How the Boy Became a Man

I began to wonder if Park's hair was getting too long when I saw this:

So, I thought it might be fun to try this:

But after Daddy took one look at the above pic, it prompted him to do this:

Which, ultimately resulted in this:


Goodbye baby, hello big boy. Park took one look in the mirror and said, "I look NICE! I the man, Daddy." What a relief to know his modesty is still in tact.

After catching me crying, he asked me why I was sad. When I told him Mommy was sad that he had turned into a big boy so quickly, he softly reassured me, "I not a big boy, Mommy." As I began to I breath a sigh of relief and marvel at the depth of his sensitivity, he gleefully added, "I A MAN!"

Way to make a sentimental Mommy feel better.

And Sweet P, when you are old enough to realize that I posted pictures of you in pigtails for all the world to see, just remember,

"You the man", son.

Stand tall, be proud, and own it.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Park gives new meaning to the whole "putting your foot in your mouth" concept.

I wish I were talking about something figurative, but unfortunately, I'm referring to Park's longstanding relationship with actually chewing and licking his own shoes. I have no idea why this has such lucrative appeal, other than the fact that the boy is more oral than dental floss.

If I ever had a tendency to be a germaphobe, Park cured me by month 2, when he actually grabbed the finger of a very unhygienic stranger at the grocery store and shoved it into his own mouth. Dirty fingernail and all.

At that point I hit a mothering crossroad. My choices , as I saw them, were to spend my life in heart failure over each germ he self-inflicted or LET IT GO.

Possibly out of sleep deprivation alone, I chose the latter.

Which obviously was a positive move on my part, seeing that he began licking floors around 5 months.

Then there was that moment at the playground where I turned my head for a split second. When my eyes ventured back to my sweet darling, I discovered a tasty little cigarette dangling from his 12 month old mouth. Perhaps if Playhouse Disney had run the "Just Say No" campaign, this could have been avoided.

But, I'm not sure anything could have stopped him from eating that spider at 15 months. (In his defense, at that stage in his toddlerhood, we were pressuring him to eat more protein.) So, needless to say, the child does not have a very delicate palate. Which is precisely why I took such offense to yesterday's culinary snub.

After one bite of the chili I made for dinner last night, he scrunched up his little nose and declared,

"Taste Gross, Mommy. I not like it."

And as I sat fretting over the irony of it all, he proceeded to put his foot in his mouth and chew away.

*If you would like to try some "gross" chili for yourself, the fabulously easy recipe is as follows:
1 large can tomato sauce
1lb ground turkey
4 cups of (cooked) black beans
1 tablespoon of worchester sauce (optional)
2 tablespoons of chili powder
1 tablespoon of cumin

Cook meat, add in pot, and heat.
Serve over rice with diced onions and/or cheese on
top (and of course a side of cornbread:)

Happy Friday!

In Need of Miracle Grow

I never realized how fond I am of trees until we suddenly don't have any.

Growing up in a small town in Southeast, Texas, trees were as plentiful as shopping is here in DFW. And I'm not talking about feathery little willows that try and pass themselves off as trees, either. We had massive Oaks and Pines that flavored the aroma of our backyard.

Some of mine and Challi's favorite childhood memories revolve around the leaf houses we built with simple pine needles and our vivid imaginations. We would painstakingly arrange the outline of a house and play in each room for hours on end.

OK-I already mentioned it was a small town, folks, so give us a break, already:)

As much as I love our new home, I'm not fond of the strange thinking that modern day builders seem to have. Cut everything down to squeeze as many properties as humanly possible into one spot. Even though we were fortunate enough to build on some land (or at least what city folk would think of as wide open space), I miss the beauty of trees and the serenity they bring.

So you can imagine my delight when Chris and Park came home with a truck full of special leafy surprises. They worked all day on planting these treasures and wouldn't let me outside until the final digging was done. At one point, Park ventured into the house for lunch, and I asked him if I could come outside yet.

"No, Mommy, not ready yet. Just the boys," he informed me.

After much anticipation, here is the first one I saw upon stepping foot out the back door:

Not exactly what I had in mind.

Thankfully many of the other trees were a little bigger and somewhat more impressive, but let's just say Park might be a Grandpa by the time he can build a leaf house.

However, what might rank among his favorite childhood memories are the hours spent working in the backyard that special afternoon, while sharing in the company of his beloved Daddy.

Upon changing my initial reaction to these leafy impostors, the beauty of our tiny trees begins to loom large as I think of them growing alongside my precious son. Just as they will develop and mature, Park will also grow and change during the years that we call this house our home.

With a little pruning, lots of love, and devoted attention, these trees will someday become something that God, Chris and I are proud to call our own. It is our prayer that Park will continue to do the same.

And suddenly, I'm in no hurry for our trees to grow up, at all.

When Push Comes to Shove

When I first moved to DFW in 2000, I was in search of opening a new chapter in my life. I was a year out of college and longing for some single Christian friends. And the Lord delivered in a big way. I started attending Fellowship Church and got plugged into the singles ministry, where I met a solid group of people who I hung out with on a regular basis.

But out of that group emerged a particular friend that God wove into my life in a unique way. Oddly enough, we initially got off to a rocky start, mainly because we were reluctant to befriend one another since we had a crush on the same guy. Girls involved in drama, go figure.

But God had other ideas.Through a strange set off circumstances, she was forced into giving me a ride home. And somehow the 15 minute ride evolved into spending the night at my apartment eating chips and sharing our life stories into the wee hours of the morning.

Both our crushes on "the guy" faded quickly, but the friendship never did.

One of my favorite memories happened on our girl's trip to Hawaii. We were both very much at a time in our lives where God was releasing us from our fears and bringing us into a deeper relationship of faith. She somehow managed to convince me that jumping off a very high cliff overlooking the water would be a great way for us to embrace this transformation. And it seemed so profoundly believable.

Until I was on top of the cliff.

She held my hand and sang songs of encouragement until I finally broke the news that I just could not go through with it. And then she did what any true friend would do.

She pushed me off.

Now, as cruel as that may sound, it is precisely what I love about Yanci. She is the friend in my life who is full of encouraging words and deeply loyal, but when push comes to shove, she will hold my feet to the fire. She pushes me to be better and to go further than any limit I set for myself. And most importantly, she allows me to hold her to the same standard.

We began our friendship as single women, witnessed each other falling in love, and were bridesmaids in each other's weddings. I have seen her evolve from a struggling Christian, fresh off her reign as Miss Texas, into an amazing woman of faith, who leads thousands in praise and worship every weekend at our church.

And this past year I have watched her take-on her most rewarding/challenging role yet.... Mommy. And I must say that, it has taken us into an even deeper level of friendship and understanding.

So, this weekend while attending her son, Sterling's, first birthday party, I thought about how much we have grown in the last 7 years and even wondered what God has in store for us in the future. Come what may, I know we will have each other to lean on.

And I take great comfort in that as long as we aren't standing on any cliffs.


My Yanci and precious birthday boy, Sterling

Monkey Business

Upon hearing a large crash in the playroom, I raced in to discover this:


Obviously, my precious Park was forced to play with curtains, since he clearly has no toys to entertain him.

When I saw which book was by his head, though, I began to put the pieces together. And after hearing his explanation, my suspicions were confirmed. He simply said, "I monkey like George, Mommy. I swing from tree."

And how could I argue with that logic?

Gotta love old Curious George.

Fashion Choices Expressed in This Post are NOT a Reflection of the Blogger, Herself

My husband has a problem and this time, I'm not even claiming it is a "hypothetical" issue. I constantly live in fear that the police could arrest him at any moment.

The fashion police, that is.

Now, if you have seen my handsome hubby out and about, you might think I'm blowing things out of proportion. But let me give you a little history behind this problem before you make any snap judgements, keeping in mind that Jesus commands us to speak the truth in love, and all.

It began in early 2001, (or at least that's when I became aware of the problem) with the ugliest camouflage pants ever known to man. To make matters worse, they seemed to make appearances at the most inappropriate times, including but not limited to church services, dinner at nice restaurants and even a wedding or two. So who could blame me if I "might have" thrown them out behind hubby's back upon returning from our honeymoon?

And so began the top secret mission of slowly weeding out his wardrobe.

So you can imagine my dismay when the same hideous camo pants of '01 reappeared in hubby's wardrobe as cut-off shorts in '03. Turns out, it took him 2 years to work up the nerve to reveal he had been on a little secret rescue mission of his own.

In contrast to the problem of sporting sub-par clothing while attending classy functions, he also suffers with the other extreme of fashion discernment (or lack there of, as the case may be).

Now, I'm no expert on yard work, but it seems to me that collared shirts and dress shoes might be a tad too much for mowing the lawn. Or when playing basketball, for that matter. Sadly, I am telling the truth. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried, folks.

And although my initial reaction was simply to do away with anything purchased before the marriage vows were exchanged, these last 5 years have taught me that I'm dealing with a much more severe situation than I originally assessed.

The problem is not that hubby has no style. It is that husband has no knowledge of when and where it is appropriate to display said style. So, even when the closet is fully stocked with articles of clothing I deem completely appropriate, they are often worn in a manner that makes me cringe and repeat to myself,

"My husband's fashion choices are not a reflection of me."

But a girl must draw the line when he passes his transgressions on to the next generation. As I sit and type this post, Chris and Park are currently down the street, playing in a large pile of dirt together, fully clothed in their Sunday best.

And, as I hear the sirens getting closer, I find myself repeating, "The fashion choices that my husband and son make are not a reflection of me."

But on the bright side, maybe the police will confiscate the camo shorts (and lock them up for good!)

Standing on the Rock

I mentioned a while back that I was going to take a Bible study at my church called "This is My Story". The first day of the class, Lisa Whelchel (Cauble), who created the study, shared her desire for this class to "combine the life-giving power of Bible study with the creative outlet of scrapbooking, the timelessness of journaling, and the richness of relationships."

Now I must admit I was a little skeptical at first. Lisa was created a scrapbooker... while I, on the other hand, was NOT. Actually that may be an understatement. Let's just say it pains me to even type the word.

However, after reflecting on Deut. 4:9, ("Be careful never to forget what you yourself have seen the Lord do for you. Do not let these memories escape from your mind as long as you live! And be sure to pass them on to your children and grandchildren") I begin to gain a heart for this study and more importantly, a passion for leaving a written legacy behind.

This past week's homework had us writing out our family tree, reflecting on favorite childhood memories, meditating on the most important thing God taught us on the road to adulthood and even studying how King David's life and faith were impacted by his heritage.

I will expand on all this at a later date because today's class was just as powerful and is forefront on my mind. We studied God's call on Moses' life and the conversations the two had regarding that call. Out of those conversations, we were left with three questions that have really got me thinking.

1) What makes me feel valuable?
2) Who do I give the credit to when I'm successful?
3) How do I respond when I feel inadequate?

Ouch.

Of course the Sunday school answer to these questions comes to mind first, but when I really take inventory of my heart, review my actions, and reflect on my attitude, am I living out what I say I believe?

How many times do we as women base our self worth on the size of our waist (substitute butt, hips or thighs), the kind of mother/wife we are or aren't, or the quality of our hair on a certain day?

Or, we look around and feel successful because we are the best dressed (substitute: skinniest, smartest, most talented, most organized, friendliest, most generous and so on) person in the room. But what happens later when that "object" of value is suddenly threatened, and it certainly will be because there is always somebody who is MORE of whatever it is we find significance in, and like Moses, we are in the desert?

Each stone of significance that I use to build a platform for myself is utterly useless. In fact, not only is it useless, but it actually serves as a stumbling block. The only way for me to stand on Holy Ground is to base my worth on the one true Rock and to find my value in His unchanging love for me.

I am so grateful that God started this process in me at the ripe old age of 21.

Through all four years of college, I stood on the stumbling block of a relationship, in which I wholeheartedly placed my significance. I was young and "in love" and willing to go to the ends of the earth for this guy. Both of us were Christians, but neither of us were living out a solid relationship with Christ at that time. He was very much into his baseball career and I was very much into whatever he did.

Through no fault of his own, I somehow allowed this boyfriend's place in my life to represent my significance. I became so wrapped up in our life together that I lost sight of God's validation and purpose for me. There were so many missed opportunities because my eyes had wandered from the correct Him.

Thankfully, though, our God is both a Redeemer and Pursuer. He was not going to let me get away that easily.

Rescue came in the form of a very painful break-up, shortly after graduation. It blindsided me and devastated the life I had formerly known and the one I believed I would have. But, in the desperation of the desert, I began to center my life around Jesus. I fixed my eyes on Him and sought His guidance. I allowed my self worth and value to be established by how He felt about me. And I began to revolve my life around the only institution He created, the local church.

And as I walked in His ways, the broken relationship was restored.

But, I'm not talking about the one with the boyfriend. My relationship with Jesus became my first priority and because of that He made me whole and gave me the life I never knew I wanted! He surpassed my wildest dreams and my greatest expectations. He gave me "immeasurably more than all (I could) ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within (me)" -Ephesians 3:20.

Not to say life is perfect. Or that I no longer stand on some stones that will someday have to be stripped away. But, "He who began a good work in (me) will see it through to completion" -Philippians 1:6, and because of that I am valuable.

And based on past history, I trust my Solid Rock to remind me of this on the days I get stuck in sinking sand!

Let's Help Tech Eat Some Red Dirt

Please do not let me down on national television today, my beloved Aggies.

Our neighborhood is filled with Red Raider alumni, all with their guns up and aimed at our house in the event you don't pull out this win. And seriously, do you want to be responsible for the stroke Chris could have if he yells at the TV anymore than he already has this football season?

How about we make this victory evident from the start? It is really not at all necessary to allow Texas Tech to put any points on the board. No second half cardiac comebacks or last second field goals that have me pulling out my hair and biting off fingernails. Don't make me prove I bleed Maroon, please.

Bald and bloody is just not a good look for me.

Not to mention I am equally concerned that it could cause Big Mama to overdose on chocolate syrup. And frankly, I just like her blog too much to lose her.

So, put your hearts in it, make us all proud and above all else, do the opposite of whatever Coach Fran tells you to do.

Remember, if you need any help, Park has been ready and willing to go in since birth.

GIG 'EM!

A Return to the Straight and Narrow

Because many of you reading this know me from Sarah's (In the Midst of It) blog anyway, I have taken it upon myself to be your source for dissemination of somewhat timely information on project "Recreate Sarah's Toe", otherwise known as her recovery from surgery. (If your not sure what I'm talking about, go here)

In case you felt like she left you hanging by letting the surgery report overshadow the pre-op update, I feel the need to mention that it went very smoothly, as no shirtless chest X-rays took place and clothes were encouraged at all times.

Let's take a moment to breathe a collective sigh of relief on her behalf.

Bridget and I have been racking our brains on how we can make life run a little smoother for her during this time of toe trauma. Covering some meals for her is one thing we've come up with and the day before surgery was my shift. I arrived to find an immaculate house, as she had hobbled through some vacuuming earlier in the afternoon. I also found out later that she cleaned each bath and did laundry just hours before the surgery commenced.

Seriously, the girl is beyond our help. She needs to visit a Domestic Diva Counseling Service. My only hope is that she took some hydrocodone before eating the meal I brought because I, too, need, that counseling service, but for very different reasons.

While I was there I got to see some of her newest sewing projects and let's just say I'm once again feeling skeptical of how I will fare at "Sewing Night", capital letters or not. At least she promises chocolate chip cookies EVERY time we meet. At this point, it is what keeps me hanging on.

As for the actual surgery, I am thankful her pinkie has been returned to it's rightful place on her foot and she is recovering beautifully. And that no amputations were necessary. However, Sarah did make history as the first patient to have ever been told, "No Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you may not take your knitting into the O.R."

(OK-so I made that last part up, but it would not surprise me if they had to surgically separate her from her beloved projects.)

I'm certain your prayers during these next few weeks of healing are greatly appreciated. I know Sarah well enough to know she will rise to the challenge of caring for three kids while crutching around, but it can't be easy. (although I must admit I'm jealous of the whole maid service thing) Please feel free to leave some encouraging comments for her to read at the bottom of this post.

And now I leave you with:

"ODE TO SARAH'S PINKIE TOE"

-lovingly written for the purpose of keeping her sense of humor in tact post surgery

You once were intent on the straight and narrow road,
Yet, one swift blow and you decide to be bowed?

You've been Sarah's faithful and trusted companion,
Through many miles walked, never did you abandon.

How could you have turned on her in such a bad way,
Forcing her into surgery and demanding she pay?

You deserve for the surgeons to put you in your place,
Carefully making sure your bend they erase.

Today I rejoice that no longer do you bow,
And my precious friend Sarah can continue to sew.

Rest up and feel better, sweet friend!

If Park Was a Cat, He'd be a Goner

It is very odd to have such a detail oriented, inquisitive child when my own parents were always able to Christmas shop right in front of me, while I remained completely oblivious. To say Park and I are night and day would be an understatement.

Of course, the second half of Park's DNA comes from the man that asks more questions than the Why Guy himself, so this gene should not have come as a real shock. I sometimes lovingly refer to this charming characteristic as nosy or stalkerish. Chris, however, believes that it is mere curiosity.

I'll let you be the judge....

Each day Park sits at the front window and waits around 5:00 PM. When a white truck pulls up next door, he gleefully announces, "Tommy home!" followed closely with, "Where Nessa? She walk Bella? I touch her?" Translation: He stalks out my neighbor, his wife, Vanessa and their dog, Bella.

When I reach for the phone, he instantly asks, "Who callin', Mommy? Callin' Lolli? Is that Cha-Cha? I talk to her?" Translation: He stalks my phone calls to Mom and Sis.

When I make the slightest step toward the kitchen, I often hear, "What ya cookin', Mommy? I push buttons?" Translation: He stalks my culinary endeavors of slaving over a hot microwave.

And heaven forbid I should do something out of the ordinary, like throw caution to the wind and shop for groceries at Kroger v/s our usual Wallyworld...."Where are we Mommy? Where Wal-mart? I NEED go to Wal-mart!" Translation: He stalks my brand loyalty.

Have I mentioned he is a very aware creature of habit?

Perhaps the most embarrassing happened this past Sat. night at church. Chris was baptizing, so instead of having Park wait outside with Daddy, I brought him into the restroom with me. Now, I should have seen this coming because he is quite inquisitive of bathroom habits in the comfort of our home.

In a VERY loud voice in the VERY crowded bathroom, he begins the interrogation.

" You tee-tee or pooh pooh, Mommy? I see it? Why you not put booty on potty, Mommy? I SEE TEE-TEE! Waterfall, Mommy! No pooh-pooh? Why you not pooh-pooh, Mommy? I flush it?"

A lesser woman may have wished the toilet would just swallow her whole rather than walk out and face the other snickering bathroom inhabitants. I, on the other hand, decided to use this situation as a teachable moment and launched into a dissertation on the politics of potty etiquette.

OK-so I'm not exactly telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

There WAS a brief "please swallow me, potty" moment followed by some waiting in the stall until everyone departed, but I did suggest we talk about such issues in a more private setting or at the very least in our "inside voices".

There might be a reason that curiosity killed the cat, folks.

In all seriousness, there are some wonderful things about being inquisitive and keenly aware of all that goes on around you. Park remembers the name of anyone he comes into contact with. He is superb at reminding me of things I might otherwise forget. Also, it is so rewarding to teach him because he is like a little sponge, starving for information, and very willing to spill out all he knows.

Not to mention he makes a great partner when playing Memory.

God is constantly using Chris' skill set in both his job as a pastor and his role in our family. His ability to organize, categorize, ask the tough questions, remember details, and so much more are all being utilized strategically by the One who gave him those characteristics in the first place. Hubby's constant curiosity to learn more and desire to be better is what drives him directly into the arms of the All-Knowing, Almighty Father. And being a smaller version of his father, I can hardly wait to see how God uses Park for His glory, as well.

Please remind me of this the next time you overhear us in a public restroom.

No Use Crying Over Spilled Milk

Today started like any other Sunday. Park and I meet Chris for Sat. night church services, so on Sunday we usually do our weekly Wal-mart grocery shopping. Well, on a "good day" we shop , counting each piece of fruit as it enters the basket and playing "I Spy" for all the items on our list. On a "not so good day", I attempt shopping while simultaneously threatening and coercing him to keep both feet and hands inside the cart before we have a private pow-wow in the nearest restroom.

POW being the operative word.

Today's venture seemed to fall in the "good day" category up until we hit the milk aisle. "I need OUT, Mommy, " Park insisted, to which I replied, "Not yet, baby." He proceeded with various toddler tactics, including but not limited to incessant whining. I countered with my bag of tricks, which begins with the ignore technique, shortly followed by the distraction gimmick, and inevitably ending with the snack distributions. And all was well again.

We repeated the above procedures for the last 10 minutes of the outing, checked-out and headed to the parking lot. It's never a good sign when you are pushing a full cart of groceries and you suddenly feel leakage down your leg and all over your sandal clad feet. Thankfully I'm not talking about the kind of leakage that I've had heard occurs while sneezing during pregnancy.

Something in my cart was leaking and it was not Park (this time, anyway). I frantically dug through the basket to find the offending culprit and realized too late that the milk had busted and I'm now being sprayed from head to toe.

On a positive note, Park found it to be the funniest thing since Curious George. He laughed so hard he got the hiccups.

However, what did not seem quite as humorous to him was the fact that he now had to return to the same confining cart he had just recently been granted freedom from.

As I walked my milk stained self to Customer Service while pushing my unhappy camper, I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with heart-felt compassion. Before I could even fumble out the story (I'm guessing one look at me and no explanation was necessary), I was escorted back to the milk aisle and graciously given a complimentary gallon of Horizon's finest.

Now, lets just say that I was at, oh I don't know, Target, perhaps? If you've previously read about my well documented relationship with Target, you probably realize that the following scenario would have taken place instead:

Yes, Ma'am, I realize you are covered in milk, but do you have a gift receipt for that? Oh, well, then I'm sorry you will need to return to the dairy aisle and pick out something that is of equal value to the milk that just busted. No, you may not go to the beverage aisle... It must be dairy. Oh, Ma'am, I'm sorry...Soy milk is a penny more than the original milk you chose, so you will need to find something else. No Ma'am , you can't buy two dairy products that equal the same value as the milk, it must be ONE item.

Thank you Wal-mart for CUSTOMER SERVICE that is actually SERVICE to your CUSTOMER! And thank you, Park, for keeping my sense of humor in tact.

Today was a "good day" of grocery shopping, give or take a little spilled milk.

YOU KNOW YOU ARE A MOMMY WHEN:

You are so accustomed to bathing with little toys in your tub that you rarely notice them anymore.

You no longer grab a Kleenex before wiping someone's snotty nose.

You can quote every song Barney ever sang, but can't name a single rock star who made it big after the birth of your child.

You have phone conversations that are consistently interrupted by someone desperate for a snack.

You can name every playground in a 30 mile radius without batting an eye.

You wear peanut butter smudges on your clothes as the newest Fall accessory .

You realize your single girlfriend that you've invited for dinner is staring at you because you've just cut her chicken into bazillions of little pieces out of habit.

You catch yourself threatening to put your husband in time out for leaving his shoes on the living room floor.

You can smell poop from a mile away and identify the culprit in 10 seconds flat.

You wouldn't trade any of the above for a million dollars!

Have a great weekend, friends.

Who Knew Art Could be Such Fun?

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. This would typically end with blast-off, but I'm not talking about a space shuttle or even a rocket. It is the ages of Park's cousins that I was referring to, actually.

Can you imagine how fun it must be to have 5 humans related to you that are so close to your age? And that doesn't even account for two of the cousins who still fall in the "zero" category because their 1st birthdays are off in the distance. Now can you picture the trouble this bunch gets into when they are all together? Let's just say there is not a shortage of noise, excitement, fun, or messes!

So, when my mother-in-law told me about what God was laying on her heart, my response was, "Sign us up before you change your mind!"

This sweet woman, who has raised or is raising 5 children of her own, decided that she is going to take the 4 oldest grand kids (Park being the youngest), twice a month and cultivate a love for the arts in them.

Now, if you know my MIL this won't surprise you a bit. Not only is she a fabulously creative specimen of a human, but she is also as crafty as Martha Stewart. Combine a fierce love of her grand kids and culinary skills out the wazoo and you have the makings for a pretty exciting experience at Grandma's.

Park's invitation came in the mail a few weeks ago, asking him to come make special memories with his cousins while doing crafts, painting, sculpting, cooking, singing, dancing, stories, hiking, and other various artistic endeavors. But what I was most joyous to read was the portion that stated, "Mommies are not invited."

Well, twist my arm. FINE, I guess I can run errands for three blissful hours child-free. I mean, I would totally prefer to wrestle help my 2-year-old in and out of his car seat and battle him to stay in the stroller, of course, but if you insist....

So, tomorrow Park will return to Grandma's for his 2nd date and I will use my three hours of solitude to perfect my own art.

The Art of Shopping.

Thankfully, Blogs Don't Have Germs

If germs could be transferred through the computer, you would need to Out Click ASAP!

That sick bug I mentioned (last post) evidently had a cousin that he brought over, as well. Thankfully, we don't get sick often in our household, but when we do, we go down hardcore!

Sunday night I awoke to the sounds of Park coughing and whimpering on the monitor at 2AM. As his cries elevated, I rolled out of bed and stumbled into his darkened room. I rocked him a few minutes, thinking it must have been a bad dream, and attempted to return him to his bed.

It was at this point that I realized his bed was, well, let's just say "contaminated" and that we were about to embark on our first stomach bug journey with Park. If you've read my blog much, you can probably guess what I did at this point.

"CHRIS, PLEASE COME QUICKLY, " I screamed into the baby monitor.

Thankfully, Park has one parent who is not squeamish and does not lose their minds in such circumstances. I had high hopes that in becoming a mother, I would be selfless enough that my own child's illnesses would not bother me in the least. Perhaps the fact that I passed out while trying to dissect a frog in middle school should have been my first clue that this would not be the case.

Between Park's retching and my dry heaving, Chris finally reached his limit and banished me to our bedroom.

It was not my finest hour of mothering.

All in all, though, we survived. Much of which can be attributed to the fact that Park did not get his mommy's "High Maintenance Patient" gene. The kid actually laughed and played between "episodes", maintaining an overall pleasant disposition throughout the entire ordeal. He wanted nothing to do with pity or pampering, reminding me very much of someone else who lives in our house.

So, as Park sits, eating soup from a sweet neighbor who heard he was sick, I am busy counting our blessings. Thank you, Lord, for thoughtful friends and neighbors, a husband with a servant's heart, a son exactly like his daddy, and another sick bug that once again reminded me of all I have to be thankful for.

*And I promise to write something soon that does not include the words retching, sick, germs, or bug:)