Today You Are 12

My dear, sweet Kady Bugg,

Today you turn 12 years old. I don't even know how that happened. You are growing up way too fast! But it seems you've always been in a hurry and definitely apt to doing things your own way. You tried to come into this world way before you were ready and after a sincere heart-to-heart, you were convinced to stay in and cook awhile longer. Then, when it was okay for you to go ahead and make your entrance you were like, "Nah, I'm good. I'll just hang around here awhile longer." Oh, my Kady....I think you just wanted to make sure you had our attention.

Your Papa Leo used to get such a kick out of you because you've always wanted to do the things your older siblings and cousins were doing. Even as a toddler, you weren't about to let your age or size get in the way of you doing something that looked fun. You've always kept me on my toes.

I have always had anxiety about your safety for some reason. Maybe it's because we had a scare where we thought I had miscarried you before we had even fully gotten used to the fact we were even having you. Then we dodged a bullet when you didn't come as early as you wanted to. It seems like I've spent your whole entire existence just trying to contain you.  I am learning that containing the exuberant and hilarious windstorm named Kady is just nigh impossible. And I'm learning to be okay with that.

I know I tell you to "rest your voice" a lot. Truth be told, you sometimes wear my ears plumb out, kiddo. I seriously don't know where on earth you get the energy to speak that  many words in a single day. But can I also tell you a secret? I wouldn't have you any other way. On the nights you're not at home? I miss your words. Your daddy and your sister don't talk much at all. Your brother speaks in fits and starts. But you...you definitely got your words and ability to speak them with great volume from me.

So, baby girl, speak those words that bubble up inside you. Speak them loudly and with passion! Even if I tell you to rest your voice occasionally, please don't ever - for even one second - think that I am telling you to stop speaking. Speak loudly for what you love and believe in. Forever. But sometimes my ears need to rest. My heart doesn't...but my ears. Oy vey.

If I can wish one thing for this coming year it's that I hope you and your brother get along soon. I hope you find a friendship that only a brother and sister can have. I love and adore your Yaya, my own sister, but I always kinda wished for a brother, too. I wouldn't trade her for the world, but I hope you soon realize what a gift you have in a big brother. He would walk across hot coals for you, little sister. He'd probably ask you to reimburse him for the cost of his medical bills later, but he'd still walk 'em for ya.

You two used to get along. See?  

Oh and that big sister of yours? Trust me when I say that I totally get how she is sometimes. If you'll remember, I'm a big sister, too. Ask your Yaya. I used to be pretty awful to her. There's this thing called "Growing Up" that you'll both do and I hope and pray with all that is in me that you two girls will have the amazing relationship that my sister and I share. Go easy on her, even when she's not that easy to extend grace to. She's got a lot on her plate right now. Be patient. Love her through it. It will be worth it.

Sweet Kady Bugg, you are simply one of the best things to even happen in my life. I've said it many times and will say it many more: We never knew how badly we needed a Kady in our lives until we had one. 

Now life would be totally weird without you. Of course, sometimes life is pretty weird with you in it as well.

 You've brought glamour into our world.

And a fair share of drama and tears. 

You're far more social than your siblings and make friends easily. I got so tickled on the second week of  homeschool co-op when a mom walked into the parent room and asked, "Okay, so who does this KadyBugg belong to? Because she seems to be somewhat of a celebrity around here!" I'm glad you are well-liked and friendly. Kids and adults alike seem to see something special in you. You're amazing.

You are a sweet, kind spirit and you're not afraid of much. You have an amazing talent with babies and little kids. I don't know what it is about you, but they are all drawn to you. You're like a sassy Pied Piper with braces and big feet.

I'm so proud of you and I am enjoying this adventure of getting to be your mom.

You make me laugh, you make me want to scream, you make me proud, you make me glad I'm your mom.

Happy Birthday, Bugg!

I luzz you.

Momma

Today You're 15

My dear Sammy, 

Today you turn 15. I find it so hard to believe that the screaming, red-faced infant that turned my world upside down is now 15 years old. 

You have always been noisy, son, but I think you know that. You always grin when we tell you stories about your epic screaming fit that the staff at Branson Olive Garden probably still talks about, and the time you flipped every switch, spun every dial and pushed every button in Papa Leo's car while he scrambled to control the curiosity that was compelling you to touch everything you could get your pudgy little hands on.

Today it still scares me a little bit when you get quiet. I guess old habits die hard - for about the last 14 years, silence has typically meant you are into something. I have to remind myself frequently that you're not a baby anymore and that silence is okay when you're a dude. Now silence usually means you are drawing up an evacuation plan, sketching blueprints for an underground safety hatch or going over your list of survival supplies. I am totally content to let you prepare to save us all and will give you all the quiet you need to do so. I'm counting on you to be our Darryl Dixon. 

You have brought so much joy and laughter to our lives. You bring life to any situation and at the risk of sounding incredibly lame and sappy, you really do brighten up a room when you enter it. You have such a sweet spirit and such passion! My goodness, if you truly pick up a cause or belief, you will defend it to the end. I admire your determination.

You dealt with some heavy stuff in public school and while it was hell  while we were going through it, you came out so much for the better. All those horrible days of being picked on and bullied just made you stronger. You took bad situations time and again and learned from them. Of course, you also punched your way to victory a time or two as well. I was totally okay with that. A momma can only take so much.                                                                      

When you came to me that autumn night at the age of 11 and said that God told you that you were going to preach, I can't say I was surprised. I think every one of us knew that God has had a special job for you from the get-go. When your daddy and I dedicated you to God when you were just tiny, we meant it. And now that we are in our third year of ministry ourselves, we know the hardships, struggles, heartaches and turmoil you will endure. Ministry is not easy. However, we also know the joy, victory, love and satisfaction you will experience as well. and we can't wait for you to experience it all. Even the not-so-fun parts - they make the really cool stuff even cooler. Trust me. 

Please don't ever lose your ability to laugh. And the ability to make others laugh as well. Those two things will serve you great purpose. Again, trust me.

As you get older, I get a little more melancholy at the prospect of you growing up and leaving the nest. For some reason, the though of sending Abby out into this world to make her way as an adult, a wife and a mother isn't a stretch for me. But you.....the thought of you not being in that back bedroom full of camouflage, weapons, dirty socks and survival gear makes me very sad. Please don't think that it's a lack of faith in your ability to make it on your own - it's just that you're my baby boy. Just as your daddy is having a hard time letting your big sister go (and will have just as hard a time with your little sister), your mother is having a very hard time watching her little boy grow up to be a man. Be patient with me. Please.

Please know that I pray for your future wife and you already. I pray that you find a girl with a heart for God, a girl God has already set aside to be a minister's wife. She will need to be tough, sweet, patient, gentle, determined and giving, but most of all she must be a servant of God. I have no doubt God already has your path set to cross hers. I hope she likes me, but I hope she loves you more.

Happy 15th Birthday, my sweet Sammy. You drew a rough spot in the family line-up - it cannot be easy being the only boy sandwiched between two sisters with such strong personalities. I have no doubt that this has made you stronger and more patient and infinitely more ornery. All of those are okay things to be.

Never doubt how much I love you and believe in you. And when the zombie apocalypse happens, there is no one else I'd rather have leading me to safety.

Love,

Momma

Today You're 17

My dearest Abby, 

Today you turn 17 years old. Exactly 17 years ago, right now, they were finally taking you away to the hospital nursery for the first time. I had spent nearly 10 months with you inside me, spent an hour with you in person and when they took you away for your required two hours away, I had to let go of you for the very first time. That was really hard. 

And now, I'm having to let go of you again. It's slower than a simply taking you from my arms. It's a long, drawn-out process. It's even harder than that first time.





Not long ago, I started to wonder if I've done enough, taught you enough, and showed you enough in the time I've had. I've had the amazing privilege of staying home with you for almost your entire life and for the last year and for the next, I get to be your teacher as well as your mom. And even with all that time we've had together....I realize I haven't done, taught and shown you as much as I've wanted. And then I wonder if I'll have enough time to do for you, teach you and show you before you leave our house and go make your own.

I probably won't. And no parent ever does. I don't think any of us parents send our kids out into the world with a hearty pat on the back and a cheerful, "Yep, you're ready!"

No, I think we all panic and think, "Oh crap....I forgot to...." and want nothing more than to grab you up and cram all that we forgot into your head and heart as fast as we can.

And strangely, the things that keep popping into my head when I think of sending you out into that big ol' world is how to fold a fitted sheet and how to make gravy.

Silly, huh?

You are amazing. You're beautiful inside and out. You are kind and compassionate. You're brilliant, talented, wise beyond your years and confident. You amaze me. 

You were the hope your daddy and I thought we had lost forever. You were the answer to so many prayers. Please, please, please don't ever think for one second that you aren't loved and cherished. 

As we go into your last year as a child - although you rarely act like one anymore - please go easy on your ol' momma and daddy, okay? But especially your momma. You're the first and you know you are the practice child, right? You have paved the way for your siblings from the beginning, so you get the new, raw, unknown emotions from us. Your brother and then your sister will still get these weird outbursts of emotion from us, but they won't be as new to us and hopefully we'll be more prepared to handle them. 

In the meantime, we are going to struggle with this. You will, too. You are growing up and there isn't a dadgum thing any of us can do about it. We know you're just itching to get out there and GO. And while we are excited for you, we are sad for us. We are going to miss you and your hamsters when you move out.  

We will never feel like we've done enough, even though I'm sure you're screaming on the inside, "Seriously? You've done so much I feel like I'm smothering!" It's okay to feel like that. I can tell you from experience, I felt that way. My mom didn't like it when I felt that way and I don't like it when you do. However, she let me do things my way and was there for me. She still is. 

And I will always be here for you, too.

I love you more than I could ever say.

Happy 17th Birthday, my Abby Girl.

The Here. The Now.

Our neighbor’s little boy gets off the bus at our house four days a week. He’s four, in PreK and 100% boy. He’s curious and rambunctious and full of energy, which is a lovely burst of fun at the end of our (sometimes dry) teenage school days.

The other day he and I were lounging on the sofa, watching SpongeBob. It was raining outside and he didn’t want to color or play with Legos -- which are pretty much the only “little kid” things we have in this house since all my babies aren't babies any more. We had no choice but to watch TV and it was either SpongeBob or Dr. Oz. I’m so glad SpongeBob won. When our favorite sea-living fry cook took a commercial break we were inundated with loud, colorful advertisements for amazingly, wonderful, super cool toys that no child can live without. The one that caught both of our eyes was for the new Nerf line for girls. In keeping up with the proverbial Joneses by way of The Hunger Games and Disney’s Brave, Nerf has launched a line of archery products for girls. “Rebelle”, they call it. I wanted to throw up a little in my mouth at the name, but really, this isn’t about how ridiculous I think that sounds, so I’ll digress.

It caught Skylar’s eye as well, but for a wholly different reason. He didn't care that it was girls with shiny side braids and a gleam of self-reliant determination in their eye who were shooting those squishy, pastel bow and arrows. He just wanted one. Who cares if it’s pink or purple or polka-dotted? It’s a bow and arrow and therefore wicked cool. And all little dudes want to shoot things.

He immediately sat up and said, “I WANT THAT!” 

I just smiled and said, “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, buddy.” 

Then his eyes went downcast and he said, “But…I have to be bigger to shoot a bow and arrow. Did you know those things could hurt me?” 

Ooh, well played, parents. Well played, indeed. 

I replied, “Well, yes, you have to be really careful and responsible to shoot a bow and arrow.”

He then interrupted with, “Yeah. I can't shoot a shotgun either. Or get a knife. BUT! When I get bigger – when I grow up! – I can shoot a bow and arrow! I can’t wait to grow up!” 

He tapped my arm urgently. “Hey, when do you think I’m going to grow up?”

He is a whole four years old with very few cares in this world. He goes to preschool every day where he gets to sing songs about new shoes and fuzzy caterpillars and the days of the week. He gets a nap and a snack in the afternoon. He has someone to help him tie his shoes. He has someone to hold and comfort him when he’s upset or scared or frustrated. There is someone there to remind him if he forgets his manners or his backpack. He gets every meal prepared for him and handed to him. He has a few chores, but his momma is right behind him to help. If someone is mean to him, there is (hopefully) someone there to protect him and make things right. 

He cannot wait to grow up! To me, a certified "grown-up", his life sounds like a righteously cool deal I wouldn't dream of wishing away.

How often do we anticipate the future like that? We spend all our time focusing on what is up ahead, how we get to do Thing X if we complete Action Y first. We say, "Oooh, I can't wait until I can do that!" when really, we have pretty cool things in the here and now if we just take time to enjoy them. 

Now, don't misunderstand. It's important to have goals and look ahead to the future. I'm not saying we should all give away our property, stop wearing deodorant and shoes and live in a commune where we grow ridiculous vegetables like radishes and drink kombucha (Uhm, yeah, look that one up. It'll give you nightmares) and just live in the now, man. Love, peace and chicken grease. And all that. 

Trust me. I'm looking forward to our next trip to Disney World. I mean, like, I seriously jones for it like an addict. There are times I am almost in pain I want to go so badly. (okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration...) Disney World is FLIPPIN' FUN, dudes! When they say it's the "happiest place on earth" they are totally not lying! I dream about that place. I cannot wait to see my kids' faces when they depart a ride that has left them breathless and exhilarated. I cannot wait to see my daughter and her boyfriend ride the Tower of Terror and try to be all cool and reserved and not terrified all at the same time. I cannot wait to watch my youngest who is teetering on the cusp of teenage-hood see a Princess and instantly look like a little girl once again. Or see my son ride Test Track with his daddy and future brother-in-law and just absorb the energy the three of them will expend on such a testosterone-filled speed ride. 

But at the same time.....there are magical things going on right here and right now if I just look. 

My son's hands are the size of a man's hands now. I didn't realize that until we held hands to pray the other day and was shocked at how his hand enveloped mine. And I swear to you, there are days he is taller in the morning than when he went to bed. I love seeing how he reacts to current events and how he prepares for the ZomPoc. His ideas, while sometimes far out and weird, are his and he's developed them all on his own. He worries about war. He formulates plans on how to keep all of us safe, as if he has seriously considered the thought of the fate of the free world will someday rest on his teen-aged shoulders. He is becoming a very focused and responsible young man right before our very eyes. 

Just last night, we watched the DVR'd first episode of Sleepy Hollow. It was creepy and startling and a little disturbing. When it came time for bed last night, Bugg was scared. She said that no matter how many happy thoughts she thought of, the creepy demon with horns in the mirror kept popping into her head. She quickly partook of the invitation to lay in Momma and Daddy's bed for awhile. I scooped her up close to me and held her tight. She intertwined her fingers in mine and squeezed. I prayed over her, asking God to give her peace and remove the evil images in her mind and to remind her that He was her Protector. (I also asked for forgiveness for not using better judgment and letting her watch such a scary show. Parenting fail. She watches The Walking Dead for crying out loud. I figured she could handle a headless horseman. Poor kid.) 

Our oldest daughter has a ring. It's a promise/engagement/commitment ring. It started as a promise ring, but considering how soon they want to get married, it will probably just morph silently into an engagement ring. I am fully on board with their commitment and relationship. Her daddy is resisting with all his might. He is a good boy. He is good to her and adores her. He has seen her just hours after surgery and patiently sat with her while she was hydrocodoned out of her mind, she has taken care of him when he's sick, bringing him Gatorade and medicine. They discuss the future with a maturity most 16 and 17 year olds cannot fathom. They are growing up fast. I have a very small amount of time left to teach her things she needs to know. How to budget, how to fold fitted sheets, how to iron, how to get three meals out of one chicken, how to make the best green beans, how to make Memaw's cornbread.....and the list goes on. But if I lose focus of the here and now and look forward to a wedding that's a year away, I will miss the magic in those moments where she lets down her grown-up guard and just wants to have her Momma hold her just like she did when she was three. Of course, she's about six inches taller than me now and kind of folds herself onto my lap like a giraffe in a shoebox, but still.....it's magic when she does it. 

"When I grow up" is a phrase that has been uttered by countless children probably since time began. Personally, I think being grown up is way overrated. 

I want to focus on the wonderfulness around me right now. Of course, I'll look to the future as I need to, but I want to make sure that I - and my kids - don't miss a single beautifully orchestrated moment in the here and now.  

Go.

We finished up school at the end of May and I patted myself on the back for surviving our first year of homeschooling and keeping all the children alive through it. They all learned something -- heck, even I learned a few things. They all learned some important life skills in the process, so world, there are three fewer idiots being sent out into the masses, courtesy of me. You are welcome.

Our summer started, as always, with Youth Camp in June. This was my third year to go with HCBC and Paul's second, but the difference this year was that we had our very own cabin! We had a cabin generously donated to us by a church that had disbanded. It's not fancy, needs some work and about 2000 more square feet, but it's OURS. We are one of the smallest churches in the association, but have one of the largest youth groups.

The summer that has been so very mild decided to show one big huzzah of heat....during the week the youth were at camp. The children had gone the week before and enjoyed temps in the 80's. We had one day during our week where it got up to 111*. Yeah. That was fun.

Our church held a Youth VBS this summer as well. As far as we know, we were only one of two churches in the association that had one and we heard that this year was the other church's last year to do it. We had no idea what to expect going into it, had no idea how the kids would react to what we had planned, had no idea if the things we had planned would work and really just prayed that God would show up and show off.

Oh, He did.

The theme was Go. Simply two letters and a period. Go. We had planned a mission for each day and a fun activity or outing for each evening. Pretty much nothing went as planned all week LOL. The first day our mission was to paint and clean at the homeless shelter in Miami. It rained all day long. Which blew our outing to Carousel Park in Joplin, a small amusement park with go carts and bumper cars, etc. We scrambled around for a Plan B, committed to it......and the sun came out. *sigh* We ended up not chancing a re-fire-up of  the rain and took the kids to see Despicable Me 2. They loved it.

That first day's mission was painting and cleaning and we were told they had about four hour's work to do, which is exactly what we needed. Except when you have 24 very willing and energetic teenagers doing four hour's work, it turns into about and hour and a half. There we were, doing things they didn't even ask us to do, just trying to come up with something to kill time and the pastor said, "We've got to find another mission! What do you have up your sleeve?" I made a quick call to my stepmom who just happened to be working that day and Plan B fell into place. We loaded up the kids in the church bus, told them we were taking them across town to the nursing home and a collective groan arose from the masses. I told them to remember Jesus talking about "the lease of these", a lesson we had covered in Sunday School and youth group just weeks before, and the entire attitude of the group changed.

We went over there thinking we'd kill an hour and then head back to the church. Our amazing wonderful stupendous fabulous youth group took to ministering to those elderly folks like a bunch of ducks to water. After two and a half hours, more than a few tears (from us, the kids and the residents), hilarious conversations, and about a dozen a capella hymns in the dining room, we practically dragged the kids out of the building amidst pleas of, "Please bring us back! Can we come back tomorrow?"

And just like that, our new nursing home ministry was born.

All from a Plan B.

I love it when God does stuff like that.

We did five days of mission work, from multiple nursing home visits to lawn mowing to cleaning the church, top to bottom, inside and out. One day, we got so busy working that we didn't even get to the fun outing in the evening and only one kids complained (but he was our resident complainer, so we ignored him). I have never seen a group of kids more dedicated to servanthood in God's name in my life.

Paul and I started in youth ministry three years ago. Out of the six kids we had at the time, two were ours, and most of them were only sixth graders we boosted up into the youth room just so we could say we even  had a youth group. Then soon six kids turned into ten, then 15 and now God has blessed us with a group of about 22 students. We may go as high as 25 on a Wednesday, but we usually hover around 20-22. People tell us we're doing a good job and we appreciate that, but really, we're just honored and blessed to even get to be a part of what God is doing. We haven't done anything more than go where He's lead and do what He's said. It's been amazing.

They aren't the same kids they were at the beginning of the summer. That is a really good thing. They were good kids before, but they are great kids now. Their whole attitudes have changed. They look for ways to serve others. That is a very rare thing with this generation of self-absorbed, duck-face-making, Instagram uploading, forty-leven selfie shots every day on Facebook kinda kids.

We had a hope when we started planning this youth VBS that, God willing, if the kids responded well we would start preparing them for a mission trip within a year or two. We now know that these kids are ready, willing and able. The Director of Missions, after hearing the stories about our kids, said he felt they were ready. We are now looking for a big mission trip opportunity and when I think about it, I literally get goosebumps and my insides feel like jello. God has something big in store for us, I just know it. We are seeking His will and I am so excited I can hardly see straight!

We've brought in another couple to help us with our ever-growing group of students and so far they are a perfect fit. The kids love them and it's giving us the support and back-up we've been desperately needing. We've been praying for over a year that God would send the perfect couple to our church and give them a heart for our kids. Not only did God send them, they have become our dearest friends. Their girls have been such blessings to us, they themselves have blessed us and bolstered us in so many ways. We took a vacation together, we've cried to each other (Well, that was pretty much just us women. As far as I know, the men haven't shared tears yet :)) and shared concerns, blessings, prayers and hallelujahs. Recently, they eased into the youth group and the kids embraced them with open arms.

If you are a praying person, we ask that you lift up our youth group. They are great kids, but still susceptible to the world's evils and temptations. School is starting and they will be getting busy and distracted. We just pray that the fire that was lit in them this summer doesn't go out when they enter the halls of their schools. Pray that they stay focused and diligent. Also pray that God sends us the right mission opportunity and things fall into place. We are confident He will, but it never hurts to have believers stand together and intercede.

God is just so very, very good.

“And then He told them, ‘Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone.’”  ~~ Mark 16:15

Happy Father's Day

One of my very favorite memories of my father involves a bottle of ketchup.

First of all, some background: my sister and I were big-time bickerers back in the day. It wasn’t until we were 15 and 18 that we each decided that the other wasn’t so bad. We would pick and poke at each other to the point that our mother was entirely convinced she had done something wrong while she was pregnant that caused us to be born loathing our only sibling. The backseat of the car was never big enough. The air one of us breathed always offended the other. She would ask to borrow my clothes, I’d say no, she’d borrow them anyway. She blinked loudly. I tapped on things just to make her crazy. When Mom went to work when I was in 7^th grade, we would come home after school to a house devoid of parental supervision and for that 2 ½ hours before they got home, we would beat the ever-lovin’ snot out of each other.

This particular story took place on a day when for some reason Mom was gone and Sis and I were eating a meal with Dad. We were sitting at the bar that divided the kitchen and dining room – Dad at the end, me to his right, Sis to mine. I got up to get a drink. Sis said, “Hey, could you grab the ketchup while you’re up?” I ignored her and came back to the bar. A moment later I got up to get something else. Again, Sis asked, “Could you grab the ketchup while you’re up?” I once again ignored her. Not long, I again got up. Now, you’ve probably realized that at this point I probably didn’t really need to get up as much as I did. I was merely taunting her. I literally went to the fridge, got something out and ignored her request for ketchup. Apparently that was the breaking point for her. She exclaimed, "REALLY? You couldn’t just get the ketchup? WHILE YOU WERE AT THE FRIDGE??” And I can remember smugly grinning and plopping back down onto my barstool.

The fight was on.

And in the midst of our fussing and name-calling, our father, who had been perfectly silent the entire time, simply got up, went to the fridge, plucked the ketchup from its appointed spot on the shelf, walked calmly to the bar and slammed the ketchup down so hard that America’s favorite condiment burst forth from the lid, shooting upward in a tomato-y geyser that splattered the ceiling and ceiling fan with a spray of red not unlike that seen at crime scenes.

He then sat back down and resumed eating his meal while ketchup dripped from the ceiling and Sis and I sat staring at the broken bottle with eyes as wide as saucers. In unison, we looked up, looked at him, looked at each other and then at our plates. Nary a word was spoken through the entire debacle.

Maybe five minutes later Mom came home. There we were, the three of us, sitting at the kitchen bar, eating dinner like it was our job, not speaking, not looking around. Mom stopped, immediately sensing that there had been a shift in the Force somewhere. Then she caught a glimpse of the ceiling. She inquired as to why the ceiling fan was covered in ketchup. No one answered. Eventually the mess was gone, I assume Mom cleaned it up. It was awhile before we spoke of it. Of course, we found humor in it after the fact.

To this day, that story cannot be told without Sis and I laughing until we cry. It usually elicits a grin from Dad. He remembers it, although I'm not sure "fondly" would be the best descriptor. 

Dad, thank you for the advice that those who hurt me in high school weren't worth the tears, the butter rum lifesavers at Speech competitions, the ability to make me so mad I could drive a standard through my tears, for giving me the desire to learn giant scientific words and their meanings, and for the gray hair. I really appreciate that one the most. 

Happy Father's Day. I love you.  

Dad with mine and Sis' kids on Father's Day 2009

Growing Up

We just finished our first year of homeschooling and it still boggles my mind to think we now have two high-schoolers and our baby is in middle school. I’m pretty sure it was just last week when our oldest dressed her little brother up in a pink tutu and told him “superheroes wear these” to get him to pose for pictures and our youngest was on a kick where she refused to wear clothes. Now we have one sporting a promise ring and driving (*gasp* DRIVING!), one who will soon learn to shave and one who is discovering eyeliner.

Those adorable Hoover munchkins in 2002

Abby has had her driver’s license about six weeks now and I’m finally getting to where I’m not so anxious every time she drives down the driveway and out into the world. I especially find the anxiety absent when I need her to pick something up from the store for me. She’s a good driver and takes the responsibility very seriously. She’s cautious and drives defensively, keeps the radio volume low and her cell phone in her purse. She doesn't speed at all. In fact, we tell people that if they ever get behind a long line of cars going about 45 to look and see if there’s a navy blue S-10 at the head of the line because chances are, it’s Abby. We are totally okay with under the speed limit.

Oh my goodness, it was windy that day! 

She babysat one of her friend’s little girls last night and we enjoyed having a toddler in the house once again. Sophie was a doll and absolutely wore Abby (and us) out with her exploring of our not-so-baby-proofed house. The babbling and snuggles were adorable and made me for about a split-second early in the evening think that maybe we decided to stop having kids too soon. Then I fished a bread wrapper from Sophie’s mouth, snatched her up mere milliseconds before she and the dog kissed through the screen door and stepped on a piece of banana in the living room floor. Sure, she’s precious and all, but I have to say: the teenage years have been my favorite stage so far.

Infants are intense, but oh-so-snuggly and they smell so dang good. Toddlers are delightful and inquisitive and mimic everything. Preschoolers are independent and temperamental. At each stage in our kids’ lives, we've reveled in their discoveries and progresses. Especially with Abby – our first and therefore our “practice” kid – we found everything to be wondrous and phenomenal and full of excitement and promise. The other two were different in their own ways, but even more so by the time we got to Kid #3, we felt like we had this whole parenting thing pretty well licked. Paul and I both enjoyed each stage and welcomed the next. At the end of each stage, we’d both agree: “This one was our favorite.”

This was probably 2004. Kady was about three.

And royally whizzed she wasn't going to school that day. 

Everyone warned us about the teen years. Veteran parents would get wide-eyed when they spoke of how their darling children turned into the spawn of something wicked when they hit puberty. They would condescendingly smile as they said, “Oh, just you wait. They’re cute now, but you’ll see.” It’s hard to happily anticipate something so largely warned-about.

We were told about the attitudes, the refusal to cooperate with anything and everything, the extreme mood swings and all sorts of other wonderful personality quirks. We've had our fair share of communication break-downs, emotional meltdowns and days we truly understood why some animals in the wild eat their young. Strangely enough, though, we've been the parents of at least one teenager for three and a half years now and I have to say: This stage is our favorite.

Abby's 12th birthday

It was a rare sight to see her eyes at that time. 

Usually they were covered by much bangs and eyeliner.

They've always been growing up. They've been doing it since they were born. When they were infants, toddlers, and preschoolers their developments were adorable, breathtaking, exhausting, mind-blowing and emotional. First there was sitting up, then crawling, then walking, then running. (And, because they are my children, usually there was tripping and bleeding.) Paul worked hours with each of the kids, teaching them to tie their shoes. I fussed over sight words and phonics. He removed the training wheels from bikes and let ‘em fly. I took pictures and saved drawings and would get teary-eyed over a sleepy, lisped “I luth yooo” breathed into my neck as I carried Bug down the hall to her bed.

This was after a "park marathon" where we visited every park in town.

Now their growing-up moments are slightly more subtle and sometimes overlooked until one day they full-on smack you in the face. The realization that our son has a junior mustache was a recent one for me. His new workout regimen and goals for a six-pack by summer's end are something we've never dealt with before, seeing as how he’s our only son. Abby getting her driver’s license was a drawn-out process, something I am grateful for. I never understood why the state of Oklahoma requires such a lengthy time between permit, intermediate license and license, but I now wholeheartedly believe it is so parents’ hearts don’t break all at once.  And then there’s that baby girl who is the last one to cross the threshold into adolescence and is having the hardest time acclimating to her new-found hormones. Her older sister has always been mature for her age and we figure that year she was emo was when she did a lot of growing up, under cover of her bangs and about four inches of black eyeliner. The boy outgrew his short momma in a period of about two months and the deep voice is still a shocker when he answers the phone.

 

Last day of school pics with my two high-schoolers *tear* 

But that Kady…..she’s just waffling back and forth between confident little girl with glitter in her veins and an awkward teenager in her first high heels and a week away from braces on her teeth. She spends hours scanning the pages of Bop and Tiger Beat for stories and pictures of One Direction, but will also spend hours playing with her dolls. She puts a hair bow in her hair….then takes it out…..then settles for a ribbon in a ponytail instead. Just today I convinced her that she no longer needed her Easy Bake Oven since she can use the real oven any time she wants and does so with natural ability. She wants to be svelte and confident like her big sister, but sometimes the urge to run barefoot in the yard chasing the dogs is just too powerful to resist. I cannot wait to see her grow up, but I also want her to slow down. Just a little. Right now she’s caught in the stop and go.

 

Kady has *always* loved the sparkle! 

Our last day of school was last Friday. We celebrated with lunch with another homeschooling family. We went shopping and got ice cream. It was a long, exhausting day. 

Kady and her friend Alex 

That night I was sitting on the couch, waiting for everyone to finish brushing teeth so I could tuck them in (something they insist I do and I am not about to stop until they protest). Little Kady was so very tired and with shoulders slumped, walked into the living room and stopped in front of me. I looked up at her and said, “Well, Bug….it was your last day of elementary school. You’re just…..growing up.”  Before I knew what happened, she had busted into wails and tears, flung herself onto my lap and sobbed her little heart out.

I just patted her back, smoothed her hair and let her cry.

Soon the tears stopped, she sniffed, took a deep breath and said she was ready for bed. I tucked all of them in and we did our usual four-way routine of “Good-night, Nurse” followed by good-night to whatever other medical professional we can think of. Kady asked for an extra hug that night.

I smoothed her hair back, kissed her forehead, told her good-night once more… and made it to the my bedroom at the other end of the house before I busted into tears myself.

 My sweet Kady and me

Last day of school 2013

Think Pink. And Flat.

In June 2011 I experienced my first mammogram. I say "experienced" because saying, "I had a mammogram today," equates it with maybe a hot ham and cheese for lunch or maybe a really good stromboli, perhaps a lovely dream. You don't consume it and you don't take anything away from it other than information. So you simply experience it.

My first mammogram was at Claremore Indian Hospital, administered by a woman who was very stoic, business-like and professional. It was a good first experience and I certainly give the woman kudos for handling my breasts in such a way as to make me go back and do it again, not run screaming for the hills, vowing to never again squish the girls.

But at my well-woman exam at the Indian Clinic back in November, the nurse practitioner who did my exam happily announced that immediately after the first of the year, they would have their very own Mammography Suite in their brand new clinic. She also seriously made issue of my impending 40th birthday and said that mammograms were essential at "this stage" in my life. She all but had me picturing gifts of walkers with tennis balls on the feet for my birthday and the rest of my days watching Wheel of Fortune every evening and enjoying my new-found favorite snack food: prunes. I chuckled and said that I was only turning 40 and that yes, I intended to get a mammogram every year from now until my boobs are all but shriveled up and gone and that I knew the importance of early detection and treatment and please don't send me to the home just yet. She patted my knee and said I was funny. Duh.

It was more like February when I finally got my letter announcing it was time for my now-yearly squishing, along with instructions on how to get my films from the other hospital and all the other pertinent information needed to flatten one's breasts. I immediately called to make my appointment and my call was fielded by a man. He chatted amicably as he got into the computer to start entering my information and as soon as I said my name he said, "Oh hey, you're Verna's daughter. This is Scott." Scott is the son of one of my mom's friends. We chatted, made my appointment for April (apparently mammograms are hot items to schedule) and then you know I had to ask: "Uhm...Scott....you're not going to do the mammogram yourself......are you? " He just laughed and stuttered out, "Ohhh nooooooo....no, we have a girl for that." Whew. That would've been awkward at future social functions.

And so I waited. It seemed like April was forever away, but then I turned around twice and boom, it was there on the calender all staring at me and my boobs like that creepy guy at the bar who doesn't realize you have a face or anything from the chest up every time I walked through the kitchen.

This morning in the shower I shaved every stray stubbly hair from my pit region, plus probably a layer or two of skin because it's embarrassing enough to stand there topless, but to stand there topless with hairy pits? Ohh that's way worse. Then after my shower I forewent the deodorant. That is just weird. I have a system, a routine, an order or things that I do after my shower. Moisturize my face, put on deodorant...etc. I moisturized, then stared longingly at the blue Secret I so badly wanted to apply, (Why yes, I do have OCD, why do you ask?) but managed to carry on without it. My pits felt weird. Just plain weird.

I got to the clinic about 10 minutes early and checked in then was sent to wait. I got to listen to a woman's VERY LOUD cell phone conversation during which she gave away her mother's indian commodities (*gasp* Who would give away their commodities??? Man, those are precious and we don't go givin' that away in our house!) and then talk about how she didn't have to, like, pick her kid up from daycare until 5:30 because hey, even though she's not technically employed anywhere right now, she, like, might be someday and she has to pay for a full day no matter what and yeah, like, she likes hanging out with her kid, but ya know, $25 is $25 and if she's paying it, she's, like, getting every penny out of it. I wanted to hand her a Mother of the Year award right there, but decided I wanted to keep all my teeth. She looked pretty tough. So I just sat there and text my sister about how excited I was about my impending squish.

It wasn't long before I heard my name called and the little gal who greeted me in the hallway wasn't any bigger than a minute. She was happy and cheerful and although I wasn't nervous, she still made me feel very at ease. She led me into the darkened suite and directed me to the little dressing room to set down my purse. She asked me the usual questions: any family history of breast cancer? (No) Ovarian cancer? (No) How old was I when I got my first period? (14. Late bloomer.) Did I have kids? (Yes, would you like one? I'm having a spring fever special.) Did I breastfeed? (Yes. I was never good at it, but I gave it the old college try.) Did I have any concerns with my breasts? (Yes, could you maybe give them a talkin' to about how they aren't as perky as they used to be? They're always so .... down...these days...) (No, I didn't really say that.) (Yes, I wish I had.)

Then she told me to step into the dressing room (or un-dressing room at this juncture) and if I had on any deodorant, to use one of the provided wipes to remove it. I told her that I was sans deo because I'm a rule follower like that. She seemed impressed at my nerdy-ness. While I was in the tiny room, she started chatting happily about Prom and hemming her daughter's dress and how bittersweet it is to see them off and then, I, upon donning the paper gown, I stepped out into the suite once more. We chatted a few more minutes about Prom attire, she affixed two pink bandaids upon my nipples and then I stepped up to the plate. Er...plates.

It's like the hokey pokey...you put your right boob in, you push your right boob up, you put your right boob in and then you watch them squish it flat. I dunno. But now I bet you're humming the tune.

Anyway....she never even stopped talking happily as she slipped my arm out of my paper gown, gently grabbed my right breast and laid it on the plate, like a dadgum porkchop at the dinner table. She pulled my shoulder forward, started screwing down the upper plate, adjusted my arm fat (yeah, I said it) and then battened down the hatches. As she said, "Well, you know, silver shoes go with everything!" she also happily added, "You alright? Everything comfy?" and scampered off to her little shielded hut in the corner. I thought Well, my right breast is sandwiched almost flat in between two plastic plates, but yeah, I'm comfy as anything! but instead just said with a smile, "Yep! All good!"

And then she did a diagonal picture. Kind of like a selfie in your bathroom while making the duck face. But far more intimate.

It was when she started the whole process over with the left breast that I decided to be brave and look.

Yes. I looked.

At my breast.

While it was flattened.

Ever seen a bug smack into your windshield when you're cruisin' down the interstate at 75mph? How it's all flat and junk and totally out of proportion and weird looking?

Imagine that. With a nipple.

I quickly averted my eyes. Ain't nobody got time for that.

It was a look like lasted about .5 seconds, but will forever be embedded in my brain.

 The last diagonal picture was the most uncomfortable it got. She had me lean way in and then tilt my head and I swear to you I pulled a muscle. Leave it to me to be injured by a mammogram.

When it was over, she said everything looked good, nothing stood out as alarming to her, she'd send the films off to be read by day's end and I should have a letter by the end of the week. She also reminded me to remove my pretty pink stickers and said if I left them on too long it might take off some skin. Uhm....those puppies were immediately ripped off. I really shouldn't have ripped them off. At the same time. Like a nipple bandaid bandito. Yeah. Ow.

While I re-dressed, we chatted some more about homeschooling, bullying and the fact she tries to contain the pink to her little darkened room so as not to freak out all the other guys in the radiology department. She is good people. We bonded. I mean, as only those who hold your breasts in their hands will.

Anyway, another year, another mammogram. All in all, a not horrible experience. The tech at the clinic was fabulous and sweet and has a wonderful fashion sense. We decided that if the world was left to us, we could solve every problem.

It's not something I want to do every day, but I can totally handle once a year. There's nothing to be afraid of or anxious about, so just go do it.

Just don't look. Trust me on this.

The Helpful Place

I absolutely love going to Ace Hardware because they greet you at the door, ask you what you are looking for and immediately direct you to the aisle you need. Then as you walk away, they get all Secret Service-ish and speak softly into their mic, "I have a customer heading to Aisle 4 in need of a sink drain," like suddenly your plumbing needs are vital to national security.

Today I had several things I needed and was going to visit more than one aisle. I wasn't sure where to begin. We're getting ready to clean out the cellar in anticipation of 'Nader Season here in Oklahoma and there are brown recluse, black widows and wasps in there. With that many critters taking up residence in my 'Fraidy Hole, I'd rather take my chances with the twister. The kids and I had planned on de-bugging and cleaning it this weekend and I needed serious varmit destruction.

When the friendly greeter at the door said hello and asked what I needed today, smiling I said, "Oh.....I have a lot of things to pick up. I think I'll just go it alone." She smiled and said, "Great! Thank you for choosing Ace!" and as I walked away I heard her softly speak into her mic, "I have a female customer..... walking down the main aisle.....she's wearing a black sweater and says she has a LOT of things to buy. Someone find her and HELP HER!"

I was laughing so hard by the time I got to the spider traps because I had about four guys in red vests trailing me as I leisurely browsed each and every aisle between the front door and the pest aisle. A super nice guy with gorgeous silver hair "won" me when I finally stopped at the spider traps and after we visited about those horrible demonic vermin and squared that nasty bit of business away, I inquired about wasp traps.

He stepped in closer and his voice got low as he looked around. I felt like we were in an alley and he was going to offer to sell me a watch out of his vest. He literally looked over his shoulder twice before he finally  said, "Well, I can sell you one of these here, but just last night on Facebook I saw the directions on how to make your own...."

When I got back to the car, the kids nearly in chorus asked, "THEY DIDN'T HAVE WASP TRAPS!?!?" (We might have some anxiety about wasps at our house...) I then told them about the silver-haired Facebooker and his homemade traps and how we, too, were going to make our own. They were completely unconvinced and one of them offered to pay for store-bought guarantees themselves.

Abby just shook her head and said, "Uh, Mom. You should've just totally friended him right there. That's what we teenagers do! Then you'd have the directions right there on your wall!"

Pest Control the Gen Y Zuckerberg way.