Twenty Years...

It's now been twenty years since TWA Flight 800 crashed and changed the course of many lives from my hometown of Montoursville.

Over the years I've written a great deal about my experience with Flight 800, both publicly and privately.
(See previous years' entries here: http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2012/07/forever-changed-in-blink-of-eye.html
http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/07/remembering-friends_17.html
http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2014/07/countless-ways-to-tell-story.html
http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-world-they-knew.html )

I had ideas running through my mind for yet another entry, especially since twenty years is a pivotal point (although every year feels pivotal for one reason or another). I decided to go back to the original source of where I recorded my thoughts and feelings in the aftermath of what we all began referring to as "the crash". I feel that in order to gain some sense of what it was like as a 17-year-old in the midst of the Flight 800 tragedy, I would let my journals tell a little bit of the story.

It could go without saying that this was my first journal entry after the crash. I wrote 7 pages detailing the longest night of my life, which started around 11:30 p.m. on July 17, 1996 when I learned about TWA Flight 800 and its connection to my hometown. Even if I hadn't written anything down, I am fairly certain I would still remember everything about that awful night.

I wanted to write so much about what I was experiencing, but it wasn't an easy task. Between spending time with friends, going to the school, talking on the phone and watching the news, the days were long and full. But it was good not to be alone.

With my birthday at the end of May and having a swimming pool at my house, I had pool parties for my 15th and 16th birthdays. I don't know why I didn't at 17. However, the friend that I chose to invite up to swim shortly after school let out was Monica. I can still see us kicking around on a raft, chatting and giggling about our new boyfriends. I am forever thankful for that memory, and for the other days I got to see her that summer, the last day being July 15.

(I apologize for the breaks in this entry, it was just the best way I could edit it.) I dreaded the start of the new school year like never before. My senior year was supposed to be fun and exciting! Everything had changed, and my biggest fear was that Flight 800 would be forgotten: that the school would be oversensitive, and/or that we would not be allowed to talk about it. In retrospect, it was a ridiculous fear. There may have been some missteps, and at times it seemed they (school) would try to avoid mentioning Flight 800 (or maybe I was oversensitive). As an adult, I can see the other side of it now. It was an extremely tough situation for our entire town to face, and I can't even imagine trying to navigate how to begin a school year after losing so many students and maintain some kind of normalcy. The year wasn't "normal" like my previous years of high school, but it was a new normal. It was okay, and hard as it was, I learned that life had to continue moving forward. 

I also began keeping a journal of letters to Monica. Some times I wrote as if she were still here, other times I wrote about the tragedy and how much I missed her. It helped me work through the grieving process that first year. My letters to her were less frequent after the first anniversary, and my last letter to her was in 2001.

I could write something nearly identical to that right now. I am pretty certain that it has crossed my mind every day since it happened. Even if I don't dwell on it, it can just be a flash of thought: "Flight 800". No matter what, it has never left my mind.

This entry (from late October 1996) detailed an evening at a friend's house with ten or so of us hanging out. Our friends that we lost were still at the forefront of our memories and conversations. Monica had her first serious boyfriend shortly before she died, and the story of how they got together was neat (and I witnessed a good portion of that story). "The other puke story" was the night we randomly met up with a guy from her church (Matt) and his friend (Dave) at the mall and ended up going bowling with them. Monica's Auntie Anne's Glazin' Raisin pretzel and strawberry slush didn't end up sitting so well with her. Our night ended shortly after that (all the while she managed to hide the fact she puked, even though it was in the trash can in front of the bowling alley), and afterwards, we thought we could double date--Monica and Matt and me and Dave. Long story short, Monica and Dave ended up together (and I did not end up with Matt). Now I can look back on that story and smile. But at that time, I was taken aback by the rush of emotions of an interruption that would've never bothered me otherwise.

During that first year, I journaled quite a bit about Flight 800 (and also just the every day normal life of being a high school senior). It was often the subject of writing assignments in my AP English class. I decided to be brave enough to make it the subject of my Psychology report. The report would use data collected from surveys sent around to a sampling of the student population. I earned an "A", and while I still have all of the surveys that were filled out, the report disappeared from the board (where everyone's reports were hanging) and I was never able to take it home.

When I went to college, I would once again use Flight 800 as the subject of another Psychology report and a few English essays. I spoke on it in my oral communications class, and referenced it in a technical writing report. It was a part of my life, and it was therapeutic for me to share my experience, especially in college where people remembered hearing about Flight 800, but had no direct connection to it. I wanted my friends to live on and to show that their brief lives had meaning.

Now here I am, twenty years on the other side. There has been so much that has happened in my life during that span, and at times I can hardly believe that I am 37, that I'm (equally) responsible for the lives of three lovely daughters, and that I drive a minivan (never say never)! I have endured other losses; my three grandparents that were living at the time of Flight 800 have passed away. I dealt with my first marriage falling apart in a really ugly way while I was pregnant with my first daughter. Yet Flight 800 remains the event with the most impact on my life thus far.

This weekend, I had the opportunity to share with my oldest daughter a little bit more about Flight 800. She knows why her middle name is Monica, and she knows basically what happened (as much as a 10-year-old can grasp about something that happened ten years prior to her birth). I decided at the last minute to come to Montoursville to participate in the Memorial 5K as I felt a strong pull to do so. Averey was a willing participant, and the other three people in our family came along and stayed at my parents' house. The night before, we had to go and get her some new sneakers though, as her feet hit a growth spurt. After we found a pair, I asked her if she would mind going to the cemetery so I could show her where a majority of the victims are buried. She obliged, and we headed up to the peaceful hill with a beautiful view of the sunset. It had been a long time since I had been up there, and it still strikes me how unreal it is to see all of those graves with the same end to their dash -July 17, 1996.

I'm not often in Montoursville around the anniversary, but when I am, it is a mix of emotions. I was especially glad to be able to spend a little time with Monica's parents at the 5K. It was awesome to be there with all of those people who remembered. Yet it still hurts that an event such as that exists because of the 21 we lost. They say that time heals all wounds. Twenty years later, the wounds may be healed, but the scars will always remain.

That Time We All Lost Our Marbles at Dinner

I am pretty sure that last night will go down in history as one of our Worst. Dinners. Ever.

Complete meltdowns were had by 4/5 of us.

Let's back it up here. A few months ago, I had a pinteresting idea that I would get a chalkboard to hang in our dining room so I could be artsy and give the kids full warning what was to come for dinner. (This is mainly directed at Averey, who at 10 is still the pickiest eater I've ever known.) Last night was no exception. The menu board read: 8 Layer Casserole. With egg noodles, ground beef with tomato sauce and spices, spinach, a delicious cream cheese/sour cream/onion sauce and cheddar cheese on top, it was not a new menu item, and other than Averey, the rest of us have gobbled it up. Should have been an easy dinner, one that would soon be forgotten.

Should. Have. Been.

It all started with Kelsey, which was quite a surprise since "picky" is not a word I would use to describe her. She took a bite, claimed she didn't like it (never mind the two helpings she had the last time I made it), and got down from the dinner table. Right away, trouble was brewing since no one should get down from their seat until we are all (mostly) done. She wanted to escape to her room, and I knew all too well she was after her tablet.

Jacey refused to take a bite until she had some ranch dressing at her side. Jake wanted to her to take a bite first. The whining sobbing ensued.

Averey remained silent, but her looks of disgust as she pushed her food around her plate to make it look as though she were eating made it quite obvious how she was feeling about dinner.

Kelsey then flopped herself on the floor, crying because we were telling her to sit at the table. Not even asking her to eat, mind you, just sitting. At this point, both Jake and I were raising our voices (with our mouths full; we weren't going hungry!), and all of the idle threats I make about taking toys came full force into action. I grabbed Kelsey's tablet and put it on my closet shelf. I took their Legos that they had so nicely been playing with each other before dinner, threw them in their container and shoved that at the top of my closet. I was on a roll, and so I took the giant container of Wegmans Organic Animal Cookies that they can't seem to get enough of, slapped some painter's tape over the lid, and said, "NO ONE IS EATING THESE!" and found that I had no room at the top of my closet for them. Jake says, "What if I want some?" So I put them on his dresser.

There was yelling, screaming, Jake and I sounding all-parenty-like saying, "If we had acted this way at dinner when we were kids..."

If we had any composure, it was gone. (It didn't stop us from eating seconds though.)

I was sick of all of the fussing, crying, whining, and just general unacceptable behavior. Jacey told me she didn't like me. Well, kid, I wouldn't exactly call you likable at this particular unlovely episode!

But then Jake talked to Kelsey and she settled. Jacey calmed down enough to take a bite of her food. And I went in the bedroom, trying to calm down, pray, and swallow the tears that were stinging my eyes.

The poor lone man in our house came in, rubbed my back and said it would be okay. I said, "This is all I ever wanted!" The three kids I had dreamed about (once upon a time it was six, half of that is perfectly fine, thankyouverymuch) had worn me down into a yelling hot mess.

He said, "You get the good with the bad!"

Within the hour, the four of us ladies sat at the dining room table, coloring, enjoying being in one another's presence. I got the good.

(And the Legos and tablet are still at the top of my closet. I'm still trying to figure out how they can "earn" them back. It might be awhile. I'm still rattled from the ordeal.)

The World They Knew

There was a night, not long ago, when the world stopped for the town of Montoursville, PA. When I think about July 17, 1996, the picture of that morning is starkly contrasted with the memory of what happened that night. It doesn't seem so long ago that 16 students from the Montoursville High School French Club and their five chaperones were heading to France. It doesn't seem so long ago that I heard the news that their plane, TWA Flight 800, crashed off the coast of Long Island, and took the lives of 230 people.

And yet here it is, July 17, 2015. The world has changed a lot in 19 years. Since I was 17 when it happened, I have known more life "after Flight 800" than I did "before Flight 800." But for our friends, the world of July 17, 1996, was the world they knew.

I run the risk of sounding like my parents when I say, "Well, when I was a kid, life was better, life was simpler, blah blah blah." But that's exactly where I'm going with this, especially since I have kids who hear these statements of nostalgia. For instance, when my 9-year-old asked when I got my first cell phone and I told her I was 23, her mouth gaped open in shock. She finds it hard to believe that her father and I lived in a world where we did not have hand-held devices, video chatting or digital cameras, just to name a few.

But those 21 from Montoursville lived in a world such as I described.

They didn't have phones to text messages on; instead, a text message looked more like this:

This was an origami-folded text message, 6th grade, 1991.

Bored in 8th grade study hall.

Passed back & forth in 11th grade cultures; the song lyric Monica tried to figure out?
"I Wish" by Skee-Lo: "I wish I had a six-four Impala!"

A birthday card featured the popular cartoon characters of the day...

And computer graphic technology looked like this (and probably took a half-hour to print!)...

These were the "selfies" of the time...

Kim--6th thru 11th grade

Monica--4th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 10th & 11th grades

Jess--10th grade

And thank you notes were never in short supply...

This would've been the "writing on the facebook wall" of the day...

Looking through these pictures, notes and cards brings so much to the forefront of my mind. I can hear their voices when I read those messages. Nineteen years have not faded what I remember about them; if anything, time has made that stronger. Those memories are a reminder of what life was like when they were here.

There is still sadness because of what happened on the night of July 17, 1996. But going back to that morning... they were happy, they were thriving, and they were headed on an amazing journey. For that moment in time, in the world they knew, life was good.  

Tales of Potty-Training Woe

There is nothing quite like the adventure of potty-training child #3 to test your patience, increase your laundry duties, and humble you. I would've thought I'd be a pro at this by now, able to dispense advice to other moms in the trenches of potty-traning their first.

Wrong-o!

I thought she #3 would be the easiest since she has two big sisters she can observe, is uber-verbal, and to be perfectly honest, because I am tired of buying diapers. Since numero uno was born, there has been a total of 16 months of being diaper-free. I have now officially been a mother for 112 months. I never wanted to have more than one kid in diapers at a time, and somehow, that all worked out in my favor. But as I sit here and add the numbers up, perhaps it would've been better that way, because this diaper phase wouldn't be so long and drawn out.

I anxiously awaited the moment that Jacey turned two, because then she could get on that potty, and we could be on our way to being a diaper-free home! Oh, silly me. Two-and-a-half came, the age at which her sisters showed the signs of being ready to potty train, and I got excited again. Once again, a fool I was. However, once we decided to take a vacation which involved driving to S. Carolina and then Disney World, we figured it would be in our best interest to not have a freshly potty-trained kid who would make that drive even longer. When vacation ended and her third birthday a month away, we decided to buckle down and get this kid in underwear permanently!

This Saturday was her first full-fledged day in underwear, and besides a couple minor accidents, it was a great potty-training day!

Yesterday, a lot more accidents, a lot more laundry, but it's just the beginning.

Today, as we both were at work, my mother-in-law had a great first two hours, and then it went downhill from there. Several pairs of underwear and two bottoms later... then once we got home, she still managed to pee in her closet. Sigh. But the bright side to that tale of potty-training woe is that we have hardwood floors. At the rate she's going, they are all going to be getting a thorough cleaning in the next few days... or weeks.

But I can see the light at the end of this diaper tunnel!

I Have to Feed You Too?

Apparently, when you have children, they need to eat.

Let me rephrase that. They need to eat you out of house and home. After all, they're not paying for the groceries, and the food is just there, so they must do their job and eat it. Then you have to go to the grocery store for the fifth time this week, and the vicious cycle starts all over again.

Mostly, the ravishing appetites come from the snack monster: "Can I have a snack?" (asked by Kelsey just this morning, five minutes after breakfast), "Is it time for a bedtime snack?" or the ever-irritating, "I'm hunnngrrryyy!" When these questions are met with a "No, you just had breakfast/lunch/dinner; it's too close to breakfast/lunch/dinner; it's too late," then the whining ensues as if you've purposely withheld food from them all day and they will absolutely keel over at that moment if they can't have a graham cracker/pretzels/piece of candy (which never qualifies as a fulfilling snack, yet they assure me that will be enough to get them through. Ha.).

I know when I was younger, my family coined me as "Heather Hungry". I was a bottomless pit of sorts, a skin and bones, ribs-peeking-through kind of bottomless pit. I'm not sure how my parents managed to keep me fed and satisfied, and I know it got worse in high school. I can remember coming home from school, devouring an apple, a plate of Triscuits with melted cheese, string cheese and a granola bar. I fear for the teenage years in this house, not because I have all girls, but because they will all need to eat. A lot.

I try to make sure they eat their fruits and veggies, so once a grocery trip is made, I'm chock full of fresh fruits and carrot sticks, and so when they are hunnngrrryyy, I can offer those healthy choices. I can feel like a pretty decent mom. And as blueberries are nature's laxative, I can feel pretty spectacular that everyone is regular. After all, consistent pooping makes the mom's world go 'round.

But then you get to days like today. I've just come off working three evenings in a row. The bananas Jake picked up at Walmart two days ago are just a distant memory. Grocery shopping won't happen until later this evening. In search of a fruit to have with lunch, I had a flash of memory: dark chocolate yogurt-covered raisins. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Only in this house will you hear "Finish your peanut butter and fluff sandwich or you won't get any dark chocolate yogurt-covered raisins!"

Yup. That's how we roll. Just keeping it real.

Countless Ways to Tell the Story...

I don't want to begin this by tritely saying, "It's hard to believe it's been 18 years..."

But it's the plain and simple truth.

From that first moment that I learned about the crash of TWA Flight 800 and the impact it had on my home community of Montoursville, PA, and until this very day, it still seems so surreal. It still seems like yesterday. And yes, it's hard to believe 18 years have passed since that fateful Wednesday evening of July 17, 1996.

In 18 years, I can tell the story a new way every time. Whether it's relaying it verbally or written, random memories can spark at different times, and it can change the way I tell it. It can be about the friends I lost, or what the summer was like prior to that night, or what the school year was like afterwards, or what life has been like in the past 18 years since the tragedy.

Once again, it's a new story this year. Lately, as I've reflected on Flight 800, it's the little details that have surfaced and have once again reminded me how huge an ordeal it really was. To this day, the shock can still hit that I lived through such a terrible event as a teenager, and so much comes flooding back...

It's in the memory of the enormous headline of our local newspaper on July 18 that screamed, "AGONY IN MONTOURSVILLE".

It's the card on one of the many bouquets displayed in our high school lobby that read, "I don't know you, nor do you don't know me. All I can say is, I love you."

It's the young girl who wrote a letter and donated her baby-sitting money to our memorial fund rather than spending it on herself.

It's the drum head signed by Aerosmith that was on display during the school year. (I thought that was pretty cool.)

It's the endless bouquets of flowers, teddy bears and angels that were sent to our school.

It's the letters from families and friends of those affected by the Oklahoma City bombing reaching out to share in our sorrow.

It's the roll of paper hanging throughout the hallway of the lobby where we could write messages to our loved ones. (I used this opportunity to pen yearbook messages that I would not be writing in my friends' books that year.)

It's the night of July 18 when a couple thousand of us gathered in our high school gymnasium while local clergy spoke and tried to give us some peace. The sadness of that night is still palpable to me.

It's the "God's Little Instruction Book for Graduates" that Monica (Weaver)'s parents gave to me for graduation, and the very first quote in the book read: "When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a manner that when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice." (Anonymous)

It's the days, months and years that have passed, and how people have still remembered Flight 800 when I say I'm from Montoursville.

It's the one-month memorial service when (the former) NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani came and spoke to us, stating, "For the people of New York City, to understand your encounter in some small way, it would be as if in one single time, in one single moment, in one single tragedy, in New York City thirty-five thousand people would need be affected. Every single person, all of us would feel the tragedy. And that's exactly what has happened here in Montoursville." (This haunted me on the morning of 9/11.)

It's the flashes of my own face, friends and classmates that I saw on national news and how it felt like we were all living in a nightmare. 

It's the blue and gold ribbons on everyone's shirts, mailboxes, front doors, flag poles, everywhere. The flags flying at half-mast all over the state of Pennsylvania. It's the "Forever in our Hearts" stickers and buttons that now have taken on a new life as many of our facebook profile photos this time of year.

It's the signs of remembrance in windows of every business in Montoursville, and also many in the outlying communities. (There was no school rivalry at that time!)

It's the endless tears, hugs, phone conversations, seeing our friends' parents so broken-hearted, yet reaching out to comfort us, the funerals and memorial services too numerous to bear...

While I'd not want to relive the days after the tragedy, there was something so beautiful in all of our grief, in all these memories that still stir up emotion, and it's what I remember the most...

The love.

"I don't know how you do it all!"

This is a quote, coming from the mouths of many friends, family and acquaintances during the past year since I have ventured back to school. I'll admit, sometimes I can take it as a compliment that I can give the outward appearance that I can do it all. However, I know the truth, and I must quickly dispel the myth that I am supermom (hence the name of this blog!) and retort with, "I can assure you that I don't do it all WELL."

Yes, we made the decision for me to go back to school to pursue pharmacy school prerequisites. Yes, we knew it wouldn't be easy. But now that I'm a year into it, my only regret is that I didn't start sooner! It's something I thought about over the years but was either scared off by the classes I'd have to take or just by thinking "it's too late for me!" Now that I'm on the other side, I can see that Calculus wasn't nearly as frightening as I expected. Trying to add that to three kids and a husband and a part-time job though, and it's a trial and error situation.

What I've learned in the past year (aside from the academics) is that I don't have the best method figured out how to do all of this, and I kind of suck at time management. (I'm pretty sure Jake can vouch for that fact.) I've managed to make it to work and class on time, but as far as anything else goes, well, any hints would be great! I know I'm not the first mom of three kids to go back to school, but like raising children, there's no manual for this. Some days the kids watch waaaaay more TV so I can get homework done, and other days, I have Jacey pawing at my legs wanting "uppie!" Some days I can manage to keep a neat home, feed the kids and ace a test, and other days, well, I'm a hot mess. Jake has seen my tears (I had no clue that homework could turn on the water works for me), but through it all, he's my number one supporter. "You've got this," he says, even when I don't. And when I am upset about a C on a test, he reminds me, "You passed, right?"

Adding a job to this mix doesn't make it any easier. At this point though, I am more part-time than I've ever been, so I'm home more than I've ever been, and once I received my first tuition reimbursement check, it made it all worth it.

I won't lie and say it can't get lonely at times. Sure, I've connected with some of my classmates (which reminds me how I old I am; most of them were barely in preschool by the time I graduated high school!), and I've had some great professors who've been understanding to my life situation (telling them you have three kids and a job lets them know you're not fooling around and you will actually have legit reasons should you ever miss a class or test), but doing this sets me apart from my friends. There are times when I'm invited somewhere and can't go because of work or school, but there are also times that I'm home and I'll find out about something I didn't get invited to do. Or I've heard, "I forget that you're home more!" Let me say that it's always better to invite than assume. Sometimes I just need a social break!

Along with Jake, I have had an incredible support system. My parents, my in-laws, friends who've had Kelsey over to play while Jacey naps so I can study, those who have helped me study, and those who've prayed for my sanity... all you have done for us has been a huge blessing!

Through it all, I'm ready to continue tackling these pre-reqs. I have a timeline of what courses to complete when and when I want to apply to pharmacy school. However, I'm a realist. I have a husband, three kids and an older home that still needs some TLC. I know that I may not get there when I want, but it will be so worth it when I get there.

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?)