Hello world.  How 'ya been?  It's been a long time.  I took a blogging hiatus for a while because it was summer and I was lazy.  And because we've been busy.  And because, most of all -

     I was too nauseous.

    Yep.  You heard me right people.  For those of you that aren't my facebook friend and don't already know, I went and got myself knocked up again.  

    My mother keeps telling me that I have to quit saying it was an accident because an accident would imply that we were trying very hard not to have a baby.  And she's right.  The truth is, I haven't been taking birth control for a long time because they make my migraines worse than they already are.  And to avoid giving you too many personal and akward-type details, remember that fantastic tenth anniversary get away that I blogged about back in May?  Well apparently if you lay in the tanning bed and get an actual tan for the first time in ten years, and you go out and buy new underwear that is not pitiful and left over from college (even though your butt is half again the size it was in college), and you leave town without your children for four nights in a row - then apparently you forget how to do math, and your judgement becomes skewed, and you make some not-particularly-wise decisions.  Apparently.  And apparently if you are very fertile as a people (hey, there has to be some kind of bonus from having hips like this) and all the other afore mentioned factors come into play,  then apparently you end up having four children.  Apparently.

    We are excited about a new baby, but I'm not going to lie.  I'm a touch overwhelmed still at the prospect of starting all over yet again and dragging ANOTHER baby around Walmart with a buggy full of stuff, two boys that won't quit touching each other and screaming at the other while begging to buy one of everything they see, and a small girl who can disappear faster than Houdini on speed while shoplifting small objects and gum into her tiny pockets.  So what I'm saying to you is - get ready for lots more entertaining blog posts I'm afraid.

    The reason I couldn't bring myself to write this summer is because most of my summer was spent lying down being very still so I didn't hurl.  I was not in a good place. At.All.  Of all my pregnancies, this has far and away been the roughest so far, and I knew if I were to try to write anything then my complaining, attention loving self would be compelled to talk about it every single time.  And don't you just hate those people that do nothing but gripe their whole pregnancies?  I know I do.  I just want to say to them, "oh, I'm so sorry that it is uncomfortable for you to grow and entire human inside of your body.  That's weird that's it so bad for you because for the rest of us it's all rainbows and sunshine and kittens."  So I just didn't write to save y'all the trouble of rolling your eyes at me. 

    And I'll tell you what really did the trick to put it all in perspective.  This spring, we had a missionary come to our church to give an update on the work our congregation supports in Guyana.  As he's showing the slide show, he would tell a little story to explain each picture.  Well he got to a photo of a man and a woman and their baby who looked about 3 or 4 months old, and he told this story -

"(the woman pictured who's name I can't remember) was pregnant and was out working alone one day at their farm, eight miles from their home.  She went into labor and had to deliver the baby alone in the field.  Then she had to walk home with her new baby.  Then she went back out to work the next day."

UMMMMMMM....................................................................

Say what again, now?

    So as it turns out, being unexpectedly pregnant in a place where I have air conditioning, cell phones, cars, pain medicine, epidurals, hospitals, and maternity leave (from the job that I don't even have, mind you) is really not that big of a deal at all.

    Can someone please remind me of this when in a few months I'm complaining about my swollen feet, inability to sleep, and need to pee every 27 minutes?

Thankyousoverymuch.

I've missed y'all,
Cassie

    Sometimes I am a humongous dufus.   I'm fairly certain that every time I grew a child inside of my body it made me dumber, and apparently I didn't have that much to loose because sometimes I do stuff that is plain ridiculous.  My last post being one of them.  If you saw it, please explain to me why you didn't love me enough to say, "hey dufus, your link's not workin'".  And I would have said, "Oh no!  Just give me a little time and I will plink around on this computer as if I know a hyperlink from a hole in the ground and figure it all out".  Then I would have spent the next hour trying to figure out what I did wrong, only to realize I had the wrong blog address the whole time.   Because I'm a dufus who stays up too late to type and who eats too much processed food and who spends too much time with people under the age of 8.  I'm sure that's why.

    Anyway, hopefully now it is working and those of you who already saw it once and tried to go there but didn't love me enough to tell me I was inept at computery stuff (and reading apparently) when it didn't work, can go back and read it now and cry and snot on your shirt just a little.  It really is fantastic. 

(I need you to know that I just went back and read through those two above paragraphs, and yikes.  There's a lot of run on sentence situations going on up there.  However I am too lazy to fix it all, so just do your best to make sense of it.)

    The next thing I need to tell you is that there is a mouse in my house.  We are pretty sure it is just one at least.  The first time we saw it is when I opened the trash compactor and it jumped out.  On my bare foot.  And I died.  Then I came back to life and screamed  repeatedly while jumping up and down and convulsing violently for some time.  (those of you who are my friends on Facebook have already heard of the horror)   Since then there have been several mouse sightings, including one where said rodent scurried across our living room while we all sat there watching tv.  Apparently we have made it feel welcomed and quite at home.  Good job us.  Now we have got to employ whatever means necessary to get rid of Stuart Little.

Reason #1 - mice are disgusting
Reason #2 - I am now having nightmares about the mouse crawling on my face at night and licking my eyeballs all because of an awful show I saw on Hoarders once
Reason #3 - as wonderful and manly as my husband is, he is just as, or even more so, afraid of mice than I am.  we are not brave when it comes to rodents.  A bunch of weenies in fact
Reason #4 - I am allergic to anything mousy.  I can go in an old barn or an attic where mice have obviously been, and withing seconds I can start to feel all itchy, scratchy and raspy.  Then my eyes start swelling and the next thing you know, they are almost swollen shut and they are so fat that the eyelids turn inside out.  It's grotesque.  Horror movie stuff.
Reason #5 - please see reason #1

    We now have traps out and set all over.  Sticky traps placed stragically around the places our visitor seems to frequent.  But so far - nothing.  Apparently the little joker is very smart.  Either that or it has no need to eat peanut butter and cheese off of traps because I have a bunch of little knucklehead children that eat all over the house and drop crumbs every where they go - making this place a mouse heaven.  For instance, yesterday I looked behind the couch in the living room and there were two pepperonis, a pair of camouflage flip flops, a torn up napkin, a pair of pink crocs, a handful of m&m's, a note on a piece of torn notebook paper, some cereal, and two dead bugs.  Really children?  Pepperonis?  Really?  Right now they are eating waffles and syrup in the den.  I have no control.  

    So if you have any fantastic rodent catching advice, we will gladly take it.  Unless it involves cleaning my house up - then I'm not sure that is something I can commit to. 

    On a second, and equally important vermin note - I am originally from a place where there really are no ticks.  There are enormous amounts of mosquitoes (as in, go head to head with Alaska or the frozen tundra of Canada) but there are no ticks.  But now, I live in a place that is apparently having a booming year for ticks.  So last night when I was taking a shower to wash away the fact that we had three baseball games and I sweat like.........something that sweats a lot...............I tried to brush away the tiny spot of dirt on my leg.  And it didn't move except to wiggle it's disgusting little legs!!   A tick had lodged itself right there in my calf, and since it was the first time I have ever had a tick I flipped. 

"Ewwwww, Ewwww, Ewwwww, Aaaaarrrrrrrooooooooonnnnnnn!!!!!" 

    Of course you all know that you can't just pull it off, you have to get the head out.  Problem is, the only way we knew how was to put a hot match on it, and we were too lazy to walk to the den to get my phone charger so we could plug in my dead phone and ask Siri any other way.  Except that we don't have any matches - only those long Bic lighters to light the grill.  So my loving husband tells me to be still and let him know if it hurts.  And I, like an idiot, said ok.  Turns out that holding a lighter right up against your leg isn't hot at all until you move it that one nanometer closer to actually affect the tick.  Then you burn your leg and feel tempted scream a profanity and punch your husband who just gave you a one square inch, third degree burn - in his neck.  But you don't because you don't use profanities and you're too worried about the parasite wedged in your leg to punch anyone in the neck. 

    The tick did burn to death, though, and was successfully removed.  And I believe the moral of all of this is that we are disgusting, vermin and parasite infested people right now, and if you don't want to be our friends any longer, I would understand. 

Disgustingly yours,
Cassie
   

     This past school year, my boys and I were blessed with fantastic teachers for kindergarten and first grade.  Mrs. Eubank and Mrs. Martin were great to my guys and to me as a disorganized and slightly neurotic mother.  They kept me informed, they were patient with my little weirdos' quirks, and they were just plain out great at imparting all the knowledge that a six and seven year old should know.  Because let me just tell you this - if it were up to me to teach my children how to read, it would be a sad, illiterate day at the unemployment office when the time came for gainful employment.  So we love them now, our Mrs. Eubank and Mrs. Martin. 

    But this year was special.  Not only because we had great teachers, but because Super-G got to be in Mrs. Martin's class when one of the most exciting and important events of her life occurred.  It was no secret that Mrs. Martin and her husband had been going through fertility treatments for several years, and it was no secret that they very much wanted to be parents.  And pretty much everyone that knows them wanted the very same thing for them, because they would make a fantastic mommy and daddy to some lucky child.  Well, one fateful Thursday night in April they got a call that there was a baby in the NICU who needed parents to love her.  And in what was a whirlwind of a few days, they went from a feeling of despair and longing to a feeling of overwhelming joy that most of us will probably never know.  It's not that I didn't feel joy when my kids were born, because I was thrilled, it's just that having babies came so easily for us that I'm not certain I appreciated it for the miracle it was like the Martins did when their long awaited baby came into their lives.  She was tiny and had lots of growing to do, but she has been a little fighter and she has been thriving.  She has met every milestone as a preemie early, and in fact, is now home with her mommy and daddy and doing great. 

    Everyone that knows the Martins is thrilled for them, and we have all been following their story on their blog.  Which is why I wrote this today.  All of you that are "locals" already follow her blog, and many of you who are my friends on facebook have seen where I have shared some of her posts.  But there are many of you who read the blog who haven't had the privilege of getting to know about this wonderful family and amazing story yet.  So here you go!  Below I have given a link, and I highly recommend you click and read if you are in the market for some warm fuzzies and happy tears.  Warning - there will be lots of happy tears.  In fact, there have only been two posts so far that I have not had some level of snot running down my face.  And there are only thirteen posts so far.  So if you have the time, click back and start at the beginning.  It's just better that way.  Hope you enjoy!
   

    Dear bloggy friends, I've missed you.  I really have.  But I've been unavailable lately to write.  Because I've been asleep.  Or eating something.   It's a hard life I live, I tell ya'. 

    Actually, I've been away on a fantastic little tenth anniversary get away and was either too stressed out trying to get everything ready to leave, or was too busy doing nothing while I was there, or was too distracted with our first days of summer to write for the past two weeks.  But did you see the last post on here?  From Aaron?  Isn't he just the best?  My brother-in-law that reads my blog because he knows fine entertainment when he sees it, says that I talk about Aaron nice on here all the time and it just can't be real.  Well it's true, sometimes Aaron gets grouchy and bossy and I want to punch him in the neck.  That really does happen.  But honestly, I have to say that he is fantastic.  For ten years I have been married to a fella who makes me feel loved.  All the time.  Even when we are fighting and I am screaming like a nut.  Or when the house is lookin' a hot mess and I haven't had a bath in days and am lookin' a fright and I forget that I am snack mom at the baseball game and I forget to pay the power bill on time and when I "accidentally" use a dentist who is out of network and we have to pay three times what we would have in network.  Even during all of that, he makes me feel loved. (even though just reminding him about the dentist thing is going to stress him out all over again)

    And on Mother's Day morning I woke up to a surprise post by him, talking about me being a great mother.  He's a great guy, but "lovey dovey" he is not.  So the fact that he wrote and shared all of that with you just solidifies it - he really is fantastic.  He always knows just what I want the most.

    Now that's enough on the sappy sweet stuff.  I'm about to gross myself out. 

    On a completely different note, schoooooooooooool's out.for.SUMMER.  Sing it with me now schoooooooooooool's out.for.SUMMER.  So we have spent our first week of summer bliss doing just what  was intended.  Nothing.  And that got me thinking, what else is going to change now that the kids are out of school?  So I made a list (because we all know I love making lists)

1.  The swimming pool now counts as a bath.  Six days a week.  We will only use soap for Sunday church.

2.  I won't check the mail again until August because the boys always get it for me when we drive up the driveway from school.

3.  The laundry will never be caught up.

4.  There will always be wet towels piled around the house.

5.   M&M's count as breakfast.  And lunch.

6.  My house doesn't stand a chance of being clean between now and August

7.  I will be awake at ridiculous hours of the night every night, watching reruns of Friends, That 70's Show, Swamp People, Duck Dynasty, The Nanny, and The Office. 

8.  We will sleep until at least 9 am every morning.

9.  I will feel guilty about the fact that Aaron has to get up for work so early every morning and work so many hours at such a long, stressful job while we just spend every day chillin.

10.  I'll probably be feeling that guilt from beside the pool.

Dear Summer, thanks for existing

Love you like M&M's as a meal,
Cassie 

    

   

I want to tell you a story.  No, this story will not be as good as the ones you normally read on this blog; but none-the-less, it's Mother's Day and I feel compelled to share.  Next week is Cassie's and my anniversary (10 years).  She asked me a couple of weeks ago if for our anniversary I would write on her blog.  I reluctantly said yes.  You heard me.  Unfortunately for you, there is potential for me to write again.  However, this week I thought it would be good for me to "practice" on Mother's Day.  This one is a surprise.  If you could read this while I was typing - I would ask you to wish me luck.  All 20 of your who read this blog make me slightly nervous.  Not really.  But. . . . .

Okay, enough of the intro.  Let me get to my story.  There are times that I feel you need to hear the "rest of the story" as Paul Harvey would say.  My story starts approximately 10 years ago. 

This is where is all began.  Ten years ago - May 2002.  Many important decisions were made in our lives at this point (give or take a few months).  We had a plan.  Cassie was to finish college; we would work for 5 years, and then we would have 4 children.  We had all the other important decisions covered.  Our hope was once we had kids, she would be able to stay home.  So...the plan was set.  However, as you know from this blog - Cassie doesn't know how to spell p-l-a-n.  The only "plan" Cassie had was to bath 2x per week, not wear shoes (unless a sign says she must), not keep a check book nor care about any $$$ that she would spend.  FYI - these were things that she decided after this picture.  Still love her.   

This is graduation day.  This is the next step of the story.  This is actually about 2 years later - May 2004.  In the fall of '03, I was trying to help my wonderful wife with our plan.  She was going to graduate in a matter of months.  I was encouraging her to start job hunting and interviewing.  But this, my friends, would force her take a bath more frequently, dress up and wear shoes.  I messed up and made the following statement, "Darlin', the plan is for you to work until we have kids."  Literally, I believe that were my exact words!  Major mistake.  What you can't see in this picture is that my beautiful wife is pregnant.  Yeah, she showed me.  What do you mean "5 year plan" and "job hunting"?  All of you know that Cassie is a "domestic goddess", but maybe you don't know that she is also a master manipulator.  Not really on the manipulator, but it makes me feel better to act as if I didn't cave so easily.  So now it starts. . . . .

I know - all women everywhere want their "I just had a baby in the hospital" picture posted on the world wide web, but again. . .this is my story.  True as it is.  And I tell you this story because Cassie has been able to do what the good Lord wants her to be from the beginning - An Absolutely Amazing Mother.  How many times does the "5 year plan" actually work?  You know what I mean.  It didn't work for most of you either; and just like most of you, I wouldn't change anything for the world - especially choosing Cassie as my Baby Momma.  The picture below says 1000 words - maybe not to you, but to me.

Now, for Mother's Day, I have decided to share with you some of my favorite Notes to our domestic goddess.  I hope this brings memories to those of you reading this blog.  I'm going to share just one from each child.

To all of you loving Mother's, from my family to you - thanks for being who you are.  Thanks for being awesome.  Thanks for loving your children and making this world a better place because of it.  The Lord makes it very clear in the Bible how important you are to the church, your family, and this world.  Happy Mother's Day to you; I hope your day is special because you deserve it.

To my mom, Sandra, and to Cassie's mom, Candy, you know how awesome we think you are.  A man once said that "a child is trained 100 years before he or she is born."  Thanks for molding our (your children's) families to what they are today.  You both are amazing - We love you so much.    
But to MY Baby Momma, I want to say exactly what was on the back of the same card above written many years ago. 

Cassie, from your loving Hubby, Super G, Turnanator and Destruct-o-girl - Happy Mother's Day!  We love you "big much" - all the way to the "cheese cake factory and back"! 

    So here's the thing about our family - we live in Mississippi.  And we don't get out much.  So the fact that golf has sort of become our family's favorite sport of choice (to play that is.  we're from the SEC.  of course we are die hard footballers) is a little bit laughable - considering the fact that golf is such a refined and highly mannerous thing.  You know, all the dress codes and etiquette and the fact that you have to watch where you drive and step and you have to be quiet.  None of that sounds like us at all, does it?

    But I think golf has become our thing because it's really all Aaron has left.  The time for football has past.  The occasional pick-up basketball game makes him feel old and beat down.  No one will play tennis with him.  And the last time he played church-league softball he ripped his shoulder into pieces - which he then re-injured when the attic door completely ripped loose from the ceiling and he fell out of the attic and caught himself on beams with his elbows.  All in the name of Christmas decorations.  It was ugly my friend.  He ripped things.  He had a temporary man boob. Yikes.  So I guess the point of all this is to say - golf is his kind of game now.  And because he likes it (and also because our last house was on a really nice golf course so we had unlimited access), our boys have now really taken to it.  At least Aaron, and usually Aaron and the boys, go once a week minimum. 

    Sometimes we even get brave enough to go as a family.  Its usually late - like right before dark - when we go because we are trying to sneak in a few holes before it's too late but after other people have finished so we don't disturb them.  And the only way to describe us when we're there - The Clampets Come to the Country Club.  Seriously.  There are three full golf bags and five people (two of which are quite large) on one golf cart.  We look ridiculous, we are loud, and we sit our baby in the wire basket on the back.  The boys stand hanging off the side and when we drive up to retrieve wayward golf balls, they jump off and roll commando style to get them.  We are the Clampets.  We don't belong at the country club.  But we go anyway.

    Just this past Friday we went, in fact.  And on this particular Friday, we were even more "Clampety" than usual.

    Picture it........................

    There we were, at the first hole, dividing into teams for a three hole scramble.  Aaron and Turnanator (bc he is the weaker playing child at this point), and Super-G and myself (bc I am the weaker playing human amongst the entire population of earthlings at this point.  seriously.  golf is not for the large chested.  it is impossible for me to keep my arms together and near my body.  it's just not happening sports fans) were facing off at the first tee.  Of course Aaron hit from the white tees, or is it the blue tees?  I'm not sure, just whichever set is farthest away. Then we drove the cart down the hill a bit (please remember the "downhill" component of this story.  it's critical) to the red tees where the boys and I would hit.  Turnanator hit first and promptly knocked one into the pond right in front of us. (just like Aaron did on his first attempt.  also, please remember the "pond".  also critical)  Then it was Super-G's turn.  His daddy was giving him some instructions and I was standing there watching because I was next.

    I know what y'all are thinking at this point......."where's Destruct-o-girl?".  Well that is a fantastic question because at the very second we were focused on our drives, she became focused on driving.  The golf cart.  Down the hill.  Straight towards the pond.  As many of you know, the parking break on a golf cart is on the top corner of the brake pedal itself and is released when the gas pedal is pushed.  Well she waited until no one was looking to push that gas and take off.  Fortunately Turnanator was there at the cart putting up his club so he saw it all happen and screamed for our attention.  Unfortunately he decided to try and stop her himself by getting in front of the golf cart and pushing.  He weights 50ish pounds.  It did not work. 

    So one second we're all casually whacking golf balls around, and the next second Turnanator is screaming "NO D, NO D!!!".  We turn to see her barreling down the hill on the golf cart straight towards the pond while her brother is sprinting as fast as he can backwards to keep from getting squashed flat.  I scream at Aaron because I know there is not a chance under the sun that I will catch them, then I start screaming at my precious little son to get out of the way.  Of course that was easier for me to say than for him to do!  So Aaron takes off running and literally dives into the cart, basically pushing the brake with his hand until he can get it stopped.  Luckily he got it stopped before anyone got pancaked or drowned.  Then I burst out into gut-bustin' laughter because that is apparently the reaction my body goes into when I get freaked out that family members are going to get seriously injured and then they don't.  It's the same thing I did when homeboy fell out of the attic.  He was dangling by his elbows and I couldn't stand up from laughing long enough to help him get down.  It's a problem.  I'm addressing it with professionals soon.  Then we proceeded to knock four more golf balls into the pond, load back up on the cart and head to the next hole like nothing ever happened. 

    I'm still not sure we ever figured out who won the scramble..............................

*cue banjo music

Other wise known as Pi.

    Math was always a little tricky for me.  I mean, I did alright in math in school because I was decent at memorizing steps for formulas, but math was never really something my brain could totally wrap around.  You know - get. 

    Luckily for me, I now live the kind of life where I don't need very many math skills beyond a preschool level.  1-2-3. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. 1-2-3.  I find myself counting to 3 a lot.
-There's 1 child.  There's the second child.  Where's the third child?!!
--Oh, whew.  There she is in a ditch at the baseball field, army crawling into a culvert.
-There's 1 child.  There's the second child.  Where's the third child?!!
--Oh, whew.  There she is hanging waist high over the second story balcony.
-There's 1 child.  There's the second child.  Where's the third child?!!
--Oh, whew.  There she is standing on the top of a chair back on her tiptoes, about to fall into the baptistry at church because she is trying to float a boat made out of a church bulletin.

(I'm not going to lie to you.  My life feels stressful sometimes)

    So to deal with all this stress, I cope using one of my favorite math tools.

   

    Ok, so that's probably not, per say, exactly what you had in mind when I mentioned math tool, but if it helps you sleep at night, pretend I'm working fractions with it.  You know, "If I eat half of this pie now and lie and say that my kids all ate a piece, then it would look like I only ate 1/8 of the pie."  Fantastic.  I'm a math genius.
   
    And I'm also a nice genius, because I am about to lay on you one of the easiest and yummiest desserts that I have ever made.  It may be familiar to a few of you because I actually already gave out this recipe on a previous post.  But when I did, I just quickly ran through the directions and made the whole thing as a point on one of my crazy "list" blog posts.  So I'm afraid none of you actually understand how important it is that you try my Frozen Caramel Pie, and then thank me profusely for bringing your life meaning. (I need that kind of thing occasionally to keep my self-esteem on track, you know).

    So if the picture above (which is not a very good one, by the way.  I was too hungry to remember to take a picture when it was all frozen to perfection and at it's most photographic state) doesn't make your mouth water - then you probably don't have trouble fitting into your jeans like I do.  That being said - make this pie anyway.  It's simple.  It's delicious.  It will make your husband want to make out with you on the couch.  And it only takes five ingredients and a mixer.  And a freezer.  And a few minutes. Plus freezing time. (but that's just a good time to go freshen your makeup and brush your teeth for the "post pie" appreciation make-out that's about to go down) 

    First things first, go to the store and buy.................

-2 graham cracker pie crusts (you are welcomed to make your own with crumbs and butter but why in the round world would you go to all that trouble friend?)
-1 container of whipped cream cheese
-1 container cool whip
-1 can sweetened condensed milk
-caramel

    As you can tell by my terrible, unedited photo, I am a HUGE fan of most anything off brand.  I will use WHATEVA kind of "uncle jimbo's big country farm" brand any day of the week if I get a deal on it.  But there are a few things I don't mess around on the name brands with.  Velveeta is one.  (all processed cheese loafs are not the same pal)  And caramel for this Caramel Pie is another.  You are welcomed to buy whatever type of caramel you want, but consider this a warning - if you buy the cheap, light, runny stuff, your pie won't be as good.  And please tell my why you are going to the trouble of making a pie if it's not going to be awesome?  Spend the extra dollar or two.  Get the good stuff.  I prefer the "Lava" brand caramel dip sold in the produce section of my Walmart.  It's dark and thick and ma-num-a-na.

    To begin, spread a nice, gooey layer of your caramel in the bottom of your pie crust.  This is not a "measurement" type of thing.  This is more of a "do what makes you feel good inside" type of thing.  Then in a bowl, mix the cream cheese, sweetened condensed milk, and cool whip until combined and pour evenly into the two crusts.  Then lick the bowl and spatula with all your might.  Then quickly stick it in the sink and run hot water in it to erase all evidence that you licked it clean.  Then go back and drizzle more caramel over the top for pretties.  Again, this is a "do what feels right" type of situation.  Next, pop those clear pie pan lids on your pies and slide those bad boys in the freezer.  See?  I told you it was simple!  Now wait a few hours for your pies to freeze and then surprise your family with something delicious that tastes like it was harder than it is. 

    Then last, but not least, please take an awkward photograph of your super cute husband loving the pie so much that he eats half of it at one sitting straight out of the pan. 

1.  My kids are goofy.

2.  Your's probably are too.

3.  But this is my blog so if you are here then you are probably going to see a bunch of stuff about mine.  Sorry. 

4.  I have mentioned before on here that my daughter just cannot talk very clearly.  Like - at all.  Bless her little heart.  But as her mother I am able to decipher more of what she says than most people.  As her mother, I also know that there are several words that she just will not attempt for some reason - her name being one of them.  I have no idea why, but she refuses to say it.  It's a perfectly regular type name (well sort of) that other little kids are capable of saying, but she REFUSES to even try.  So it has become sort of an amusing thing for us lately to see what she answers when we ask her what her name is.  She changes the answer every so often, but for the past month her name has been...........wait for it............................

           Doctor Cassie Tiger

Yep, you heard that right folks.  I am the proud mother of one Doctor Cassie Tiger.  Of course, it's pronounced more like "Dodder Sassy Shiger"  but I speak Destruct-o-girl so I know what she's saying.  You have no idea just how fun it is to try and explain that to strangers who are trying to be polite and talk to the cute girl with the crazy hair in the checkout line at the Walmart store.

"What's your name cute girl/hon/little sweety/other cute baby girl colloquialism?".  "Dodder Sassy Shiger" (proud grin). 
(strange look)
(then I tell them what her real name is and get an even stranger look a lot of times)

Then it really gets interesting when they ask her how old she is and her reply is always "two five seven five".

I promise, one day I'll send her to preschool where maybe she can work all of this out. 

5.  Every week my son has to write a sentence for each of his 10 spelling words in his spelling notebook.  Every week my son forgets to bring his spelling notebook home and I want to beat him with a large stick.  Today when he finished up and checked over his work, I couldn't help but notice the sentence for number 6 "serve". 

          "My mom won't serve me."

Funny.  Because now I'm completely unsure of what I've been doing with myself for the past seven and a half years. 

6.  Sunni is not actually a child, but might as well be because I feed her, clean up after her, and yell at her too.  So I am soliciting advice from all of you dog lovers out there for my other baby.  She is an australian shepherd and is smart and cute and not very big yet, but boy does she wear a family out.  She has tons of energy (which we thought we were prepared for) and chews to oblivion things that I didn't even know we owned (which I can live with).  But the worst of all offenses is that she attacks our kids with love.  She's so sweet to them and lets my girl pull on her ears and sit on her and whack her in the nose for no reason, but she just jumps all over the kids.  Especially the baby.  Aaron and I have broken her from jumping on us, but I can't seem to figure out how to stop her from jumping on them if I'm not standing right beside them.  It makes playing in the back yard torture.  What do I do?!  Help!  Advice?!  New home?! (ok, kidding.    .........I think)

7.  It's hard to believe during this cool spell (that's not a thing you can say a lot in April in Mississippi), but earlier in March it was warm enough outside to play in the sprinklers.  I even saw pics on facebook of people swimming.  Apparently their pools are heated because mine will still be freezing on Memorial Day, if the past three years have been any prediction.  Fat people in skirted swimsuits and blue lips.  It's a holiday tradition. 
     Anyhow, I still have a completely blank mantle over my fireplace ever since Christmas and I've been waiting on something to inspire me, so the other day I decided to snap some pics of my kids in the sprinkler.  I thought they turned out so well that I printed them out in the small poster size, mounted them on some canvass I had and sat them on my mantle waiting to have a decorative vision.  They are no professional shots are anything, but they are natural.  Just the way I want to remember them today.

    Please let me start with a sincere thank you for all of your kind comments about yesterday's post.  I had comments here and on facebook, and I even received several text messages about it from friends who have been there.  Which I suspect as parents, most of us have at one time or another.  It's a tough plight in life to be the oldest child, because as their parents, we are just figuring it out as we go.  Learning all the hard lessons for the first time.  And doing our best.  So from the bottom of my heart, thanks for being so sweet as I use this blog to let y'all in on a little bit of our journey.

    That being said and gotten out of the way - today is a special day.  It marks the anniversary, 34 years ago, that one of the greatest people on Earth was born.  He's tall, he's smoking red hot, he's smart, he's athletic, he always takes out the trash and does all the yard work, he stayed after Charity Dinner and helped all of us ladies clean up without being asked, he can always tell when I'm on the verge and is a pro at diffusing my meltdowns, he is currently slightly obsessed with golf, he has stinky feet, he leaves his clothes all over the place, he loves me, he loves God and wants our kids to as well, he works very hard, and did I mention he is smoking red hot?

      Happy Birthday Aaron!  We love you so so so much!

    And in honor of his birthday today, I thought I would do something a little different.  There are several recent pictures of him on here already so I thought I would take today to show you some baby pictures.  And clear up once and for all who our kids look like.  Because even though I don't really believe my kids look much like one another, they ALL look like their daddy.  Prepare for your mind to be blown.

    Here, my friends, is the proof.

    Do you see what I'm saying to you?  Do you?  At least there is no doubt who's my baby daddy.  And since they all look like him, I guess it's a good thing he's smoking red hot :-)

Happy Birthday Aaron,
the luckiest girl alive