AWANA Graduation- Celebration Baptist

Last night we had the last of Jackson's Awana meetings for the year and they closed it with an awards ceremony. The Lehman's were there to share in the fun. Here are some of the pictures

Early Morning Visitors

Ok I was going to post something else, which I will in a sec, but I have to say what just happened. First Julie took the two oldest to the doctor for a check up and Cash is asleep. I am sitting here fixing to blog some pics and I hear this crackling sound from the kitchen. The clothes are in the washer so I attributed it to that at first. But it became more distinct as I sat here and it definitely was not coming from the laundry room. So I proceed to walk out to the kitchen and what is in my kitchen, two birds eating the breakfast cereal off the ground. I have the doors and windows open because its such a nice day. Anyways I thought I would share. Please do not tell Cash because if he finds out someone or something has been doing his job he might be unhappy.


One big poop diaster after another

Sometimes Jimmy and I feel like our life is just one big poop disaster after another. Now I can't decide where to go from here. Do you want details? You might never come over again when you discover most surfaces in our house have probably had poop on them. Yet there must be some elaboration on my poop declaration. Sometimes it is hard for me not to see my diapered children (yes, Libby still can't figure it out) as ticking time bombs who may or may not hit their target. Jimmy and I keep telling each other that it's just the season we're in. That in three to four years, we could be totally done with diapers. Sometimes I'm not so sure. Will my kids be through with diapers before it's time for me to start buying them for Jimmy or myself?

And really, when I think about it, poop isn't really a disaster, right? I mean I should be thankful my children have healthy bowels and all that, right? But still...

When you sneak into your baby's room, so as not to wake your son, plant him on your hip, and feel the poop ooze through your pajamas, it feels like a disaster.
When your daughter calls out from her bed at night "I have poo-poo" and you discover it's all over her and her bed, it feels like a disaster.
When you say to your loving spouse, "I smell a dirty diaper" only to turn around and see a pile of poop on the floor, it feels like a disaster.
When your daughter takes off her diaper and attempts to dump her dump in the toilet, then proceeds to walk around with poop all over her bottom and her hands way to close to her rear end, it feels like a disaster.
When I realize that all of these events happened in a week, it really feels like my life is just one big poop disaster after another.


For the love of H2O

Last week I purchased a new 34 ounce insulated mug. This seven dollar and ninety seven cents purchase has enhanced my life in so many ways, I wanted to share with you the evolution of the mug in my life.

I can remember my first mug. I took it on a trip to Arkansas with my sister and her husband my senior year of high school. It was a 32 ounce, Aladdin brand. Mouth hole, straw hole, nice handle, stellar insulation. Purple all over with a ring of white at the top. On the way home from Arkansas my sister fell victim to some pork roast we had eaten before we left and she, in a pinch, used my precious water vessel to throw up in. Needless to say I never drank from it again. My mom, however, had no problem washing it and using it, so, she traded mugs with me. (We were a family of insulated mugs at the time.) Her mug was identical to mine, just pink with a turquoise rim. I used this mug for a long time. Into my first years of college. And the beginning of marriage.

In the summer after college, I worked summer camp, where they provided, much to my enjoyment, a new mug for us that, I believe, held an amazing SIXTY FOUR ounces. (I'm getting thirsty just writing about such things. I may not make it to the end of the blog. I might have to get a drink.) These mugs had a feature to close off the mouth hole, so as not to spill your water. Their insulation was not so great though, because my ice would melt before I had a chance to finish drinking. Somewhere along the way I decided it was time for a new one and I purchased the new version of Aladdin mug which was blue with a black lid. This mug lasted me for a while. I'm sorry for not being more attentive to the exact dates of my mugs.

Okay, this is getting a little old. Let's cut to the chase. The point is, I have not had a mug I could rely on for like the past 8 to 10 months (my latest broke in two different ways) and NOW I DO. Having cold water at my fingertips has made my life so much better I wish everyone would carry around a mug of cold water. Some of you have one. You know what it's like. There's no going back. Water bottles are for light weights. Give me the mug or let me be parched! (I have included some photographs of me and my mugs through the years. Click on the collage to see it full screen and you will be able to read the text better.)


No, I'm not kidding

Well, I'm pregnant again. (If you're not aware and you need a moment, please, be my guest.)

Last week we decided to break the news to Jackson. He didn't believe us. He kept saying over and over, "You're kidding me, Mom." I finally convinced him I was NOT playing a joke and his excitement and smiles seemed to move up his neck and face and come oozing out his dimples. I wish my reaction had been such pure happiness.

I have had a month for the shock and disbelief to wear off but had I written a blog much earlier I may have been tempted to insert symbolic curse words like $#*! and ... well, probably just that one. In the last month through the nausea and exhaustion I have decided what's done is done and of course we will be excited to add another J to the train.

Two weeks ago my sister Susan and her family came to visit and since I was not telling Jackson yet I didn't tell her kids either. We didn't want the information to leak so our code lingo was something along the lines of, "You know, when the Italian comes" or "The Italian is coming in November". I am so embarrassed at our inability to master any form of birth control, I was tempted to keep it up for as long as possible. Instead of telling people I am pregnant, I decided, we could say we were getting an exchange student from Italy. I guess the breakdown would occur when I get a big belly. But maybe I'm just getting fat from practicing my Italian cooking? Because you know, the Italian is coming, ready or not.

I started a journal:
Million Dollar Pregnancy