would love to have this design on a shirt or something!


Kick ass!

Bookworms: Endangered Species?

A recent poll by the Associated Press revealed that 1 in 4 Americans read no books last year. None.

Read the whole msn.com article here.

Can this be right? If it is, what the hell are we all coming to?!

I think this year I will hit the 10+ mark. (What with all of the Harry Potter rereading and such.) David will probably surpass me by at least 5 books to hit the 15+ mark! I just can't believe that one quarter of Americans haven't read a single book in a year! I think I agree with the article that the internet and TV are partially to blame for distracting those with a little free time. But then again, it's the people themselves who aren't cruising Amazon.com, or for goodness sakes the damn library!, looking for a book of interest. COME ON!

Please have mercy on me and tell me that you have read a book. Any book. Trashy bodice ripping romance novel? Great! (The trashier the better, in my opinion!) Dark mystery full of twists and turns? Perfect. Or perhaps a how to? Kids fictional boy wizard? Self improvement? The Bible?

Throw me a bone!