Day Seven: Stuff and Things

It's Day 7 and once again I'm sitting here with less than an hour until midnight, trying to figure out where I'm going with this blog.  My challenge today is to post my prized possession.  

Since I'm a bit of a worrier, I have actually thought about this topic before in the form of "what would I grab if the house were on fire?"  My priority would of course be the living members of my household--John, Amelia, Lady and Abbie.  But if everyone were safe and I had a few moments to grab STUFF, what would I take with me? What can't be replaced?   Technically, my wedding ring and anniversary rings can be replaced though not with the exact same pieces (and new ones wouldn't have the emotional value either).  Besides that, the only items that are irreplaceable are my pictures.  I have a massive crate stacked full of pictures, as well as a computer with approximately 7,000.  In fact, the pictures (and all of my other files) are backed up on an external hard drive just to be safe.  I had a close call once and learned my lesson. 

Pictures have always been of great importance to me.  There have been few times in my life when I wasn't the girl with a camera around her neck or wrist.  I started with my Mickey Mouse 110 and graduated to 35 MM (including the talking one my dad found for $1 that I lost in NOLA).  I eventually moved on to digital and sacrificed quality for the comfort of KNOWING I got a decent picture.  I would love a better digital camera, but for now I need something I can drag around with me and not worry about possibly destroying. 

Back to the challenge (it's 11:37!)...

I suppose I could take a picture of my crate of pictures, but what fun is that?  I've decided instead to just TELL you about my prized possession and then spend the remainder of the blog showing you pictures I took of other random crap around my house.  Essentially, it means this blog is a total waste of time, but after crying through last night's blog, I need lighter fare.

This is my Cutco vegetable peeler.  I bought it when I lived in Memphis and temporarily lost my mind.  A former student was selling Cutco and I agreed to listen to his pitch.  I felt bad for him, so I agreed to make a purchase.  Now don't get me wrong, Cutco makes excellent products but they are very expensive--way more than a public school teacher supporting two people can afford.  I ended up buying a small block with a few pieces.  As a bonus I got the vegetable peeler.  This thing has saved me so much time and trips to the ER to sew on fingers.  I have no idea how much they cost to buy  a la carte, but I will pay out the nose to have another one if this one ever breaks.

Cavenders All Purpose Greek Seasoning makes everything taste better.  Well, maybe not everything. I wouldn't suggest sprinkling it on ice cream.  Or Cap'n Crunch.  Probably wouldn't do much for a peanut butter and banana sandwich either.  Hell, now I can think of at least 100 things that would be rendered practically inedible by Cavenders.   But it's really good on meat.  And most vegetables.  I sprinkle it in casseroles and in quiche and it's the secret ingredient in my meatballs.  Good stuff. 



If you do any amount of laundry, I'm sure you have a preferred stain remover.  This one is mine.  The list so far?  Pureed peas, formula. spit up formula, vomit, chocolate, grease, poop, yellow poop, green poop, liquid poop, explosive poop, mold, juice, butt juice (if you have a dog, you know this one), makeup, deodorant, mud, ink, dirt, tomato sauce, coffee, and hot pink puff paint.   (Wow.  I feel kind of disgusting now.)  This stuff doesn't work miracles; it still takes some scrubbing.  But I haven't found another product that takes out stains like Zout.  I love this stuff so much I want to take it behind the football bleachers.  Go ahead, you young whipper snappers. Laugh all you want about my love affair with a stain remover.  Someday you'll understand. 




I really like milk.  Especially in big, cheap, plastic cups.  The bigger and cheaper and more plasticky, the better. 



 This is my lullaby.  No, really.  It seems I lack the ability to sleep if I don't have some sort of "colored" noise (white, brown, whatever) roaring in my ear.  It started when I was a kid and had frequent respiratory/sinus issues.  I slept with an old school cool mist vaporizer that made my room sound like I was camping out underneath a Mack truck.  I'm not sure the contraption helped me one bit, but it did completely disable the part of my brain that allows me to sleep in a quiet room.  I can use one of those noise machines, but I prefer a big roaring fan.  When our apartment flooded once, the cleaning crew brought in an industrial size fan that sounded like a small freight train.  I slept beside it in the living room for two days.  Pure bliss.  When John and I married, I had a big box fan that I kept on high.  John likes a quiet room, so over the years we've done the compromise thing.  Now I sleep with a small tabletop  fan set on low.  

 

I have a nice collection of Willow Tree figurines.  I've loved them for years, before they because popular.  I've never bought myself one, but my friends and family have added to my little resin family.  My most recent addition and current favorite is "Guardian."  John gave me this as a late Christmas gift. I love how something so simple can show such powerful emotion.  There are a few pieces I would currently like to receive, but I will wait patiently for them.  Just to be safe, though, would someone please tell a certain younger brother of mine that he should really get me the "Brother and Sister" figurine?  I've given up on dropping subtle hints. 

Nothing beats packing for a mini-vacation every time I leave my house.  Instead of my normal "keys, phone, wallet" check, I now have to plan for every possible scenario that might take place with my little one.  Formula? Check.  Bottles?  Check.  Extra pacifier?  Check.  Diapers, wipes and emergency outfits?  Got em.  Toys?  Sure.  Baggies for poop?  Why not.  Teething rings.  Extra socks.  Sanitizer.  The list goes on and on.  I've given up on carrying a purse most of the time and just cram everything into one of the pockets in my cavernous diaper bag.  At least I have a great bag.  My Kalencom is roomy, sturdy, vomit-proof and brown.  

For those of you who haven't read my blog until today, I apologize for the random nature of what I've written.  Feel free to go back and read some earlier posts if you want something more meaty.  I'm just doing what the "challenge" instructs me to do.   Unfortunately, I'm an hour-and-a-half late posting this since I lost half my blog during an auto save.  Gotta start working on these earlier in the day.

As always, thanks for reading.  Make sure you appreciate the random crap in your house today.  It could be gone tomorrow and you might not even notice. 

Day Six: Freaky Friday

When I first saw today's challenge, I giggled.    "What person would you like to trade places with for a day?"


Um, this lady? 

Then I stopped and realized that as fun as it is to joke about Robert Downey, Jr. being my next baby daddy, it would be rather rude and crude (and disrespectful) to devote an entire blog to taking another woman's place for a day.

So on I move to someone else.  Who would I want to swap places with for 24 hours?  Someone powerful?  Highly intelligent?  Beautiful?  Rich?  Famous?   Whose life do I in some way place a higher value on than my own? 

No one.

Look, I admit I'm curious.  What would it be like to command the world's attention?  To have every eye on me as I walk down the street?  To never worry about money?  To buy anything I desire (or to gift my family with all the things they deserve)?   There are certain people whose mere existence fascinates me.  Wouldn't I like to swap with them?  It would only be 24 hours.

No.

My life is far from glamorous.  I am far from glamorous.  According to the world's standards, I am mediocre at best.  I will never discover or create anything significant.  I am not striking or beautiful.  I am neither rich nor powerful.   I am just another person, another face in a sea of faces. 

Yet I am so perfectly content with this life.  I have a family who loves me, friends to laugh with, a home in which to rest, my mind, my health, my experiences.  I have a devoted husband whom I'm still crazy about after ten years and a precious little miracle named Amelia.  We are warm, fed, safe and happy.    Yes, it would be easier if we had a neverending flow of money, but we have enough.  When it comes down to it, I have nothing to complain about.

I have no desire to trade places with some celebrity or politician, just to see how "the other half" live.  Why would I give up an entire day with the people I love just to be chased by photographers or to spend obnoxious amounts of money?  What would I gain?  Nothing except a few meaningless memories and a possible seed of discontent.

My problem then became, "How will I complete this challenge?"   I feel like it's a bit of a cop out to say I wouldn't trade with anyone.  So I had to step back and look at it from a different angle.   Is there someone who would want to borrow my life for a day?  Though I am rather average, is there someone who needs to be me for awhile?  Even considering this made me feel rather arrogant. 

Ooh, who is the lucky person who gets to be Amber?

It sounds terrible, doesn't it? 

Then it hit me.  Who would appreciate the things I love?  Who could benefit from a day of health and rest and laughter?  Who would enjoy the time with my sweet little Peanut?

My Nani.

I would give my 24 hours to my grandmother.  I wish I could give her a day of happiness and health.  I wish she could get out of bed and walk, no run, out of her room.   I wish she could laugh and forget her sadness for awhile.  I wish she could come to my house and spend the day with my Amelia.  I wish she had the ability to pick her up and swing her around and hold her little body close.  I wish she and my mother could go shopping or shell peas or do whatever it is they did together before their worlds changed forever.   I wish for just a day she could be the Nani I remember from when I was a little girl, the Nani who taught me how to make homemade teacakes, how to two-step in her kitchen to an old George Jones tape, how to play Shanghai.  The Nani with whom I spent countless days and nights, working in the garden, swimming in the pool, watching soap operas.   The Nani who made me truly understand the word grandmother. 

And if it meant I spent a day in her world, feeling what she feels, so be it.  I would gladly give up a day of my life if it gave her another day to really live.   I don't see my grandmother as much as I should.  To be honest, it hurts me to see her.  It hurts to see how much she's changed.  And it hurts to entertain the faintest thoughts of the future and what they hold for my mother and for me... and even for my daughter someday.

Twenty-four hours.  One whole day.  In the grand scheme of things, it seems rather insignificant.  How many days have I spent wasting away in front of the television or on the computer?  But those 24 hours could mean so much to someone else, if provided with the opportunity to live and not just exist. 

I pray that I can live each day like I only have 24 hours to experience it. 

I never know when that just might be true. 

Bad with Conviction on Facebook

If you enjoy my blog, I invite you to skip on over to Bad with Conviction on Facebook and "like" me.  Each time I post a new entry, you'll receive a notification on your FB feed.  Very convenient... and it makes it even easier to share with your friends (hint hint wink wink nudge nudge)

Thanks everyone!

Day Five: Let the Memory Live Again

These challenges are going to start overlapping if I'm not careful.  Over half of the "assignments" could apply to either my parents, my husband or my daughter.  I'm going to have to branch out eventually and chose something besides my absolute "favorite" of something.

Day Five is my favorite memory.  My mind of course goes to the day I had Amelia and the day I got married.  I've already talked so much about Amelia's birth in previous posts, so that leaves the wedding.  The sad thing is that there are huge chunks of the day I don't remember.  Seriously.  Big white spots in my mind.  It was a wonderful day, but I was so overwhelmed that I didn't stop and really enjoy it.  In fact, I probably remember more about the night before.  Here are a few of the memories that stand out.  They're pretty random. 

 



Just a couple of crazy kids in love...


• Laughing through our rehearsal.  Seriously.  It was like no one could keep a straight face.  It didn't help that our minister was a hoot. 
• Having to add a junior bridesmaid DURING the rehearsal.  It was the only way we could get the ring bearer to walk down the aisle.  Luckily, the best man's little sister had a white dress and was more than happy to be a part of the wedding. 
• Rushing to Kinkos in Jackson in the middle of the night to pick up the wedding programs at the last minute.
• Crashing in my old room at home with some of my bridesmaids.  I think we slept three hours.
• My friend almost crashing her Mustang into the church. John was outside and I didn't want him to see me.  I kind of freaked so she stomped the gas.  It was raining and we slid.  It scared us to death.  Scared John, too.
• My hands being so swollen that I had to soak them in a big Tupperware dish of ice water so that I could get my ring on.
• The first time John and I saw each other.  We decided to do our pictures before the wedding so that we all could enjoy the reception.  However, I wanted it to be special when we saw each other.  They cleared the church out and took him to the front of the sanctuary.  They turned him around and brought me in.  His face when he saw me is one of my favorite pictures, as are the ones of us holding hands with our faces almost touching (we didn't kiss, though!)




Saying our vows


• Winning the battle of the shoes (I didn't wear them) 
• My brother and John's cousin having to light all the candles with Bic lighters when the big fancy candle lighters malfunctioned.  What made it funny was we had just been joking earlier about them using the Bics because it would be "super classy."  By the way, we had quite a few candles.  My brother my not have a fingerprint a his right index finger now...
• Standing at the back of the church, waiting to go in, and realizing that John's ring was still on the other side of the building in the Sunday school room where we dressed.
• I remember very little about the ceremony because I was so nervous that I was going to mess up our vows.  On top of that, it took every ounce of control I had not to burst out crying since that's what I do when I feel any type of extreme emotion, not just sadness.  In every picture during our vows, I look almost mad. 
• The kiss.  The kiss was nice.  And church appropriate. 





You know I love him if I'm sharing frosting...

• The reception is pretty much one giant blur.  I remember walking in and being totally blown away.  The decorator had completely transformed the gym.  I couldn't believe it.  I was his last wedding so he went all out for me.  Besides that, I remember A LOT of hugging.  Our receiving line lasted almost an hour.  I didn't mind at all, but by the end I was so tired.  
• Besides the cake we ate in our pictures, we didn't eat.  Even after the never ending receiving line, I still felt the need to walk around and visit.  That's the Southern girl in me. No time to eat when you're hostessing.
• Strangling on punch during our pictures.  I'm very prone to getting choked when I'm drinking anything (as are my mom and grandmother).  It happened during our pictures and it took me several minutes to recover.  There are some great shots of me coughing, though.                              

• Lots and lots of bubbles.
• Once everyone left, we changed into our street clothes and went back over to the church to tackle a stack of presents.  I actually dozed off sitting in the floor of the foyer because I had not stopped moving in HOURS.
• When we got to our chalet that night, it took me over 45 minutes to take out all of the bobby pins from my hair.  Very sexy.
• About 10:30 PM, we were both STARVING.  We had eaten nothing at the reception and we had exerted quite a bit of energy in the post-wedding activities (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).  The only thing open within 25 miles was McDonalds.  So off we went to Mickey D's for burgers and fries.  We try to go every year now as an anniversary tradition. :)

Guess I remember a little more than I thought.  :)  There were a couple of not so good memories involving the wedding, but they aren't worth recounting here.  What I can say is we stood together and got through them so that we could focus on the ceremony that would join our lives together forever. 

I wish I had all of my wedding pictures here so that I could scan them in, but they are at my mom's house.  I may have to get them and add in a few (like me soaking my hands or coughing my head off or when we saw each other for the first time).  Luckily, I have a few on my computer.  It's nice to go back and look at them and try to remember all the craziness of that day.

 September 1, 2001, the day I married my best friend.







Day Four: That night...no, not that one... THAT one

Day Four of the "30-Day Challenge" has arrived, and I have procrastinated completing it.  It is now almost 11 PM.  I am so cold that my fingers are stiff and achy; typing is a pain--literally.  I am going to give this my best shot under the circumstances, though.  Today's challenge is to post a picture of my favorite night. 

There are actually no pictures from my favorite night.  It was a very intimate, very private night.  And no, it's probably not what you're thinking.  My favorite night was the night Amelia was born.  She arrived at 8:12 on a Tuesday morning after over 24 hours in labor.  I remember thinking, Oh good.  I'll be able to get some rest before people start showing up after work.  Wrong.  They moved me to my room between 10:30 and 11:00.  Within 20 minutes, people began arriving.  And they never stopped.  For the next ten hours, there was between 6 and 15 people in my room at all times.  And while I was thankful for them all and excited for them to meet our new daughter, it was completely exhausting and more than a little overwhelming.  Around 9:00 that night, we finally found ourselves alone.  Just John, me and our precious baby girl.  It was the first time my new little family had been together, just the three of us.  John crawled into my hospital bed with me and we curled up with our Amelia.  The next hour or so were the most precious, emotional, beautiful, sacred moments of my life.  There's no way I could put it into words, even if I were so inclined to share the details. 

So that is my favorite night.  The challenge, however, is for me to post a picture of my favorite night.  Since none exist, I feel I should choose another night of which there are pictures.  So I've chosen another night that is very special to me: my surprise 29th birthday party.

I turned 29 in 2008.  My husband decided he'd throw me a surprise birthday party.  It turns out that John is much sneakier than I ever thought.  He managed to organize this entire shindig--food, guests, everything--without me even being suspicious.  And there were more than a few hints.  For example, the day before the party, John wanted to go on a cleaning binge.  He insisted that everything had to be clean and it had to be done right then.  For starters, John hates cleaning.  I did find it odd, but he told me he just wanted to do his part since it was my birthday. 

The day of the party, we were attending a wedding.  Some friends invited us over to celebrate my birthday that evening after the wedding.  By the time we got to the reception, it was time for us to go to their house, but I didn't want to be rude and leave right away.  John insisted that we stay awhile longer, reassuring me that our friends would understand.  By the time we left, I was stressing over being late.  John--who had spent quite a bit of time during the reception in the bathroom--announced we had to go home to get his medicine.  I know it sounds awful, but this pissed me off.  I kept saying, "But we're already late!  They made dinner for my birthday and I'm not even there!"  He told me he had to get his medicine.  So off we go to our house, with me pouting the whole way. 

By the time we get to the house, I was pretty irritated.  He parked in the driveway and said, "Let's run in and get the medicine."  This should have tipped me off that something was amiss.  We NEVER park in the driveway and we rarely use our front door. But I was too focused on his insistence that I go in.

"Why do I have to go in?  Just go get your medicine."

"Amber, just go in with me."

"Why?  I just want to sit here."

"It will only take a minute.  Just go in."

Now, a rational human being would have stopped and thought, This is odd.  Why on earth is he insisting that I go in so that he can get his medicine?

But by this point, I was steamed.  Any suspicions I might have had were replaced by anger.  I finally got out of the car and shut my door a little harder than necessary.  We were halfway down the sidewalk in front of the house when a van slowed down and turned into our driveway. 

"Who is that?"

"Don't know."

"John, stop and go see who it is."

"They're probably just turning around."

"But they pulled all the way into the driveway.  Go see what they want."

But John kept on walking as I followed behind him, stomping my feet and, well, bitching (if I want to be totally honest).   Never did anything in my brain say, Something is fishy.  And it was my birthday, the one day of the year that the likelihood of something surprising happening is increased 235%.

We get to the front door and he opens it.  I walk in and am met by a house full of my friends and family yelling, "Surprise!"

Over the past months, John had been secretly corresponding with my nearest and dearest, even setting up an email account where people could RSVP.  He had employed friends and family to get balloons and decorations and cake (2 big cakes, petit fours and long johns!)  Everyone had parked around the corner so that I wouldn't be tipped off!  When I walked in and realized what was going on, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry!  I was so happy and SOOO embarrassed because I had behaved like such a little prat.  All the things I'd been mad about were all cover-ups for the party.  When I thought John was in the bathroom, he was actually on the phone with folks at our house who were getting everything ready.  There was no dinner at my friends' house--it was just a way to keep me from planning anything.  The medicine was an excuse to come home, and we had to come in the front door so I'd see everything set up.  No one could BELIEVE I wasn't suspicious, especially once we got to the house and one of my friends pulled up in the van!  They all got a kick out of me berating John on the way into the party (they heard everything!)   The transition from angry to OVERWHELMED WITH EMOTION was quick and a bit disorienting.

The party was incredible, with 35-40 people from my past and present there to celebrate.  It was like my own personal "This is Your Life."  And the best was when they sent me into the kitchen to get my "present" and there stood my best friend Jenny who lives six hours away. 

I can't pick just one picture from that night, so here are a few of my favorites.  Wish I had a picture for every moment. 

I think I was in shock momentarily



The light in my brain just came on!



And then I cried (kind of glad this one is blurry!)



My "official" cake and petit fours from Big Star in Henderson (they're like crack)

Ray Ray lighting my candles before everyone sang.  Notice the 2nd cake on the right that my mom made for me.  It's the one I requested for the "decoy" party I thought we'd be attending.

Jenny and I chowing down on a long john full of plastic baby (that's a blog for another day, kids)

Opening gifts

My daddy entertaining Jenny and Michael

Me and the platic baby (and a glass of top secret hooch)

Yvette and Kevin, the friends were were having "dinner" with

My WONDERFUL husband and his poop eating grin because he pulled one over on me  :)



Day Three: Men of Mayhem

I'm kind of thankful that Day Three of the "30-Day Challenge" is something easy.  Day 1 was tiring and Day 2 was emotional.  I needed a brain dead day.  Today's challenge is to post a picture of the cast of my favorite television show.  If you know me very well, then you probably know I like to watch television.  Over the years I've had many favorite shows, all with fantastic casts.  Even though I'm a writer, I can sometimes forgive mediocre writing if the characters are strong.  But when the writing and the cast is stellar, I'm a happy girl.  The only problem I had with this challenge is deciding if I want to go with my all time favorite or current favorite.  Since I'm limited on time today, I decided to go with current favorite--Sons of Anarchy.

I know quite a few people who refuse to take this show seriously and watch it.  They're missing out an hour of killer (often literally) television every week.  Even though we have a DVR, John and I plan our Tuesday night around SOA.  On the Tuesday's he has to work late, we're torn between staying up and watching it when he gets home at 11:30 or waiting until the next day.  I am crazy about this show--the writing, the cast, the music, even their crazy creator and paterfamilias Kurt Sutter who pulls quadruple duty as writer, executive producer, occasional director and actor on the show (he plays Otto). 

I couldn't find a picture that had the entire cast (in character), so I saved some pictures of cast members and used Walgreens's website to throw together a collage.   Now I'm all atwitter about Season 4 which doesn't premiere for SEVEN MONTHS. 

Oh well, at least I have someone else to keep me company these next few months.  Hello there, Marshal Givens.

Day Two: Momma

Day Two of the 30-Day Challenge is a picture of me and the person I've been closest with the longest.  I suppose this could be interpreted in different ways, but I'm going to choose the person I've literally been closest with--my momma, Glenda Cleo Connor Jewell.



1982

I've known my momma since August of 1979 when I entered this world after what she describes as a pretty non-traumatic labor.  I spent the first five years with her pretty much nonstop since she stayed at home with my little brother and me.  I feel extremely blessed that she chose to be a stay-at-home mom, not to mention that she took it seriously and spent so much time working with me.  When my brother and I were in elementary school and mom went back to get her nursing degree (which she accomplished!), she still managed to help us with our homework and projects, chauffeur us to school and our various activities (we rarely rode a school bus), cheer us on at our games and competitions, keep our clothes washed, pack our lunches, make us dinner, and wrestle with my unruly hair.  I can't remember ever hearing her complain and she didn't make a point to remind us of all she did and how we should be thankful.  She just did it.  Looking back now, I realize just how much of herself she sacrificed.  She didn't go for weekly manicures or spend Saturday afternoons shopping (at least for herself).  Her life revolved around us.  My momma has always been my biggest supporter and cheerleader, even when I'd push her away or hurt her. 

In Florida, 2006


Things weren't always hunky dory between my mother and me.  As luck would have it, I hit puberty dangerously close the time she began "the change."  At least that's what my dad always called it; I can remember at one point thinking, What on Earth is she changing into???  Needless to say, the teen years were more than a little rocky.  Hormones (or the lack thereof) were to blame for quite a few arguments, tiffs and a couple all out wars.  My mom tries to say now that I wasn't that bad, and I suppose in comparison to some teenagers I wasn't.  But I won't even try to deny that I was mouthy and a bit of a smartass.  I didn't even try to hide that I was counting down to the day I could move to college.  My mother's motto became, "Well soon you'll be out of here and won't have to deal with me anymore."  I still loved my mother, but we were just so different.  I just thought we'd always be at odds.    

I moved to college and things got better to a degree.  We weren't in each other's space so much, so there were fewer opportunities to argue.  The problem was that I had my share of wild hairs and wild oats to sow.  Looking back, I know my mom was just worried about me but I accused her of trying to control my life and treating me like a child.  Truth is, I was a child and I did need someone else to control my life because I was doing a piss poor job myself.  I bounced back and forth between accusing my mother of smothering me with her constant phone calls and moping around my dorm room when she didn't call for 2 or 3 days.  Deep down I craved a good relationship with my mom; I was just too proud to do my part.  Even though I was often hateful and ungrateful, my momma was still there for me, going


My mother SPEEDING for me!  ;)



out of her way to take care of her oldest child.  The worst was my sophomore or junior year (can't remember which semester--it was in '99) when I literally had a mini-breakdown.  I had let all of my deadlines creep up on me at the end of the semester and was totally overloaded. One night my boyfriend found me curled up on the bed.  I don't remember a bit of it, but I'm told I was awake but pretty much unresponsive.  I had just shut down.  My momma drove to get me.  She took me home, gave me some "happy" pills and put me to bed.  The next day, I insisted that I would be quitting school and that I would be fine working at McDonald's.  She kindly but firmly told me that I would finish school because she would be there to help me through it.  And she was.  Now they would call her a helicopter parent but you know what they say about desperate times.  She moved me home from school.  She personally contacted my professors and explained what had happened, convincing them to take mercy on me.  She helped me gather the material I needed.  Then she sat beside me while I wrote every damned paper, encouraging me through every word.  Never once did she chide me for procrastinating or even ask what I had done with all my time when I should have been working.  She just gave me nonstop encouragement and let me cry when I needed to do so.  Not only did I end up passing that semester, I wrote three of the best papers I'd produced in my college career.  I know if it hadn't been for my mother, I would have withdrawn from school that semester and possibly had a full-blown nervous breakdown from the weight of my own failure.  That sounds dramatic, I'm sure, but it's the God's honest truth.   

When I moved home during the summer of 2001 to work for the summer and plan my wedding, my relationship with my mom began to improve.  I was a tiny bit afraid that we'd fight over my wedding, but we had a great time.  I'll never know how she truly felt about me getting married at first, but I have to suspect that she was worried.  Not that she didn't like John--he was great.  It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.  I didn't have the best track record of forming (and staying in) stable relationships.  I was flighty and impulsive and had already ended one engagement.  John and I had only been dating a few months when we announced our plans to marry and our wedding date was less that seven months after our first date.  My mother only asked me one time if I was sure about getting married.  When I promised her that I knew this was what I was supposed to do, she never brought it up again and was nothing but supportive.  And though I would have married John regardless, it made me feel more confident when people questioned me because my mom supported me. 

Mothers' Day 2007

After I married and moved to Memphis, my mom and continued to get closer.  I'll never forget my first week of in-service.  I picked up a nasty bacterial infection and was sick for DAYS with a high fever and violent vomiting.  And though John did his best to take care of me, I secretly cried and wished for my momma.  It was the first time I'd ever been sick and she wasn't there to take care of me (she did end up coming, though).  I honestly think that was a major turning point.  It was the first time I'd ever pined for my mother.  

My mother has always been there for me, and when John came along, she was there for him, too. Not long after we married, I had to take John to the ER in the middle of the night.  In my panicked state, I locked my keys in the car.  I was in tears and didn't have any close friends yet to call.  So I called home.  My mom (and dad) drove to Memphis in the middle of the night to drive me to my apartment to get the spare set.  Then they sat with me in the ER until John was released.  After that, someone told me, "If I were your mom, I'd have just told you to call the locksmith."  This was another turning point.  Though I knew that some people had crappy mothers, I thought what my mom did was normal mom behavior.  Nope. 

As the years have passed, my mother has become one of my best friends.  I call her to celebrate victories and mourn losses.  I seek out advice, comfort and encouragement.  If I need to laugh, cry or cuss, she listens patiently.  And though I've reached the point in my life where I don't have to be mothered, it's now--more than ever--that I find myself needing my mother.  Sometimes I feel like I lean on her too much, especially considering the challenges and hardships she has in her life.  Maybe I give her credit for being stronger than she is.  All I know is that she's never let me down and she's the one person I've been able to trust completely for 32 years. 

Amelia and Momma on her 64th birthday

I love my momma and I hope to God that I do a good enough job showing her just how much she means to me.  Whenever I find myself sounding like her, I don't have the stereotypical "I'm turning into my mother" reaction.  I feel proud.  My mother is a strong, compassionate wife, mother, friend and now grandmother. She has taught me the true meaning of love and sacrifice.  A weaker woman would have been broken by now by what my mother has endured.   If I accomplish nothing else in my life, I want to be more like her.  My little girl is lucky to have her as a grandmother, but she would be so fortunate to have a mother like I have.  I just pray that I can fill her shoes. 

184 Days Later

My baby girl turned six months old last week.  I got caught up in celebrating and neglected to write anything about it.  Guess I'm a better mother than blogger.  It doesn't seem possible that six months has passed since that sweet little purple chunk of love was placed in my arms.  She has grown so much, from a seven-pound newborn to a seventeen (PLUS) pound baby girl.  Many of you have already been inundated with the never ending stream of pictures on Facebook, but I still want to share just a few of the memories we've made these past 184 days.

Bath Time (3 weeks) 

This wasn't her first bath, but it's my favorite bath picture.  It didn't take long before we had to move her little tub to the big tub.  She fills this up end to end now and splashes out most of the water, but she loves it and it still gets her clean. 

First UT Game and Her Daddy's Birthday (1 month)

My two favorite people

I sure hope little Peanut likes the color orange because she is going to be wearing it quite a bit if she is part of this family. Her Daddy loves the Vols (as do her Pappy and Grammy).  We both got to spend our birthdays with Amelia this year, but I spent most of mine in the hospital and everything was a bit surreal still since she was only two days old.  By the time John's rolled around, we had settled in and she was getting more alert.  They blew his candles out together on his (of course) orange cake.  His birthday also fell on Game Day, so Amelia got to watch her first UT game.  Fortunately they won, so Amelia didn't learn any "new words" that day.

                                                                             

A New Expression! (8 weeks)

When Amelia was born, she had what we called angry eyebrows.  They were pretty cute and she used them frequently.  They lasted for weeks and I was a bit concerned that my child was only going to have one facial expression.  I was so relieved when she finally started smiling.  And once she started, she didn't stop.  There is nothing I love more than my baby girl's sweet "toofess" grin.  No matter what is going on, she can smile at me and everything in the world is right for a moment.  This was one of the first pictures I took of her when she got her "new expression." She does still pull out the angry eyebrows occasionally. I have a feeling they'll have an extended visit when she hits puberty.  And I might have to buy new clippers...

Carseat Trauma



Baby Strait Jacket

For the first month of her life, Amelia didn't mind her car seat.  In fact, she would pretty much sleep any time we put her in it and would continue to sleep everywhere we carried her.  Going out to eat was no different that it had been!  I even took her to a movie.  Then we entered our 2nd month and EVERYTHING changed.  Each time I would put her in her seat, she would scream like I was torturing her.  She would continue screaming until I removed her from the seat--even if we were driving an hour or more.  It was awful.  I got to the point that I didn't take her anywhere unless I had to go.  After trying out every single piece of advice I could find on the Internet and solicit from other moms, I finally got desperate around week six and decided to try something new.  Peanut loves to be swaddled (still does even at 6 months!), so I decided to swaddle her before putting her in her seat.  I figured if it soothes her at night, maybe it would help.  And it did.  Things were still rough at times, but she slowly started calming down for longer periods of time and even sleeping in her carseat again.  Now she loves her car seat again.  We still have no clue what freaked her out for those LOOOOONNNG two months, but we sure are glad it's over. 


Holidays



One of three costumes

 Babies make the holidays even more special.  Amelia arrived just in time to celebrate not only our birthdays, but also Halloween...

 




Thanksgiving...



Watching football on Turkey Day



and of course Christmas... 

Other Firsts

December brought other firsts for our sweet girl, including her first baby cereal, propping herself up and SNOW! 



nom nom nom




Well, hello there...

We've had so many snow days this year.  I'm not surprised, though.  When I was pregnant, I told everyone Amelia would probably grow up to be a meteorologist.  In nine months, we had a major snow (at least for this area), a record summer in terms of heat, AND the Noah-style flood that flooded so much of the Southeast (and my neighborhood!)  This kid brought some serious weather with her.  Her first snow day wasn't very impressive, but that didn't stop us from bundling her up for some pictures.



Baby Polar Bear

New Year



Happy New Year!

 I am so excited about all the adventures this new year will bring with my sweet girl. Every day she's changing, getting bigger, smarter, more animated, more curious, louder and (of course) even prettier.  Each day is a new adventure and I feel so blessed to be able to stay home with her.  It makes me a little sad that she's growing so fast.  I look back at the pictures from her first week and wonder where my tiny baby went.  I'm so thankful that she's developing normally, though, and reaching her milestones.  I just wish I could slow time down a little and savor each moment more. 

Which brings us to now. 



What?



My peanut is six months old.  She's a wiggling, babbling, slobbering, giggling ball of goodness and I'm absolutely crazy in love with her.  I never know what she's going to do next. 

We celebrated her "half birthday" with family this weekend.  I even made her a special "half" cake and cupcakes.  Turns out my kids LOOOOOVES sugar.  She absolutely destroyed her cupcake, cramming every bit she could into her mouth and every other nook and cranny (she even had some down her back).   As I looked around the room at those who came to celebrate, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that my little girl has so many people who love her so much.  She's too little now to know how fortunate she is, but she is so blessed to have such wonderful family and friends.  I honestly don't know if there has ever been a child who has been so adored.  Just hope it doesn't go to her head...

These first six months have had their challenges, but overall they have been pure bliss.  I am so excited about the next six months.  There are so many more adventures on the way. 



First Bite



Happy half birthday, sweet Peanut.  Mommy loves you so much. 

 









Day One: Ten

I've noticed several folks on FB doing a "30 Day Photo Challenge." While I feel the word "challenge" is used rather loosely, I thought I'd give it a whirl on here since I need to blog and currently have writer's block (actually that's a lie--I am actually restricting myself from certain topics at the moment which in turn has locked my brain down from thinking of different topics).

So the first assignment is to write ten facts about myself and post a picture. I feel like I've done this to death between my "100 Things About Me" blog a couple of years ago and my up-to-the-minute status updates on FB. But Day One clearly states, "List 10 facts." I suppose the challenge then is to come up with ten facts that very few people know about me or to elaborate on things people do know. *sigh* I'm already regretting this...

1. Most of you know about my knee. It's been jacked up since 6th grade. Basically, it "jumps out" and my knee cap ends up dang near the back of my leg. It's excruciatingly painful. Seriously. It ranks right up there with labor. I need to get it fixed and have put it off forever. What people don't know, though, is how much I obsess about my knee. I can just think about dislocating it and it completely shuts me down for a few moments. Sometimes I will have a passing thought about my knee and do a full out body shudder. I honestly think about it a least a dozen times a day. This is why I get so freaked out when I see anything about a broken bone. One time, a friend thought it would be funny to show me a snapped leg. I almost passed out. Then I threw up and came close to a full-on anxiety attack. So if you ever seen my hand fly to my knee or I draw my leg up suddenly and wince, please pay me no mind. I just had a passing thought of my knee and will return to my (semi) normal self in a moment.

2. I can memorize a song extremely fast, especially if it's a song I like. If I hear a song on the radio once, I usually know the chorus by the end of the song and sometimes even part of the verses. I've always liked songs that challenge me. If it's a song with a lot of lyrics, I will listen to it over and over until I learn it, which usually takes about half the time it would someone else. I guess it started with "We Didn't Start the Fire" and the McDonald's commercial from the late 80s that sang the whole menu (I can still sing it). When "Semi-Charmed Life" came out in college, I learned it in one afternoon, including the verse that the radio usually leaves off. The added bonus is I can learn pretty much anything set to music. For example, when I was in college, I SUCKED at French. My answer to everything was je ne sais pas. The only reason I passed was because my professor had mercy on me. The weird thing is that for our final she required us to memorize a French Christmas carol. I learned mine in about two days and sang it perfectly, even my pronunciation was correct. She just couldn't believe it when I performed it. (Side note: Years later I saw her around the holidays and sang to her.) Maybe I would have been better in Chemistry if the teacher had presented his lessons as show tunes.

3. With the exception of a couple of things, I don't eat green. No, I'm not referring to being environmentally friendly. I don't eat the color green, mainly things that are leafy or look like small trees. I've tried over and over, but I swear it tastes like I'm chewing on dirt. I used to be embarrassed, especially when I'd go out and would be the only one with an uneaten salad sitting in front of me (I finally learned to order soup). Now I've just accepted it. It's not that I'm being picky. Green food just doesn't taste like food to me. I do eat zucchini and I like cucumbers (though only their skins are green). I will also eat spinach in a dip or casserole as long as it's not the dominant ingredient. Some people think this is why I hate pickles so much, but that's not the reason. I hate pickles because they are soaked in vinegar. I'd rather eat something soaked in gasoline than vinegar. Vinegar actually triggers my gag reflex. But that's another topic.

4. Vinegar actually triggers my gag reflex. When I was a kid and my mother and grandmother would make relish (or anything else involving vinegar), it would make me physically ill. One time I walked in Kroger and my eyes instantly started watering and I gagged a little. Someone had dropped a bottle of vinegar somewhere in the store. I had to leave and drive across town. I'm that sensitive. Pickles are disgusting because they take a perfectly good cucumber and soak it in vinegar, turning it into a crinkled, foul-smelling booger type creation. Pickles are not food to me. When I see people about to eat one, I have to resist the urge to slap it out of their hand to save them. I can't even stand to touch them because the smell gets on me and I smell it for DAYS. When I worked at Chick-fil-a, I would actually offer to clean the bathrooms to avoid being sent to the "pickle vat" to fill up the jar. Anything soaked in vinegar is vile. I don't care if it's a cucumber or a beet or a puppy. It's not natural.

5. I hate body hair. Not on other people, mind you, just myself (though I would make John shave his back if he looked like a Wookie). If I had the money, I would have electrolysis on my entire body with the exception of my head and eyebrows. But since I can't afford such a procedure (and I'm a total poon who would probably cry while they did it), I'm forced to shave and wax--arms included. It's more than a little time consuming, but a necessary evil, even when I was pregnant. Kind of hard to shave your legs when you can't see over your giant belly, but I managed. I should have recorded myself and put it on You Tube. I could be on Tosh.0 right now.

6. Growing up, I had tics. I didn't even know what a tic was, only that I couldn't control these jerking movements in my neck and jaw. I wasn't really self-conscious about them until my mother told me to stop (I don't think she realized they were tics either). After that, I became very aware of them and worked extremely hard to stop them. Over the years they went away mostly, though they still creep up when I get anxious. Other tic-like motions have taken their place over the years, though. For example, I pop my thumb joints all the time, especially when I'm typing--or bored. I crack my jaws CONSTANTLY, too, but I'm not sure if that's a tic. Popping my jaw helps relieve pressure from my TMJ, but it's also become quite a habit. I'm not sure what all this stems from,, though I suppose it's related to the general anxiety I've battled for years.

7. Speaking of anxiety, I'm proud to say that I've been medication free for almost 15 months. Even though my pregnancy was relatively smooth, I was still very scared and anxious. I made a conscious effort to stay calm, though, since I'd read so much about mothers with high stress levels affecting their babies (and possibly even the baby's "wiring"). This was a challenge since I couldn't take my anti-anxiety meds during my pregnancy. Once I had Amelia, I pretty much assumed that I'd need them more than ever. Turns out, I can't remember the last time I felt so in control of my life. Since I gave birth in August, I have only taken medication twice--once when I had to spend the night away from Amelia and was feeling very sad and once when Amelia started sleeping in her own room and I was nervous. I've never been ashamed that I take medication, but I'm very glad that I currently don't need it.

8. I don't like raw meat, especially chicken. I don't like the way it feels and I hate the way it smells. Even "fresh" chicken tastes rotten to me. My poor neighbors have finally gotten used to me walking across the street and asking them to smell my chicken. To be honest, I really wish I could become a vegetarian. When I bite into a hamburger or turkey leg, I force myself not to think about what I'm eating. I love animals and really do hate the thought of eating something that had a face. There are two problems, though: meat tastes really, really good and I would probably die of malnutrition if I were limited to vegetables (especially since the ones I really like aren't exactly healthy). I did go an entire year without red meat when I was younger, but I don't think I could cut it out entirely. I feel like a giant hypocrite sometimes.

9.  I would much rather watch a Quentin Tarantino movie than a romantic comedy and I'm slightly turned on by Fight Club.  In fact, with a few exceptions, most of the stuff I like to watch is geared more toward guys than girls.  I especially like anything that involves people beating the crap out of each other, even if it's totally ridiculous (bonus points if it involves Jason Statham).    If you flip through the season passes on my DVR, there's a fair share of violent programming.  On the other hand, I also watch Glee.  And 16 and Pregnant.  I won't even try to figure that one out.  I baffle myself sometimes. 

10.  I've always loved kissing.  Even in elementary school, I got into trouble for kissing boys--lots of boys.  I was kind of a kissing slut.  Things didn't get much better as I got older.  I had a total "kiss 'em if you got 'em" kind of mentality that got me into hot water more than a couple of times.   Even though I've been quite liberal with my kisses in the past, it's not because I don't take it seriously.  A kiss can be more intimate than any other physical act (remember Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?) and I have had some very powerful, very memorable kisses in my life.   I've just always enjoyed kissing so much that I had a hard time turning down an opportunity to, um, sample the goods, so to speak.  And there are few experiences in this world that beat the thrill of  first kiss. The first time John kissed me (or I kissed him--we disagree on the specifics), I had no idea that it would be my last first kiss. In fact, it was a pretty big deal when I got married.  When they told John to "kiss the bride," there was a little voice in my head that said, "This is it, toots.  You'd better be happy kissing this guy for the next 80 years."  It kind of freaked me out, but it turns out I'm totally okay with it. 

There's my ten.  Truly hope it isn't as agonizing to read as it was to write.  Thank Xenu I get to move on to a different topic tomorrow.