Wordless Wednesday

Happy Halloween!!!

Mocha Mamas-Take 3

I'm sure all of you really don't care about what we do every week at play group, but our fearless leader is freezing her butt off up North and this post is to keep her posted on how playgroup went without her.

Sorry Nicole...

We didn't have a activity planned for the kids...we just let them run wild.

We didn't drink any coffee this go round...we stuck with Coke (or pop for you Northerners).

We decided not to interact with the kids...because let's just face it play group is really for us, not them.

Plus, I didn't take any pictures...I was too busy yelling at the kids to go outside and leave us alone.

I'm kidding...okay not about the activity and the Coke, but the rest isn't true.

We did eat some yummy chicken noodle soup. Sheena is officially a awesome chef!
I wanna eat at her house every night.


The boys did destroy the house playing with trains and we only had one fight.


Julian did become reunited with his favorite bouncy seat.

And Amy did take a few shots with my camera.

Gasp! Yes that's me holding my own child. Scary, I know!
See what happens when your not here!

We did have a god time, though we did miss you and Josie.
Our group just wasn't the same without you two.
Plus, I know Amy is missing you lots!

Hooray for Boobies!

If your not aware, October is Breast Cancer awareness month.

Last year, my family was affected by breast cancer when my Uncle's sister was diagnosed and passed away suddenly from it in the Summer of 2008. It came as a shock to everyone who knew her. This past Mother's Day weekend, we walked in her honor at Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. My cousin KP wrote about this experience for her first college English paper. I should have probably asked if I could share this, but she would have probably said no, so I decided to share it anyway. Oh well...hopefully she won't be too mad at me, because it's worth sharing.

I did change the names since I didn't ask for permission.

Hooray For Boobies

It was highly unusual for me to get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, for my typical weekend routine usually included waking up around one p.m., but I knew that the memories from that day would be glued in my 18-year-old brain perpetually. Despite my never ending mental debate of whether or not to smack “snooze” on my Hello Kitty alarm clock, I instead slapped the dismiss button and unwillingly rolled out of my delightfully cozy bed. The unpleasant stench of burnt food clumsily danced around in my nose. “Mom must be experimenting again,” I thought to myself. I guessed I wouldn’t be having breakfast that morning after all.

“KP, hurry UP!” barked my older sister, like a drill sergeant, from our shared bathroom. She was the only one in the family who knew how to be punctual. I hurriedly brushed back the sleep from my eyes; kicked on my rubber soled Nikes, filled up my Nalgene, and joined my two sisters and cousin in the car.

Even though I was greatly opposed to it, my big sister insisted on blaring her obnoxious country lullabies in the car. It made the ride up to Atlanta seem to drag on for all of eternity. In fact I actually dozed off to sleep, perhaps from sheer boredom, or maybe it was from sitting so uncomfortably in the back seat of my sister’s tiny, blue, four-seater, VW Beetle. Either way, I was one exhausted adolescent that had no clue how greatly awakened my eyes would soon become.

“Hey stupid, wake up! We’re about to squeeze cousin K in here,” my rambunctious fifteen-year-old sister annoyingly yapped into my ear. She wasn’t always the most charming creature to be around at nine o’clock in the morning. As my older sister whipped the car around the corner, there stood my 23-year-old cousin K, dressed from head-to-toe in Pepto-Bismol pink, and standing with a banana and a Yoplait yogurt cup in her hand.

K unfortunately had just recently lost her mom, my Aunt T, to breast cancer only eight months before the journey we were embarking upon that day. Aunt T always spoiled me like a rotten egg. She would have sleepovers with me on Friday nights and cook me her special scrambled eggs on Saturday mornings. She would take me shopping for shoes and take me for rides in her “cool” convertible. She would even come gag back mystery meat with me at lunchtime in elementary school. Sadly enough though, all things must come to an end.

T was only 51 years old when everything in her life started to drastically take a turn for the worse. Her back had been oddly bothering her for quite some time, though she just shook it off as if it was nothing. Finally, after suffering through two months of pain, she decided it was time to head to the doctor. The news that she received after the appointment that day astounded everyone. According to the doctor, T had stage four inflammatory breast cancer. Without T being aware of it, the cancer had already taken hostage her bones and her brain, and was slowly slithering up to capture her spine too. She was immediately admitted to the hospital and lost her battle with cancer not even a full month later.

As I gloomily reminisced over the events that had taken place eight months earlier, I sluggishly pulled myself out of the car. I could hear a lady shouting over a microphone, “We are 15,000 strong!” You could tell from her nasally tone that she was from Boston.

Supporters were literally everywhere, lining the streets like a parade. Perhaps that parade would include appearances by Santa Claus, and even God himself. That might even be an understatement of how unbelievably crowded the sidewalks and streets were.

I could feel my naturally curly, chestnut brown hair frizzing up as the shotgun cracked to begin the race. The ferocious clouds looming overhead added to my cheerless mood. Passing by towering buildings and walking up winding roads, everyone around me was anxiously chattering about their stories. Every person had one. That I knew for sure.

Each participant that I passed by wore pink signs pinned to the back of his or her cotton t-shirt. “I walk in memory of,” or “I am a survivor.” Survivor? After seeing what my Aunt T had just uneasily suffered through, I knew for a fact that it had to be a rough time to go through. I had trouble dealing with regular obstacles in everyday life. I could only imagine dealing with all of that, and knowing that I had breast cancer. I could not fathom how all those affected by breast cancer in any way, shape, or form could be so joyful at such a sad event as this. Then it hit me. They didn’t take life for granted like I did. After all, I was an unappreciative teenager, according to my mother. They were just simply happy to be alive, happy to be celebrating and uniting together to fight the ugly demon of breast cancer. Life is way too short to not appreciate it. Why couldn’t I obtain the same optimistic outlook on life? The thoughts of everything whirled around in my brain like a sandstorm. It put me in a bit of a better mood; even though the puffy gray cotton balls in the sky were beginning to lightly sprinkle over the crowd.

Finally, the finish line was in sight. A rather rotund guy was standing on the side of the road flailing his arms around like an octopus, and holding a “Hooray for Boobies” sign. I could feel a slight grin spreading across my face as I snickered at the silliness of the situation, and the immaturity of myself.

As each survivor crossed the finish line, they each received a bouquet of a dozen pink roses and their “Susan G. Komen” Survivor t-shirt. The survivors all looked so happy, but yet half of them had tears pooled up in their eyes. They each had defeated such a huge battle in their lives.

$1.7 million dollars was raised for breast cancer that day, and millions of life-touching memories were made. Though it felt like a tough walk to go through mentally, I knew my Aunt T was there with me every step of the way. I just wish she could have been there to enjoy it just as much as I did.

I'm happy to report she got a 100 on the paper.

I'm cracking...

It's been almost four weeks and I'll be honest....

I'm tired,

I wasn't prepared for this,

and I'm cracking.

This has been harder than I thought it would be. To those who are expecting their first, when I said only after the first few days that it was easier than I thought it would be, that was only because all she did was sleep the first 72 hours. Now it seems all she does is cry and I don't know how to make her happy.

Tonight I had a break down and no, it wasn't the first time. I had to leave because I couldn't take it anymore. I left her with David and went and walked around wal-mart because I was so tired of it all (Yes, I'm serious when I say that wal-mart is the only thing to do in our small town). I've wanted to be a stay-at-home mom for as long as I can remember. Now, that I'm finally doing it, I'm not to sure about it. Yes, I love her but, it's exhausting to be around her 24/7. Now I know why Nicole treasures her Mondays without the kids.

When David walked in from work today, she was in tears and I was in tears. But, I always feel bad that he has been at work all day and as soon as he walks in, I'm handing her off for him to take care of. Don't get me wrong, I've worked with children long enough to know that I love children, but I'm hating this newborn stage. I will be so glad when it's over, but of course, there's a part of me that feels guilty for saying that.

Crap...now Miley's "the Climb" is playing on the radio and I'm in tears again.

It's not helping the situation that I'm still trying to "recover" from two surgeries. I'm tired of being scared to do anything because I'm afraid I'll reopen my incision. I'm tired of constantly worrying if I'm healing on the inside and not having any way of knowing. I feel like I'm constantly walking on egg shells and I just want to be back to my normal self. I hear it a hundred times a day and I'm trying to rest and take it easy, but when she's asleep, it's the only time I have to get anything done. Doing those things are the only thing right now that give me some sort of feeling of normalcy.

Plus, the mermaid girl past away on Friday and my mom called this morning to break the news to me. That has also made me sad today. That little girl's outlook on life and her situation was a true inspiration. My heart breaks for her parents.

Sorry, I know this post is all over the place, but thanks for letting me get it off my chest.

Crocs...again

Here is the info on the cute crocs...

I bought mine from a local store here in our little town, but I found them on the crocs website. They are the Malindi's and on the website they are $29.99. Not trying to brag, but I got mine for $26.99. So, you may be able to find them for cheaper somewhere else. Click on the image for the info.


I am liking these too for the fall!

Baby Snuggies

After my post last Friday, I didn't want y'all to think my mom is some heartless lady who just lets babies cry. We were very fortunate that she was the one to come down and take care of Olivia and I last week while I recovered from the second surgery. Since I didn't go into detail much on Friday, she knew more of the situation with Olivia and knew what I was talking about.

No, I don't lay her in her crib and allow her to cry all night. I have read the books and I understand that babies at that have no way to soothe themselves but, when I stated that she didn't want to sleep unless someone was holding her, I wasn't exaggerating. The problem that we were having was that she always ended up in our bed. I know everyone has their own way of raising children, but we're not big fans of the co-ed sleeping thing. I feel like (especially in our bed) it's dangerous. Last Thursday night I fell asleep in the bed with her in my arms. When I woke up it freaked me out because if I went a little to the left, she would have been on the floor. Plus, it wouldn't be a question of if David rolled on top of her, it would be a question of when?

The problem we were having was that, besides holding her, nothing else was soothing her. I think we've finally found a solution. We've had a few good nights in a row of her sleeping in her crib and I'm hoping that success continues. She hates to be swaddled. She likes to be able to move her arms and legs. Anytime we swaddled her, she kicked herself out. I bought a blanket onesie from Target and so far, she loves it. I guess it confines her enough to make her feel safe, but allows her to still move around. We've named it the baby snuggie.


Oh and I don't see how people live without these things...

It saves me from some unneeded stress on some days.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

She definitely takes after her daddy!