Hi, welcome to poopville...

We aren't in the throes of potty training with Emme just yet but mighty close. She semi-regularly pee pees on her little potty. However, when she infrequently poo poos she gets a little frightened. Who can blame her? It is kind of a gross phenomenon. So today she was sitting on her potty in the living room, because why not watch Chicken Little while pooping, and she jumped up mid poop and ran away from the potty leaving behind a trail of evidence. Of course she had to step in it and then sit on me. Luckily Addie is transitioning out of the terrible 3's so she cooperated when I asked her to go get the wipes. I'm just going to tell myself that I got all of the poop cleaned off of me and Em and the rug... and the couch... and the crevices of the floor... and the ceiling (kidding).



Everyone says you'll miss this stage, but I promise you I will not miss the poop on my leg part of this stage one bit.


HOWEVER...I will painfully miss the "hugs around my legs" and "rocking to sleep with head on my shoulder" stage. I'll take a poopy leg every now and then if it means I can hold on to her baby days as long as possible.


My head tells me that 2 children are probably best for our family but my heart is having a hard time accepting it. If only she could stay this endearing, curious, loving age of 20 months for about 6 more months, maybe I could get all the baby stage out of my system.... doubt it.


Clinging on to something doesn't make it any easier to let go of when the time inevitably comes. All I can do is just breathe in each second I get with her... but not too much, because um, well see paragraphs above.


For now, I think I'll go burn my clothes and take a bath in bleach. Goodbye.

Never Forget

FIFTEEN YEARS. It's hard to believe that it has been that long since our country was attacked on Sep. 11th, 2001. My memory is sketchy (especially since having 2 kids) but here is what I remember.

I was a senior in high school, 17 years old. We had cheerleading practice during our morning PE class. We had just finished and were changing into our school clothes while coating on makeup, deodorant, and Bath and Body Works body splash over our sweaty selves. Yes, we were cheerleaders that worked hard AND sweated a lot. Anyways, we were in our coach's room when the teacher next door runs in and says "Turn on the TV! We are being attacked!"

SAY WHAT?! Our school is being attacked? our city? our...

Then we turned on the television and it all became clear.

No one knew what to say. It was all very surreal and confusing. To be completely honest, I wasn't 100% sure I even knew exactly what the Twin Towers were. Typical Alabamian. As we were watching, the bell rang to dismiss us to next period but I'm pretty sure we just stayed glued to the news. We looked to the adults for guidance but I'm pretty sure they were just as shocked as us. Then as we were watching, we saw the 2nd attack happen. We weren't sure if this was live coverage or what exactly was happening. Eventually I believe we went to our next class but the whole school just watched the news the entire day.

It felt right to go home and be with my family that night. A group of neighborhood boys and friends gathered at our house like normal and were all riled up, ready to enlist in the army the next day. We were all very uncertain about the next steps.

The local churches and our school had prayer services and memorials. We had USA day at school the next week. I have a picture of me and some friends posing with flags and red, white, and blue paraphernalia with oblivious smiles. We weren't the epitome of reverent but all we really understood to do was support our country and President Bush and go on with our life. The weight of what actually happened and how it would shape our future was hard for 17 yr. olds to grasp.

That following January when we were supposed to fly to Orlando, FL for National cheer competition, we drove a bus 12+ hours. September 11th was too recent for any of the mommas or our pregnant coach to put everyone on a plane. That's about where the direct impact on my year after the attack ends.

Fifteen years and two children later, our world is a smaller place to me and I realize the delicacy of our country. It's like when you grow up and realize that your house was tiny and your big strong Daddy cries.

I was sitting in church yesterday with roughly 500 people imagining what it would feel like for four times that number of people to be killed in an attack. FOUR TIMES the number of people in my church... GONE. It's still too heavy for my 32 year old brain to grasp.

God help us comfort those who still hurt.
Help us unite.
Help us defend.
Help us love.
Help us never forget.
Help us forgive.

Help us LOOK TO YOU.

Help us, please Lord.

Feelin' the burn...

It's been almost two weeks since the (cringe) curling iron incident. Emme has not been slowed down hardly at all. She's not a fan of changing out the gauze but is mostly a champ. The burn has been pretty nasty but last night, day 10, I noticed some major improvement! Praise God for healing.





 



Just one day shy of a month out. Still wrapping to keep her arm out of sun and away from infection. Here's a pic from a couple days ago. SO MUCH BETTER!

Emme's Big Boo Boo

It was Wednesday night and I had fed kids something that wasn't from a drive thru and had them dressed and ready to go to church, with time to spare. Ummmm let me just repeat that it was a Wednesday and we were going to church. That in itself is a milestone. I was feeling pretty high on life until I decided to brush my teeth and take 2 steps away from my hot curling iron. Apparently the cord was calling to Emme. Within .5 seconds flat it was in her arms and the screams started. Mine were probably louder than hers. Regardless of how fast it all went down I wish I could've gotten it out of her arms faster. Amidst all of our tears and Addie trying to call Andrew on the phone, I put her arms under cold water just praying I could wash away the damage. I didn't even want to look at the inevitable. I felt sick. I knew I never should've used that curling iron with one setting- too hot. Dang beach waves, you are so not worth this.

By the grace of God Andrew got home within just a couple of minutes. He of course was the calm that our storm so needed. His first action: kick me out of the room. For some reason, my meltdown wasn't super helpful. I called my nurse practioner friend Krissy like I always do for anything scary medical. She talked me down and reviewed my picture updates with the advice to just keep cool water on it and refrain from putting anything on it for the night. Her human voice was so less frightening than WebMD.

Meanwhile, Andrew had gotten Emme calm and actually playing in cool water. Did I mention that he was calm? I think he has a bit of natural Xanax in his blood. However, I come in the room crying and I get Emme all bothered again. Yup, kicked out I get. She really was a champ through the whole experience and continues to be. I say this with no bias whatsoever: she is legit amazing. We went to the doctor today and she confirmed that the burns are 2nd degree. She lathered on some thick burn cream and wrapped her tiny little arm up in purple gauze.

Be still my heart.

She has a little journey ahead of her until it completely heals but Lord willing her sweet little arm will be back to normal one day soon. She won't get to play in the bath or sun for a while but she'll definitely get some extra lovin' from me and others. She's already scored some cookies, a new baby doll (thanks Nana), and ice cream out of the situation so far.

It's so hard to look at her burns and not crumble under the weight of the guilt or the pain I feel for her but I'm really trying to look at her and just be thankful.

 

Thank you God that she wasn't burned any worse.

Thank you that she's taking the pain like a champ.

Thank you that it wasn't her hands or feet or face.

Thank you for the prayers and support from friends.

Thank you for speaking grace to me. (I'm trying to listen.)

THANK YOU FOR THIS SMILE.