To Grandaddy's House We Go

I have always considered my husband a great driver.  We seem to make it to our destination all in one piece-- or five pieces depending on how you look at it-- every time.   We have been a magnet for other dangerous drivers though.  -- 6 times in the past 3 years.

1)  Kroger parking lot
2) Parked in front of our house
3) In front of Kroger -- this one totalled our Honda, so sad
4) Parked in front of Troye's house 
5) parked somewhere -- this one was a hit and run at some point that we didn't notice until later
6) three weeks ago infront of the Mall of Georgia.  Dude did not have insurance - but we won't go there right now.

Any who.  The hubby is a great driver.  The teeniest bit of road rage, but all in all, I almost nearly never get stressed in the passenger seat... but after this evidence, maybe I should.

We were driving to Grandaddy Mike's on Christmas Eve and I thought I should capture the moment.

"Smile Everybody!"

Aww.. Let's do it again boys!

Cute, but your eyes are closed, son

Let's do a family shot.

Nice, boys, but apparently your father is driving with his eyes closed.  Let's try again.

Mmm.  let's try again honey.

Maybe we should pull over right now.. Do you need a nap dear?

Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh, Christmas Tree

Anyone who has known me for my entire life would know that I've changed somewhat over the years. I've been skinnier and fatter, then even skinnier, then the fattest, then somewhat thinner, and then somewhat fatter again. But that's not what I mean. I used to be a control freak. I don't even know if people around me knew that, because I'm also a people pleaser. So perhaps you could have called me subtlety controlling. (They probably have therapy for that, and I'm almost certain that is a key characteristic for most criminal masterminds, but I digress.)

I don't really know what has changed. I think getting married and having a family. I have learned that getting my way really doesn't matter, because there are more important things to worry about like mouths to feed, noses and butts to wipe and whether or not I will even get a shower today, or tomorrow for that matter.

I have one last strong hold, however. I have not quite released the last sliver of control over that tiny part of my life. I feel somewhat like Chris Farley clinging to the little stick on the side of the mountain in Black Sheep. "Stay strong, little branch" I'm clinging, but I know it's in vain. the signs are everywhere... actually at the bottom... of my Christmas tree...

My husband learned after the first year of marriage that the Christmas tree is my deal. He can contribute after, and only after, all lights are properly affixed, branches sufficiently fluffed and ribbons and bows and key ornaments are arranged. When the word is given, he might be allowed to hang a few non-vital ornaments, but with full understanding that I always maintain the right to rearrange ornaments to create the perfect ratio of colors, size and balance for the over all aesthetics of the tree.

Then I had Grant.... and Grant takes after his mother and is also a control freak. So the branch began to loosen from the side of the mountain and my grasp on it suddenly became a futile effort, and I began to realize that my tree was no longer mine.... but ours...

As Grant gets taller and taller, so does his impact on the tree. This year it is quite a juxtaposition… kind of like Kate Gosselin's hair. You know, all business in the front, and party in the back. This is more like a clash of Martha Stewart meets the Griswalds.

The top of the tree is just lovely. I can look at it all day. Look at the combination of antique ornaments, ribbon, new ornaments, flowers and the play of the tiny twinkle lights and larger bulbs. Just perfection.

Then the further down the tree you go, the tree loses its chance for the blue ribbon from Southern Living Magazine. There are no glass or antique ornaments down there for obvious reasons. Grant has all 6 of his ornaments for each year of his life hanging on one branch. He doesn't care about section 4.2b of the Christmas Tree Manual that states that all ornaments must be properly distributed over the entire tree to ensure the overall aesthetic integrity of said tree. Then there's the Christmas village. Now I must say I caught it at a better moment. Usually there are matchbox cars scattered everywhere. Not to mention playmobil men, knights, leggos and a few wild animals.

So I've lost control of the tree, for now, at least. And My childrens' fingerprints are all over that sucker...just perfection. I wouldn't have it any other way.  Man, I love Christmas!

I Mother, Therefore I am... tired

I'm tired today.

I'm tired because Juliette's diaper leaked at 4 am and she didn't like it so much, "and while I'm up, Momma, why don't you go ahead and feed me."


I'm tired because every time I start to try to something productive Jax has to pee. Why can't you pull your own pants down, son? And I know you are excited when there is poop in the potty, but do I really have to see it every time?


I'm tired because I constantly do laundry. No further explanation needed.


I'm tired because I always feel like I'm feeding someone.


I'm tired because there were TWO children in my bed with me when I woke up this morning


I'm tired simply because I never recover from 5:00-7:30 each evening. That time slot deserves its own post.


I'm tired because I've been so busy this morning I haven't had my coffee yet.


I'm tired because I had to walk to the bus stop in the rain AFTER I looked for my car keys for 15 minutes.


I'm tired because NOTHING seems to wrap up nicely with a bow. Really, the dude who hit us doesn't have insurance? nice...


I'm tired because the boys' bathroom ALWAYS smells like pee... I can't clean it enough.


No cutesy ending to this post... too tired to think of one.

I Don't think Jax is Shooting for the Nobel Peace Prize

My son is obsessed with guns.  With our first, Grant, we made the no-gun-rule.  Every good parent does, you know.  No shooting in my house, no sir.  No buying of guns. No giving of guns.  No pretend guns.  It worked great.  Grant has just enough of his mother in him that he enjoys making peace.  And as we all know, shooting at others really detracts from that goal. 

Then Jaxon came into our lives.  Not much shooting going on with an infant.  Then he discovered guns.  I don't even know if that's what happened really.  I think it's simply a part of his DNA.  Implanted in there when the sperm hit the egg.  It just started happening when he was coordinated enough to point his finger and pop down his thumb.

We still had the no-gun-rule.  But no matter to Jax.  Anything can be a gun - fingers, leggos, clothes, and even properly constructed Hot Wheels tracks.  And then there's the shooting noises. His repertoire is incredible. He recently acquired the machine gun. REALLY? We don't have video games. We don't even have cable.

We finally gave in and let him be who he is... and let him have a gun with his cowboy out fit.  He shot everything in sight for weeks.

I had to speak up, however, when he declared that Santa's sleigh "goes really fast and shoots."  I told him clearly that Santa does not shoot, and neither do his elves. 

I'm pretty sure that coal is going to be in Jax's stocking.... that or some shotgun shells.

My Obsession

I have a need to dress my daughter in the most ridiculous clothes in the world.  I can't help myself.  She really has a great sense of style.  My husband calls it hodge-podge.  I call it precious.  First there's the hair accessories.  The bigger the better. 

Bows are great, but I'm especially partial to the head flowers.

Then there's the dresses my sewing machine keeps making... it's not me, I promise.  The fabric fairy who shall remain nameless (jenn stahl) just drops by my house, and during the night, my machine or perhaps the fashion forward sisters of those little shoe elves come and make the most obnoxious, adorable, clashy clothing for my sweet angel to wear. 

It would be rude of me to not put her in them. 

Then lets not forget to mention the legwarmers -- black and pink paisley ones...  just because.  And shoes,  doesn't every baby girl need panda shoes with pink bows? 

Last but not least, there's the ever popular tu tu.  Plain pink one, Red one to go with her Falcons shirt (just for Daddy), and the candy color one. 

Will she let me still dress her when she's 16?  One can only dream...