My kids are so darn competetive. Everything has to be a competition with them. We were shopping in Wal-Mart (where else is there to shop?) yesterday. Trinity informed my that she needed to go "potty". Of course she waits until we are right in the middle of the grocery section. Why she didn't tell me ten minutes before when we walked right by the restrooms, I'll never know. It happens every time.

Anyway, she somehow managed to turn this into a race with her older sister. She looked Emma Ray straight in the eyes and said, "Let's race." So they both take off walking very briskly, but still making sure they are not out of my sight. Each of them were saying, "I'm gonna win." We finally arrive at our destination - the Wal Mart restrooms. We all enter quickly, and luckily there were exactly three stalls open. The restroom was pretty full this day. Trinity And I ended up in adjoining stalls. She tells me (very loudly) that "this is a race mom." I try to act nonchalant about it, and just answer (quietly) "yes it is Honey". Then she loudly and excitedly proclaims "IT'S A POTTY RACE." By the way, I don't know why she chose this kind of race. She was just setting herself up for failure. She's always the last one to finish. The girl is the most regular person I know - if you know what I mean.

What do you say to that? I just tried to hide the laughter in my voice, and I replied, "yes, Honey it is, but you can take your time." The whole time I was silently praying no one in the restroom heard her loud voice, and hopefully they did not know me!

Thankfully, we have soccer games in the morning. Maybe that will take care of the competetive energy, at least for a while.

A Boy and His Dog

He spends the majority of his day "roping cows". Just ask him. Everyone in the house must beware of his flying rope, lest we get whacked across the face. All of the animals in our house are fair game. Cats, dogs - it doesn't matter the species. They are all his "cows" when he is in cowboy mode.

And yes, I constantly tell him to leave the poor dogs alone. Most often, his victim is Cookie - our beloved Shi-Tzu. I try to keep her safe, but she keeps coming back for more.

It looks innocent enough, but that is how it always starts.

First, he spots his "cow".

Then, he moves in for the take down.

He likes to sneak up behind his prey and catch them by surprise. It must be some instinctual hunting reflex. I think only boys have this, because I've never seen the girls act this way.

He is going for the take down now. It so reminds me of his Daddy flanking the real cows.

He needed to take a little break to look at the real cows out in the pasture.

Just look at that fluffy little face. I could just eat her up. She is so loveable - not to mention very TOLERANT!

I think he has her right where he wants her now. He looks like he is gettin' kinda serious.

VICTORIOUS! He has conquered the beast. I just don't know if she is a cow or a horse at this point. Poor cookie!

Imagination!

Oh how I love this girl! She has such a vivid imagination!

Just this morning she was planning a party in my closet. She looked so cute in my white heels. She had just gotten out of the bath tub, so of course wasn't wearing anything else. This child has such an aversion to wearing clothing.

She peeked out of the closet to tell her bathing brother that he could not come to the party yet. She quickly closed the door behind her to finish the party preparations.


This is where the distinction between boys and girls comes in. Cooper looks back at me, and in his little growly voice he said, "I come to you party.... and I bwow you candles out." Then he inhales deeply and makes a big blowing noise. I couldn't help but laugh at his cute little self.



By the way - don't you think this picture gives new meaning to the phrase "cutting the grass"?

That Mom

Emma Ray is playing her fourth season of soccer. Much to my surprise, she picked soccer over dancing and singing this year. Just when I think I have her all figured out, she goes and changes things up on me. Being a sports enthusiast, I must say I was secretly very happy she picked soccer!

I try my very hardest to not be "that" mom. You know, the one that is screeming from the sidelines? My competetive nature sometimes rears its ugly head, and I holler. I just try to make it a "positive" comment. It is a difficult thing to remain somewhere in the middle. I would like to be somewhere in between the mom that is harshly yelling at her poor child, and the totally out of touch mom that doesn't have a clue.

Tonight I witnessed a mother yell at her child and loudly scream at her to "shut up". It made my skin crawl to hear this. I was filled with sorrow and embarassment for the little girl. I bit my tongue and kept my mouth shut. Anyone that knows me knows how extremely difficult this is for me. I am continually praying for God to put a gate over my mouth. Fortunately he was in the business of answering my prayer tonight.

I had almost made up my mind that I would politely and discretely ask the mother to refrain from screaming "shut up" so loudly that the entire soccer complex could hear. I thought I might even tell her that we don't use those words at our house, and I would appreciate her not using them either. In the end, I lost my nerve, and left the field feeling helpless. I just hope I am never "that mom".

Dirty, Rotten Kid

There is one in every group. We have one here at our house. She stands apart from the other three. She's the dirty one.

You see, I have three very different children. I have the strong willed, sassy, outgoing first born. Then, of course, there is the sweet and cuddly baby of the litter. And last but not least, there is the middle child. She is what I would call a loner. Everything happens on her terms. Although she likes to please authority, she's not too worried about the opinions of her peers. This girl loves animals and being outside. She is definitely a tom boy. She could care less about her appearance, and that is often apparent.

I can take all three children to the same places and have them participate in the same activities. Yet, she is the dirty one. This has been true of her for her whole little life. It is like her body contains a magnet that somehow attracts dirt. Her face, more often than not, looks like she has been sucking on a sow. At least that what my husband would say.

Bless her heart, and mine for that matter. I truly try to dress her up and make her presentable. Nonetheless, she eventually looks somewhat disheveled. I'm constantly wiping her face and smoothing her hair to no avail. Try as I might, it is all in vain. She still continues to put her shoes on the wrong feet and forgets to brush her hair. I've resigned myself to the fact that her beautiful red hair and petite little features will just always be touched up with a little grime.

God love her. She just wants to play outside where she is free to dig in the dirt and waller with the animals. So, most of the time, I just give in and let her go. I see a little bit of myself in that free imaginative spirit. But for the life of me, I don't know where she got the dirt magnet!

Sincerely,

Dirt Girl's Mom

Bobble Head

I still remember the tender moments spent between me and my first born while she was nursing. Unfortunately, there were some not so great moments spent pumping milk for that precious baby girl. What an awful memory that is for me - being hooked up to such a humiliating machine. I can still hear the whooshing and whirring of that awful thing. I can clearly see myself staring at a sweet picture of my baby girl in a tremendous attempt to begin lactating. Oh the things we do for children.

Then I would send these precious bottles of liquid gold with Emma Ray so my mom could feed her while I was working. Thus began her deep love for her "bobble". Some kids have a pacifier or security blanket. Some babies suck their thumb. Not mine! She loved her bottle. This love affair lasted until she was a very old three. It even carried on until she was four, but only at G's house. They had this special "secret".

Needless to say, she loved her "bobble". This was her security item. It is what she wanted any time she went to sleep. I know, not so good for the teeth. As I would rock her to sleep, she would suck her bottle and rub my ear lobe. This was the way she fell off to dreamland every day. She was very dependent on this process. That became very evident one evening while riding in the truck. As many children do, Emma Ray was getting sleepy in her car seat. She began sucking her bottle in an effort to fall asleep. Then I heard her sweet, groggy voice say, "Mommy, I need your ear." My heart simply melted. Not only had she grown accustomed to her bobble at bedtime, but she also wanted my ear. Who am I flattering though, it could be any body's ear really.

As the bobble began to affect her teeth, we realized it was time to ween her from the bobble. I mean she was about to enter kindergarten. No, not really, but she was getting a little old for the thing. Not that we had not entertained the idea before, but now we had to do it. This is not an easy thing with a strong willed child! Eventually, and actually much more smoothly than we imagined, she let go of the bobble.

I was so excited, and proud of what Casey and I had done. It was such a sense of accomplishment. UNTIL I realized she had stopped rubbing my ear when I was rocking her. You see, she had apparently given that up too. I was not ready for this. I had become very accustomed to this practice. It appeared I needed her soft touch as much as she needed my ear. This was just one of the many hard transitions to come. Oh what I wouldn't give for just one more moment of that sweet baby rubbing my ear.

Still wrapped around her finger,

Emma Ray's Mom

It's a Cuppy

Early this morning, I was abruptly awakened by my baby boy asking for his "sippy". As usual, he had wandered in sometime during the wee morning hours. I stumbled into the kitchen to pour some juice in his sippy cup. I wandered back to my room, and snuggled up next my boy. He was suddenly very content. All was perfect in his world again. Then suddenly it hit me!

What happened to "cuppy"? This has been his name for his sippy cup since he had a name for it. This is his cute mispronunciation or combination of the words sippy and cup. Eventually, he settled on "cuppy". Why is he now calling it a "sippy"? It is just another jolting reminder that my baby is growing up.

Several nights ago, Cooper was in the floor playing with a hermit crab. The same one's that he warns everyone about, saying, "the crab bite your penis". All of that thanks to his father's weird imagination and relentless teasing. He yelled in the other room to his big sister, "Come look at this Emma!" She entered the room saying, "I'll look if you'll call me MeRay instead of Emma." You see, "Me Ray" is what he has always called her. It is another one of his cute mispronunciations. Me Ray is his way of saying Emma Ray. In that moment, the big sister all of seven, also noticed that his cute and innocent "babiness" was slipping away. Much like her mom, she was trying desperately to stop the process. Can I just put a brick on his head and make it stop?

Pretty soon, I know that my sweet four year old middle child will realize that we live on Pleasant Valley Road. Man will I miss her telling me that we live on "Villey Valley" road. I guess it is just the natural coarse of progression. After all, it would be a shame for her to incorrectly fill out the address section of her college applications!

Missing My Baby,

Cooper's Mom