An Unexpected Parent/Teacher Conference Moment

This morning at Averey's parent/teacher conference, we heard nice comments from her second grade teacher. It was also neat that Averey mostly lead the conference herself, sharing her reading, writing, and math goals for the year. 

And then her teacher shared with us a story about her that was incredibly sweet and touching. She even said it was one of her favorite moments in all of her (23) years of teaching. 

She proceeded to tell us that she is trying to build the reading community in Averey's class, asking students to recommend books to their classmates. She said that one day, Averey chose the book, "Now One Foot, Now the Other" by Tomie dePaola, for a friend of hers. This classmate's father had suffered a debilitating stroke last winter, and the book was about a boy whose grandfather had a stroke. Her teacher had long forgotten about this book on the shelf, but apparently Averey had read it awhile ago, and according to Averey, she thought it would help her classmates understand what was going on with the girl's father.

Their teacher read the story, and she said that Averey sat next to her friend while the book was shared. The book went home with the girl, and she shared it with her mom and sister. They proceeded to take the book to Pittsburgh where her father is in rehab, and shared the story with family there.

I could tell by the emotion in her voice that she was really affected by this moment, and Jake and I were definitely touched. I'm not a mushy emotional mom (i.e. I don't cry on the first day of school, I didn't cry when my children were born), but it wasn't easy to maintain composure hearing that story.

Averey had never told us about that. I wouldn't have expected that anyway. I often find myself praying that she (and her sisters) will have a spirit of compassion, and in spite of hearing, "I want that! Why can't I do this? When can I do that?", I saw that moment as an answer to prayer. While she is a loving, helping big sister, I was beyond touched that she extended such a thoughtful gesture to someone outside of her family.

So when she's fighting with Kelsey, when she's whining about the food on her dinner plate, when she's overly dramatic about minor injuries, I will remember this story and treasure it forever.

Remembering Friends

I've felt that over the past 17 years, when I talk about Flight 800, the story I share focuses on how our friends died, how I found out about the crash and what it was like to live through such a tragedy at 17.

But now that the incident occurred half a lifetime ago (for those of us that were 17 at the time), I want to shift my story about how my friends lived. Their memories are still so very vivid, and even those people that I only knew as acquaintances, I can still recall my interactions with them like they happened yesterday. It's incredible to me how the memory of someone who's passed seems to blossom in the shadow of their death.

On the night of Wednesday, July 17, 1996, I knew immediately that I had lost three friends: Cheryl Nibert, Kim Rogers, and Monica Weaver. By the morning, my grandmother called and asked if I knew Jessica Aikey, because she heard her name as one of the victims. Another pang of pain went through my heart, and how did I forget that Jess had been on that plane too?

As the days passed and we grieved for the losses and our hometown of Montoursville was the central focus of much of the Flight 800 coverage on the news, we would often talk about our friends, and in the midst of tears, we could laugh at the good times.

Even now, I still smile at the good times. Their voices and laughter continually echo. They will never be forgotten.

Cheryl was a year behind me and was a close friend of a mutual friend, Erin (who is still now one of my best friends, in part because of Flight 800). We were on track together that spring, and somehow her cheerful persuasion had me running the 100m hurdles with her at a meet (in spite of never practicing on them). That was a huge mistake as I stumbled over them and completely humiliated myself. I knew she felt bad, but I couldn't hold it against her. I went to her 16th birthday party, and I still have her thank-you card in which she thanked me for the birthday money as she would be using it for her Europe fund. She also made it her mission to get me and my boyfriend together, and her plan worked. I am grateful for the short time we had as friends.

Cheryl at Prom '96. This pose says it all!

Jess and I were in the same section in 7th and 8th grade, so we became friends during those years. I'm not sure why one of my memories of her has to do with her teeth, but after her braces were removed, she had a retainer with two false teeth on it, so she could slip it out with her tongue and freak people out. I just thought it was funny. We continued to have classes together in high school, and I still have a Christmas card from her where she addressed me as her "bathroom buddy." Somehow we always ended up in the bathroom together after lunch during our sophomore year, brushing our hair and retouching our make-up. I remember a fun summer get-together at her house. I remember a party at another friend's house after our sophomore year, and we decided to drive around because we could. Some of us piled in Jess's car, and at one point we thought it would be a great idea to do a Chinese fire drill. While Jess had her group of close-knit friends, she remained a constant in my life throughout high school. I took it for granted that she would always be there for conversation.

Last day of junior year--6/7/96

Kim and I were in the same 1st grade class, and it wasn't until 5th grade that we ended up in the same section. Kim was an only child, quiet, but a reliable friend. She was the first person I recognized as a "BFF", proclaiming it in our origami-folded notes we passed back and forth throughout our 6th grade year. She invited me to go with her to her grandparents' house one summer weekend up in Wellsboro. We (attempted) fishing in their pond, sitting on their roof, swinging in their barn, and gossiping about our classmates. We remained close through middle school as we were in the same sections all four years (and often sat next together as the alphabet would have it). She would occasionally come to my church as one of the older ladies, a neighbor of Kim's, claimed her as her "adopted granddaughter". We shared classes in high school, and played together on the AYSO soccer team our sophomore year. While we weren't as close in high school, we remained in the same group of friends (and pretty much sat next to each other in homeroom in high school), and I can still see her smile, her long brown hair, and I still recall the way she would roll her eyes when exasperated. I only wish I had seen her that summer before she was to leave on her trip.

Kim rocking a retro dress of her mom's at prom!

Monica and I were also in the same 1st grade class. It wasn't until 4th grade that we became friends, and I still remember going to her birthday party. She was one of the youngest members of our class with her birthday falling on January 11, 1980. We lovingly teased her over the years since she was the "baby." We ended up in classes together throughout middle school, and I recalled some fun birthday sleepovers during those years. She and Kim were also BFFs, so a lot of memories of Monica in middle school also include Kim. It wasn't until we had Biology together freshman year that our friendship started to grow closer. We arranged a "Secret Santa" gift exchange between a few of our friends, and I hosted a little Christmas party at my house for the "revealing" of our Secrets. Being 1993 (and somewhat obsessed with making mixed tapes and recording people--for example, my cousins, brother and I invented a radio station and made a whole tape as that radio station), I turned on my cassette recorder, which seemed silly at the time, but now I have Monica's voice on tape (and for that reason I can't part with a cassette player).

During our junior year, we really started to bond. Between trying to harmonize when we sang the Gin Blossoms' "Follow You Down" and the "Friends" theme song, from going to country line dancing on Sunday nights at the Econo Lodge, to talking on the phone in the middle of the snowstorm that cancelled her 16th birthday party, to sitting next to each other in Cultures, whispering back and forth... there isn't much of my junior year that Monica was not a part. By the end of the year, she was settling into her first serious relationship with a college guy. He came to prom with her, and I was ecstatic for her. We had plans for me to come to her house and spend the night. I remember sitting in her living room with her parents at 11:30, waiting for her to return. Eventually, I got so tired I decided to go home. She and her boyfriend had decided to watch a movie after prom. I couldn't begrudge her for that... but in retrospect, I wish I had just stayed at her house and waited for her. We could've had such a fun sleepover together.

Last day of junior year... not sure about my face, but Monica looks great, as always.

We saw each other a few times that summer. We were both in serious relationships, so we could share in each other's excitement. She came to my house and we kicked around on a raft in our pool. The weekend before her trip, I stopped by her place to show off my senior pictures. She had hers taken that week and was excited to see the results. We last saw each other on Monday, July 15. Monica got to drive us around for the first time. We laughed and talked about how much we would have to write in our yearbooks. On the morning of July 17, I called her to wish her well on her trip. Her words still ring in my ears: "If you hadn't called me, I would've called you, because I wouldn't have left without saying good-bye."

Senior year was not the same without her, and I felt sad about that quite often. But if anything, our friendship was sealed on a high note. I knew immediately after she died, that my first daughter's middle name would be Monica. Averey now asks about her middle namesake, knowing that she is Averey Monica is in honor of a friend of mine that died in a plane crash.

I often wonder where my friends would be today had they gone to France like so many other French Clubs across the nation did, and returned to tell the stories of their amazing adventure. How different would our senior year have been? Where would they have gone to college? Would they be married with kids? Would they be travelling the world? Would we still be friends?

But the questions just lead to sadness. Even 17 years later, thinking of their loss still strikes a chord. I can read my journals from that time, and it can still make me cry. I will never understand WHY, but I believe that God has brought good from this tragedy. A friendship that would have otherwise ended because of a tiff is still going strong today because we both lost dear friends in that crash. I can't let my loved ones leave without kisses and "I love yous". A cautious attitude towards life has followed me, but also an attitude of having no regrets trumps that. My husband and I would not be together if it weren't for that; I would not be going back to school if it weren't for that.

At the beginning of our senior year, our Economics teacher, Mr. King, wrote a letter to us in which he eloquently ended with the statement regarding our lost friends, "They would urge all of us to laugh more, learn more, live more, and to love more. Doing that affords us a view of them forever."

Living life today, I can say that truer words have not been spoken.

In loving memory of our friends
Class of '96   Dan Baszczewski   Rance Hettler   Jody Loudenslager   Jacqueline Watson
Class of '97   Jessica Aikey   Jordan Bower   Amanda Karschner   Kim Rogers
Monica Weaver   Wendy Wolfson 
Class of '98   Michelle Bohlin   Monica Cox   Cheryl Nibert   Larissa Uzupis  
Class of '99   Claire Gallagher   Julia Grimm            
Chaperones   Deborah Dickey   Douglas Dickey   Carol Fry   Judy Rupert
Eleanor Wolfson

Jacey Turns One... Say Whaaat???

I can hardly believe I have a ONE-YEAR-OLD today!

(I can hardly believe it's been over six weeks since I posted my last entry!)

While I have plenty of inspiration swirling around me, I've just not put the fingers to the keyboard. Alas, I'm sure the three little girls that provoke entries in my head also prevent the entries from making it to the computer.

Now that I've been a mother of three girls for a year now, perhaps I can dispense wise advice about having three children... but as I am still in the learning process (and fully expect this to be a learn-on-the-job experience for the rest of my life), what I've learned most is to not let those precious moments with your last baby pass you by. Don't let the frustrating times with your stubborn 4-year-old get the best of you. Don't forget to share those joyous moments with your exuberant 7-year-old. (And let's not forget that the 4-year-old is also hilarious, so try and write down every funny thing she says!)

On a daily basis, I am still somewhat dumbfounded that I have three girls. Since both Jake and I grew up in two-kid households AND we each had a brother, we knew that when Jacey came along, we were treading in uncharted waters. Of course, strangers will freely give their opinions: "Good luck!" "Just wait until they're teenagers!" (To which I respond, "I was a good teenager, so there's always a chance they'll take after me!") and my personal favorite: "Are you gonna try for that boy?" (I STILL don't know how you "try" for a boy or girl!) My response is that I'm quite happy with three girls, and truthfully, I don't feel that I'm missing out by not having a boy.

And now, baby girl is one. I still vividly remember her longer-than-expected labor, the screaming and writhing in pain that probably scared some first-time mom down the hall, and the feeling right after she was born: joy. And she is the essence of joy; another sweet baby girl who sucks her thumb, who patiently waits while I tend to her sisters, who is the peacemaker for said sisters (all I have to do is show them Jacey when they're fighting, and they melt with, "Awww!"), who gives silly grins and is now exploring everything (including electrical outlets--yikes!), who I swear says, "HEATHER!" when she sees me (kind of sounds like a combo of my name and "Hi-yah!"), and who reminds me of both Averey and Kelsey as babies. She is the piece that completes our family.

It may be chaotic and crazy, and I am not sure how we manage to get out of the house in one piece most days, but while I feared the prospect of three children one year ago, I cannot imagine it any other way now.

Lessons in Motherhood

On my anniversary, I talked about what I learned in five years of marriage. In honor of this Mother's Day, I figured it would be fitting to share what I've learned/experienced in seven years of being a mother...

It's always hard to hear your children cry in pain. But when that pain is caused by a paper cut, you find yourself telling your eldest to "suck it up and quit crying." (Funnily enough, you were as much of a wuss when you were seven, but now that you've birthed three children, a paper cut seems pretty darn insignificant.)

You swore you'd NEVER talk loudly (some people call it yelling) to your children in any store when they misbehave/whine/cry... that is, until your precious three-year-old has forgotten what the word "STOP" means.

You never realized how much you'd celebrate poop. Your life suddenly revolves around poop, how frequently or infrequently it happens, how big/small it is, and you will divulge these details with your spouse (or other moms who will also have pooping stories to share) as if it were 5:00 newsworthy information.

And while I'm discussing bodily functions... you've always had somewhat of a phobia about vomit. So when your oldest pukes in her sleep (which you did at age 7 and kicked off this phobia), you can call your own mother and say, "So remember when you found me sleeping in vomit? Well, I got my payback!"

You will try your darndest to keep a straight face when scolding your children for disobedience or some other offense and they can't help themselves from farting/crying ridiculously loud crocodile tears/putting their hands on their hips and being absolutely sassy. (Your middle child will probably save herself from many punishments because she's so stinking FUNNY!)

You get super frustrated trying to teach your oldest to tie her shoes. You get super excited when she figures it out all by herself.

You share pictures of yourself at age seven with your seven-year-old ("Your hair was funny!" "That's what you call a perm."), old school papers and report cards in the hopes she realizes that once upon a time (in a land not so far away), you were a kid too.

You can never sniff a clean baby too much. You will also do the "sniff check" for baby bottoms and find the results not quite as pleasant.

No matter how hard you try, you can never seem to get Monday mornings quite right. You've exploded on more than one occasion, and yet, your children still love you anyway. (Although they seem to yell a lot on Monday mornings too...)

Upon childbirth, your relationship with your own mother completely turns around. Everything comes full circle, and suddenly, you get it. Mom was right... well, at least 95% of the time.

You are incredibly thankful for your own mother, for your mother-in-law, (not forgetting the fathers either) who never seem to be inconvenienced by watching their granddaughters, and that they all live close enough to help out in a pinch. You know others who are not so fortunate.

So here's to all the moms out there. Enjoy your day, and may your child do something that warms your heart... or maybe just makes you laugh.

What I've Learned in Five Years of Marriage

Five years? Really?

(This is the part where Jake sighs and says, "Five LONG years," then grins and says, "I love you!" Ha ha.)

Five years and three kids later... here we are.

That makes it sound even crazier, but when you do the math and realize our oldest is seven, then clearly there is more to the story. I blogged about our love story in a three-part series last year, now it's time for a little reflection... so here I go.

I've learned...

Your wedding day is NOT the best day of your life. Being in the throes of labor, deciding to be superwoman and forgo the epidural, screaming at the top of your lungs while your husband tries to do what he can to comfort you, and pushing out your third baby girl after nearly 17 hours from your first contraction pales that in comparison. You're not as pretty that day, but that moment is more amazing than the kiss after the "I do."

Your husband will tell you that you need to brush your teeth. You will tell your husband he needs a shower. But it's good that you can stink together.

You'll roll your eyes when your husband can be nothing but sarcastic when you need him to be serious. He will roll his eyes when you tell him for the thousandth time that you have nothing to wear... never mind that the closet in your bedroom only houses your clothes. (It's a small closet, in my defense.)

You will both try to stifle laughs when your three-year-old unknowingly uses her middle finger to point at EVERYTHING, and even more so that your seven-year-old has no idea what it means either.

You will both cringe at each other's driving. Your husband will be able to sing off-key to the songs on the radio, but it just so happens his pet peeve is people singing along to the radio. Never mind that you can actually sing.

You will join a MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group for support and friendship and have your time away from the house and your job. Your husband will have his Thursday night out with the guys. And you're always glad to see each other when you get home.

Your husband has a chance to take a service trip to Estonia (which can only be described as a God-story), and even though the trip is over your daughter's and your birthdays, you want him to go because you know that it would be an incredible opportunity for him. (And he wants to go back.)

You will worry about your children, about your parents, about each other. You'll get grumpy with each other even when you know better. You'll snap at each other, get annoyed with each other... but one of you will always break and apologize. It's not always easy, but you work through it.

One of you will be the hard @$$ when it comes to certain issues in parenting, one of you will be the softie. Sometimes that role reverses. And your children will know how to play you when you're the softie.

Your husband will never fill up the toilet paper holder. You will never empty the vacuum. Yet somehow you manage to keep your house at a minimal disaster area (it helps that we're trying to sell the house too).

I never imagined after we met nearly 19 years ago that we would've ended up here, but it's been an incredible ride... even when it involves icky chores like cleaning up the sink after he cuts his hair, and him unclogging the bathtub drain, my hair being the culprit.

But at the end of the day, I am blessed beyond measure to live with my best friend. Happy anniversary babe!

A Week That Was...

If you were to read some of my teenage journals, you may find a couple pages drawn with high hills and deep plummets to mark the "rollercoaster" of my life, each peak and trough marked by an event (most of which had to do with boys... stupid boys). I know that being married with children leaves you open to all sorts of unpredictability. This past week was sort of a mini-rollercoaster of events.

We started off Monday coasting up a hill with the prospect that the home we placed a contingent offer on was back in our court after being snatched away by people, who turned out to be unable to get financing. With spring FINALLY arriving, we thought we'd get some traffic through our home. Alas, the contingent house was just not meant to be as it got snagged away a day later, this time for real. Go figure we should end up getting two showings this weekend. And I'm not sure how much we care since the viewers will probably complain about our low ceilings, as have 98% of the people who've been through our home. We're content here (and also really picky when it comes to selecting another home), but sometimes it sure would be nice to have a bigger kitchen and bedrooms. At this point, we're just waiting it out a couple more weeks to see what else comes on the market (and hoping those short people who don't like to cook will find our home a perfect fit).

Thursday brought surgery for Kelsey for her mycobacterium infection that just won't go away. (If you don't know the story, and are interested enough to learn about this, I've blogged about it before... maybe last September?) However, she'd been fighting a cold, so we knew it might not happen. She walked into the same-day surgery center with confidence until her ENT marked her jawline with a pen... and then mommy and daddy heard, "I want to go hooooommmme," for 20 minutes afterward. After the pediatric anesthesiologist listened to her, she assessed that we postpone the surgery until her cold is gone. On May 9th, we'll get to do it all over again. Maybe now that she's had a trial run, it won't be so bad next time...

Thursday also brought Jacey's 9-month checkup. As I plopped her onto the scale and saw she only weighed 14 lbs. 14 oz. (a gain of only 1 lb. 5 oz. in three months time), the nurse said she's sort of falling off her weight curve. I'd planned to discuss my concern over her still spitting up (like a fountain at times) now that she's eating solids, nursing and drinking formula. Her pediatrician said she's not wasting away, and it doesn't appear to be a food allergy or reflux. The kid doesn't projectile vomit or cry when she spews (she's seriously one of the most content babies ever), and although she's got a good appetite, something just isn't quite right. So he ordered a GI scan, which frankly, after all the puking she's done today (it hardly seems like anything stayed in her belly), April 19th can't come soon enough.

It's not been the worst week ever (by far), but it's not been a stellar week either. My natural pessimistic attitude sometimes overshadows how I feel about these situations (and frustrates my hubby), but in beginning a new week, I hold fast to the wisdom of James 1:2-3... "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." I see the pure joy of Averey's enthusiasm, Kelsey's boldness, Jacey's sweetness, and approaching nearly five years of marriage to my dear husband... as a family, we'll get through these hiccups (and baby barf), look back and see how God orchestrated it all.

My blog-iversary!

Well, it's official. I've been blogging for a year now. Clearly that gives me the right to use a corny term in my title.

I hope during that time I've been able to encourage other moms so that they don't feel bad about their own chaotic situations. While I haven't maintained consistency (an entry daily, every other day, or every week even), I think 42 entries in the past year isn't anything to sneeze at considering I've been feeling hectic in my own life situations.

I also hope that I've been able to make people laugh. While I don't consider myself funny, I've been told multiple times that this entry or that entry made someone giggle or altogether laugh out loud, I guess maybe I must be somewhat humorous. And really, in a house full of loud silly girls, there's bound to be a lot of laughs, even when the situation that presents itself isn't quite laughable in the moment.

So here's to more entries, maybe more consistency, and always inspiration, which never runs dry in this house.

Would You Like Some Cheese With That Whine?

We have been getting an earful of whining, tattling, grumbling, and bawling this weekend. Between on-the-go Kelsey who cries at the drop of a hat (at seeing her dinner plate--never mind she's the non-picky child; at us persuading her to go to the bathroom, because her socks aren't on right, whatever the un-rational reason may be), and Averey who whiiiiiines incessantly ("I'm hungry, thirsty, bored", "Kelsey's hitting, punching, looking at, breathing on me!"), we've had them both in a time-out chair this weekend. I've had to separate them twice (which made them both cry, even though they weren't in trouble), and we've had to ask them to clean up their messes for the umpteenth time.

If I felt like bundling (and un-bundling) them in their snow clothes, I have half a mind to send them out in the snow just so they can fuss and whine outside!

But oh, I am hating the snow. I'm tired of cold weather. I can't stand my winter clothes anymore. I want to wear sandals. I need some fun spring clothes and shoes. I need a haircut and highlights. I want someone to come through our house and not comment on the low ceilings. I want someone to actually put an offer on our house. I want that bigger kitchen in THE house we've placed an offer on. I want...

Oh, was I complaining about my children whining? Hmm.

Perhaps we all need a lesson on not whining: Philippians 2:14 "Do everything without grumbling or arguing..." 

I know my circumstances are great. I am thankful for so much in my life. Sometimes I just let those trivial things get in the way. And above all, I thank God for Jake, who is able to deal with all of this feminine whining without whining himself. Well, he may grumble a bit... but I think he's earned it. He is sinking in this sea of estrogen after all.

Trying to Escape the Neon

Shopping has always been a favorite pastime of mine. When I can clothes shop for my girls by myself, I am happy as a clam. Yesterday, I set foot in Gymboree, to browse and select Easter-y clothes for my trio. With the coordinating colors and outfit decisions, it is a haven for a mother of three girls like myself (and pure torture for my husband). I finally settled on one of the new spring lines with lilac, buttery yellow and green. The outfits, classic and able to be worn again (I don't believe in buying fancy Easter dresses: completely impractical for my girls' wardrobes), passed down from girl to girl, and (thankfully) my girls loved the choices I made (but they have yet to complain about anything I bring home).

Since I had some time to myself at the mall, I checked out a couple of other stores, and then I headed into Justice with much trepidation. I've heard Averey mention Justice a couple times this school year; since I go to the mall typically by myself, I've purposefully avoided it. But the sales looked incredible, and surely I could find something suitable for Averey.

I walked into perpetual neon, lace, animal prints and peace sign barf. I know sequins and glitter are fun, and I wore my fair share of shiny, glittery, obnoxious clothing in high school and college. I know my middle school wardrobe had its fair share of neon too. I just can't say there would be much in there I would feel good about my 7-year-old wearing to school... especially because they go up to size 16. And in browsing in a couple of other department stores too, the neon was overpowering, and honestly, a lot of it just looked trashy. (Since when did skulls become "cute"?)

So either I just have good taste or I am out of style. I'm going out on a limb to say it's the former rather than the latter. Thankfully, Jake and I share the same view on clothes, so he doesn't usually mind my Gymboree sprees.

I know the day is coming when I won't be able to shop for my girls' clothes without them in tow, and I know they'll be giving their opinions. My hope is that I've dressed them well and modestly enough while they're young so they make wise clothing choices when they're older. For now, I'll just find solace in the non-neon environment of Gymboree (and a couple other select stores).

I can see it now: as teenagers, they'll probably be wearing some obnoxious clothing, and I'll tell them that they will laugh at those clothes when they're older (just like my mom told me), and I will be hopelessly out of style (even if I know I am still in style). Fashion and motherhood share a vital characteristic: everything comes full circle.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Let me run my disclaimer here: I honestly can't say I'm sleep deprived, or have suffered from much sleep deprivation during my 7-year career as a mother. My girls have been (mostly) awesome sleepers as infants, toddlers, preschoolers. Also, don't take that as bragging either. Because some nights are better than others...

Like last night, for instance.

Jake is ready to be rid of the baby monitor in our room. However, I am hesitant to let it go (even though I can't remember the last time I got up to comfort Jacey in the middle of the night) simply because her room is at the front of our house, and I fear that if she does need me during the night, I won't hear her. I'm not sure that she needed me last night, but oh, did I hear her. Between the babbling and fussing, she was making her presence known on the monitor.

Sandwich that between my cracked-out vivid dreams (I thought those were supposed to end with pregnancy, and NO I am NOT pregnant!), finding myself in a position with my arms above my head (and one arm falling asleep) and Kelsey yelling out because of a bad dream, I don't know if I caught any ZZZs between 3 and 5:15.

Kelsey needed some comforting (thankfully in her own bed), her blankets, her lovey and her sleep mask. I fumbled around for these items in the dark until she remarked, "Turn on the night light mommy." Even a night light was going to blind me, but I had to make sure I could find that darn lovey. Averey awakens to say, "It's another lovey mystery!" We seem to go on a mad witch hunt for lovey on a daily basis, which baffles me because it's her thumb-sucking companion. You think she wouldn't let it out of her sight!

The desired sleep articles were found, and I crawled back in bed. I'm not sure how much time elapsed, but probably not enough since I sat straight up when the girls' door cracked open. This time it was Averey. "I can't fall back asleep." Instead of guiding her back to bed and comforting her, I snapped, "Well, I can't fall back asleep either because you girls keep waking me up!" My curtness must have done the trick though, because I had to wake her up at 7:15.

I realize that as a mother (and father, as Jake has had his fair share of nights awake when the girls come to his side of the bed) that I won't sleep as well as I did in a former life. And as I'm sleepy again and haven't even started my work day yet, I try to maintain a sense of thankfulness that this is not a nightly occurrence. I sympathize for those moms out there who truly are sleep-deprived zombies.

When I do catch the girls sleeping, they do look absolutely angelic: thumbs hanging on Kelsey's and Jacey's lips for dear life, a lump of Averey underneath her blanket somewhere, and Jacey arched into a frog position (how is that even comfortable?). Through their contorted positions, tossing and turning, they still sleep better than me.

If we get a new mattress here soon, maybe I'll be sleeping just as well... just in time for them to have a nightmare and want to sleep in our bed.

Accidental Potty-Training

Accidental potty-training? you ask. I am well aware there are plentiful accidents in potty-training, but yes, you can accidentally potty-train your child.

Take Kelsey, for instance. We started training her in November of 2011 when we found out I was pregnant. Actually, we learned her cues and promptly sat her on the pot. She was a harder sell than Averey (potty-trained in one weekend, and then in underwear at night four months later--seriously), but she got it. Eventually.

By spring, she would wake up dry occasionally. I figured we were in the home stretch. Jacey's birth negated all of that progress. But since the new year (a resolution on her part?), she's been waking up dry every morning.

Yesterday morning at 6:30, she entered the bathroom as I'm exiting the shower. She wanted to sleep in our bed, but I had already made it. She choked out a few crocodile tears, and then stopped as she realized something. "Mommy! I slept in my underwear and I'm dry!" I patted her bottom, and sure enough, there was no Pull-Up. Whoops. Jake and I failed. Again.

Post-bath, we put her in underwear until bedtime, because more than once, she has decided it's appropriate to pee in her Pull-Up. A couple months ago, we forgot the Pull-Up and got lucky. Same story Wednesday morning. With my towels wrapped around me, I made my way to the phone to tell Jake the good news. Kelsey emphatically told her daddy she slept in underwear and stayed dry, and Jake said to me, "Well, we dodged another bullet."

Last night, Jake rolled the dice and left her in underwear, and we both were clapping for Kelsey at 6:30 this morning in the bathroom when she was dry. A sight to behold, I'm sure.

There are many thrilling moments you get to experience as a parent. I just never expected to be so enthusiastic over dry underwear... at 6:30 in the morning... in the bathroom... just after I've showered.

Who Let the Fat Out of the Bag?

I know every child is different. But Kelsey never ceases to amaze me, break the mold, or make my face burn with embarrassment (or frustration).

Averey never uttered anything worthy of public humiliation. But alas, as Kelsey is our wild middle child, who is never afraid to express her thoughts, let a terrible faux pas slip from her lips the other day.

I decided to take Kelsey and Jacey to Averey's school to have lunch with her on her birthday. Kelsey, in her great excitement, said hi to every person walking down the hall, telling them her name and that she's in preschool. Of course, in Kelsey-speak, the passers by probably could not interpret her stats.

That was, until, one lady walked down the hall. Kelsey exclaims in a friendly voice, "Hi! You look like you're fat!"

Well, color me mortified! I think the not-so-fat lady chuckled, but unfortunately, there could be no misinterpretation. I didn't know what else to do but give Kelsey's cheek a little flick. She cried, and I told her that she could not say that word to anyone. It's an unkind word, and we can't tell people they're fat.

I couldn't even think of a time we used it... until I recalled Kelsey calling her daddy fat, to which we all laughed. Whoops.

This morning, she struck again, calling my mother fat. (To which she is not, of course.) I did not flick her cheek, but once again calmly explained to her that she could not use that unkind word, and she still cried. But it seemed the point had been drilled into her head.

After church, I picked her up from her classroom, to which she gleefully said, "Mommy! I didn't say fat!" (To which she told her daddy, "The word left my head!")

Hmm. Perhaps we'll have to try another trick in the book. What that trick is though, I'm just not sure.

What I do know is that the next time I want to have lunch with Averey, I'll be going by myself.

What Can Happen in 7 Years...

"Can I be in the delivery room with you when you have this baby?" my mom pleaded.

This request somewhat repulsed me throughout my pregnancy. I had imagined the moment of bringing my firstborn into this world with my loving husband beside me, encouraging me to push, and then upon seeing our child, tears would emerge from our eyes. A movie moment, if you will. Having my mother there was NOT part of that plan.

Yet at 2:42 a.m. on January 24th, 2006, my mom was holding my leg, my dad was at my head, and a loving husband was nowhere in sight. There were no tears when Averey Monica made her grand entrance; just smiles and pure joy. Not how I pictured the moment, but it is just the beginning of our story.

I will always treasure the memories of my friends and co-workers being so supportive. My BF Steph hung out in my delivery room for several hours, another friend Heather stopped up after her shift (just in time for the nurse to break my water), and the big-brother-I-never-wanted, Deuane, was there to greet me on the maternity floor at 4:30 in the morning when I arrived with Averey. Later that morning and throughout my stay, many of my co-workers flooded my hospital room to visit, and it still brings a smile to my face.

But it seems like another lifetime so far away. I am constantly humbled by my life now, knowing the turmoil I was in during that time. I have recently read my journal entries from that stage in my life, and it was like a long, drawn-out episode of "The Jerry Springer Show": husband cheats on pregnant wife, husband shacks up with girlfriend with four children of her own, estranged wife left to be a single mother. Yet through all of the insanity, the bizarre phone conversations, and at times, being made to be the villian in the whole train wreck, I can look back and forever be thankful. He unknowingly did me a huge favor.

The idea of single motherhood scared me, but being a first-time mom and going it alone (only alone in the sense that Averey and I lived together in an apartment) was a pleasant surprise... and it helped she was an incredibly placid baby!

I know friends, family and co-workers were concerned for me. Some expected that I would leave Harrisburg and return home with my parents. Thankfully, my parents fully supported me staying in Harrisburg. I was 26, had a decent paying job, health insurance, and a nice apartment in a quiet area. There was no reason for me to leave and start over back home. I already had to restart my life as a single woman, and a new mother to boot; why change my location if that's the one steady port in the storm swirling around me?

And Averey. Oh sweet Averey. She had captured my heart, and I knew she was dependent on me for EVERYTHING. I ultimately had to trust that God would take care of us. Not only did we survive, we thrived. We were loved, and many people, known and unknown, prayed for us. In the atypical matters of my maternity leave (i.e. filing for child support, hiring an attorney), Averey's presence made it all worth the hassles. I reconciled I'd be dealing with an unfavorable situation for the next 18 years, when suddenly, he decided it wasn't worth it. I was never so relieved.

Seven years later, I have a bright, bubbly, quizzical girly girl who has a flair for drama (much like her mother); a sweet girl who is a doting big sister (even though Kelsey gets the brunt of her frustrations); a silly lass who giggles when she burps on command and ekes out farts (that's my girl!). I never imagined our life would turn out this way: two younger sisters for her and a daddy who, while they don't share DNA, loves her beyond comprehension (and can handle her when she spazzes out like, well... me), and for those who don't know our story would never know the difference.

I have been incredibly blessed over these past seven years, and I eagerly await to see the young lady she'll become in the next seven years. (Although it doesn't have to go as fast, does it?)

It's Not a Competition

It started with this picture:

My cousin posted this on facebook, and I "liked" it. As a working mom, sometimes I feel I have a lot more on my plate than my stay-at-home-mom counterparts. This picture did not cause a firestorm of angry comments or anything, it just started swirling the thoughts around my brain. I have actually had the best of both worlds, so I feel that I have the experience to back up what I'm about to write. (At least, I hope I do.)

I wrestle with being a work-outside-of-the-home-mom on a daily basis. When I started meeting friends who have the privilege of staying home (yes, I said privilege), I began to notice the sympathetic tone I received when I said I had a job, albeit part-time (only in the sense that anything below 35 hours is part-time, which I think is a load of you-know-what). I know that's not what's conveyed, but then I do feel slightly defensive about working. Sometimes, I just want to give all the reasons why I work:

Because I was too stupid to save money and plan ahead of time.
Because I married the wrong guy the first time around.
Because I started off as a single mom and didn't have a choice.
Because we rely on my income!

Thankfully, my SAHM friends are super-cool, so I've never felt like I'm less of a mom because staying home isn't really an option. Oh sure, I've seen the pinterest pins and blog headlines: "Our family of 8 lives on less than $30,000 a year!" "How we went from 2 incomes to 1!" I'm sure that somehow, some way, a huge sacrifice could be made that our family of less people could live on a salary larger than that. I understand that a lot of moms don't hold an outside job because their wages would mainly be paying for child care, which really negates their salary. However, I made a vow to myself when Averey was born that I would not put my child(ren) in a day care setting. It is the one promise I've held fast as a mother. I've been blessed from the get-go to have wonderful SAHM moms to watch my girls in their (and our) homes, only paying for the days they are sitting, and thus, saving us money, and often times from illness. Since Jake and I have been married, his mother chips in to watch the girls, get Averey off the bus, and save us a bundle of money! For us, we are still making money on top of child care.

I've also been fortunate enough to hold jobs that give me days off during the week, the ability to cut back to "part-time", and spend three months home at a time because of maternity leave. I've been able to have somewhat of a SAHM experience (because the weekends don't count). I will admit that my perception of stay-at-home-motherhood is an easier job FOR ME (speaking for no one else here, I promise!), but that's because I've been working all along. Thus, I appreciate my time home, and while I can't keep my house clean, I at least feel I have the upper hand on most tasks, and I am able to handle the meal planning a bit better. Yet I know that staying at home is no easy job either, and I have great respect for my friends who only know motherhood by being at home with the screaming, fighting children running around like banshees (and all of the wonderful moments that go along with it too, of course).

It seems there are a lot of loud opinions out there about what's better for your children, whether you stay at home or work outside of the home. I think there's advantages to both situations. But because I may say that my children have never (or very very rarely) had separation anxiety, that may not have anything to do with my working; I could just have girls who could care less when I leave the room!

If anything, I've just learned that I love walking in the door when I get home from work to see my girls, even if it's chaos. I still manage to get the laundry done, the bills paid, the grocery lists made, and I've even been able to pass off the grocery shopping to Jake (apparently Giant is dead on Friday nights)! Yes, it can be overwhelming at times, and trying to get everyone ready on a Monday morning is not my idea of fun (you think I'd have it down pat by now). My hope is that someday my girls will appreciate the sacrifices we've made with me working, and even cutting my hours to have a little more time at home, because that's the best we can do for now.

No matter what your situation, one thing is for sure: we're in this mom gig together, and everyone has to make a choice about what's best for their family. As far as I know, there are no medals or prizes for what we choose. The happy, sweet, funny kids are our rewards. And you can have those regardless of whether you work or stay home. (At least, they have those characteristics most of the time.)