sweet sweet sisterhood

Oh these two.

First official sister sleepover.  Total success.  Now they want to "move-in" together and get "bumpy beds".

Just when I think they’re going to tear each other’s hair out, they turn around and can’t be torn apart.

Sisterly love.  It’s nothing what I’d imagined.

And so much much more.

I’m learning too.  I’m learning the ebb and flow of what sisterhood is all about.  And I’m trying to stress less about the fights along the way.

Oh sure, we still preach and teach “Treat others the way we want to be treated…”

And I repeat a million times a day “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

Which probably means that our house should be eerily silent… because the harsh words between these sisters are worse than an R-rated movie.

I exaggerate…. they don’t throw the f-bomb at each other.  They throw the MINE!-bomb at each other.  And the tone they use when they’re screaming slices right through the heart.

Yet just when I get all fired up…

when I strap a belt around them and shriek…

“You’re sisters!  You will be stuck with each other for the rest of your life!  And if you can’t get along, then I’m leaving the two of you strapped together like that until you go to college!!!!!!”

…right when I’m on the verge of getting on my soapbox and going into a full blown lecture of how it’s easier to get along than to fight, how it’s harder to go against the current than to go with it, how life is sweeter with a friend…

That’s the breaking point where one starts to giggle.

And then the other one starts to giggle.

And before we know it, no one even remembers why they were fighting in the first place.

Least of all me, because when I see my girls getting along, I literally want to freeze time.

Sisterhood. I never imagined how messy and yet so absolutely beautiful it could be all at once.

They’ve started to disappear together.  While I’m folding laundry or picking up the living room, the house will grow quiet and I’ll wonder where they went.  And so I tiptoe to one of their bedrooms, where they’ll be sitting side by side playing with princesses or blocks or baby dolls.  Sometimes its parallel play and sometimes it’ll be fully engaged play.  Miss Priss will be bossing Lil Sis around telling her where to go and what to do and little sister will be there happy as a puppy dog getting paid attention to.

Sit.  Roll over.  Good little sister…. that’s a good girl.

And then there are the times when Goose rules the roost.  She sets up the tea party or stacks the legos and Miss Priss will come and quietly sit next to her, eagerly wanting an invitation to play.

C’mon Ma-wee.  Pway with me.

Oh yes, I am learning all about sisterhood.  The highs and the lows, the fights and the hugs, the ebb and the flow… it’s a continuous cycle that makes life loud and vibrant and better than I ever thought it could be.

Hand-Me-Downs

As y'all know... I love love love me some sister hand-me-downs.

And not because it saves me money.

I love them because when little sister slides into one of big sister's old dresses or pulls on a pair of old boots - the memories come flooding back to the time when my big girl was once this little herself.  I remember where we went and what she wore... what she said and how she acted... where it was tight and where it was too big.

And then I get to make memories in that same dress all over again.

Double the memories, double the cuteness.

Little Pumpkins:

Different Witch, Same Attitude:

Rudolph Shirt... you'll go down history:

Christmas Cuties:

Love & Cake:

In all of these, Miss Priss was about 2.5 and Little Goose was just a few months past her second birthday.  Although they were born in different seasons, little sister fits easily into big sister's clothes in the exact season she originally wore them.  Same shoe size too.

And I'd like to tell you that all these hand-me-downs save me lots of money.  And maybe in the shoe department it does.  But as for the rest?

Well, I have three words for you...

Matching Sister Outfits.

Macaroni & Cheese

At our wedding seven years ago, our Maid of Honor teased that I was only marrying HOTY for his job and his connections.  And while guests nodded their heads and continued eating the cheesy elbow noodles that I'd insisted be on our buffet... they had no idea how appropriate the joke really was.

HOTY works for the biggest cheese company in the world.

Want to know what they sell the most of?

It's what we macaronians refer to as The Blue Box.

You know it.  Your kids know it.  And no organic, made-with-grain, store-brand-knockoff can compete with it.

Last week while we were in Mexico, we had a late night trip on an excursion bus as we made our way back from Xel-ha.  Most passengers were either asleep or anxiously peering out the window scared the truckloads of gun-carrying federalies were going to pull us over.

While we rode, HOTY and I had the pleasure of sitting in front of two little kiddos and a mama that was trying to keep them quiet and entertained the entire two-hour trip back.  And I say pleasure because I mean it.  We were missing our own sweet girls and hearing the chattering voices in the seat behind us gave us a tiny slice of home.

As the mama was keeping them entertained, we slowly caught on to the game they were playing.  Each child would take a turn saying a food item in the order of the alphabet.  And then the other child would have to repeat from the beginning until getting to the next letter.

Apple.  Banana.  Chocolate. Donut.  Eggplant.  Fish.  Gouda.  Honeydew....

You get the idea.

And as the game-addicted girl I am, I silently followed along coming up with my own food items and guessing which one they'd pick for each letter.  As they finished up "J" and started down the long list to "K" - my mind started listing Kiwi and KoolAid and Kangaroo Jerky.

A few seconds later a high-pitched voice shouted out... "Kraft Dinners".

I stifled my giggle and looked over at HOTY... even in the dark I could still see the huge smile spread across his face.

Bravo kiddo.  Bravo.

My love for the cheesy goodness in The Blue Box is categorized just under my love for my family.  And it definitely trumps other coveted things like bubble baths and expensive purses and trashy romance novels.  It might even rival it's spot with my prized camera.

The girls share my love and we serve it often.  Breakfast.  Lunch.  Dinner.  Late night snack.  There are no rules when eating the stuff.  With hotdogs.  With peas.  With goldfish and parsley.

Back when I was kid-less, and still searching for my place in the kitchen (which should you ever need to know is far far away from it), I came up with the idea of making my own Macaroni & Cheese.  A box of noodles, a few kinds of cheese, a little dry mustard... how hard can it be.

Well, a pan of stinky burnt cheese and a relentless fire alarm can answer that pretty easily.

My point is - Kraft knows what it's doing.  Whether it be Easy Mac or Velvetta or just the powder stuff in the pouch, every box is amazing.  You can eat it plain or you can spice it up.  You can't go wrong if you go with Kraft.

I'd like to think that this goes for our marriage too.  God has plans for HOTY and I.  He matched us together and he's led us down many different paths these past eleven years.  Some have been as easy as a powder-pouch and three-minutes in the microwave and some have pushed us to spice it up - with new ideas and new goals and new ways to keep our love alive.  And we've learned time and time again that when we strayed from our faith in God and tried to do things our own way - the flavor of our marriage never tasted quite right.  But when we left it up to Him, we were wholesome and flavorful and delicious.

****

Today we celebrate my husband and the amazing man that he is.  Little did I know all those years ago how truly lucky I was becoming his wife.  He is compassionate and giving.  He is honest and hard-working.  He is genuine and he is forgiving.  He cares for his girls... all three of us... with an earnest heart of gold.

Happy Birthday HOTY...

You are the cheese to my macaroni.

Home.

It hit me as I opened my eyes Saturday morning – with the ocean breezes coming through our window, tasting of salt and seaweed fresh from the gulf.  It hit me as I heard the rustling of the palm trees just outside our window, close enough to touch as they shaded the first early steaks of sunlight coming through our window.  It hit me as I rolled over one last time on my goose-feather pillow and snuggled down into the crisp king-size sheets.

I want to go home.

It stayed with me through the morning, as we showered and packed and made our way to the front desk.  It stayed as I stuffed myself with one last plate piled high with french toast and one last strawberry-colada smoothie made from the freshest Mexican fruit.  It was there on the way to the airport and through immigration and walking down the narrow aisle to our seats.

Never out of reach, it whispered relentlessly I want to go home.

And like a classical piece building at speed with forte – it began to repeat loudly as the pilot apologized for the delay and the rough trip.  It banged like a drum inside my head as we sat stalled on the runway waiting for our gate to finally open.  It gradually built with prestissimo as we raced off the airplane and made our way through line after line after line to receive approval for our entry back into the states.

As we ran through the terminals shouting “Wait, wait!  Hold our plane, we’re coming!” it was at the tip of my tongue begging people to understand… I want to go home.

My heart slowed and I caught my breath as our final plane made it’s decent into the Kansas City airport.  It was just beyond my reach, just beyond my fingertips, just a little longer to wait… home.

And as we pulled into the driveway and I flung my door open to jump out, I could hear another door being flung wide open.  I could hear the pitter-patter of small feet running at lightening speeds to reach me.  And it was music to my ears as I heard my big girl exclaim “Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!  I missed you so much!”

Home.

That night, I lay in bed sandwiched perfectly between my beautiful girls. We’d thrown all rules to the wind and unanimously agreed it was necessary to sleep all together.  And as breaths began to steady and their hands went limp in mine, I thanked God for this place of routines, of dirty diapers, or mountains of laundry and microwave dinners.

After a wonderful week abroad, there’s no where in the world better than where I am now.  And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Home.  Where we love and laugh and live our lives.  This is my most favorite place of all.

Davinci the Dolphin

We made a new friend today.

 Please excuse the PDA...

Our new friend is Davinci.  Davinci the Dolphin.

And I have to tell you, he's quite loveable.

So loveable that HOTY got a bit jealous, I think.

See HOTY's hand pulling me back?  He was like "Oh no you don't... that's my girl. Go get your own."

Luckily, Davinci had a few tricks up his sleeve.  Or his fin, for that matter.

Quite the lovebug, that dolphin.  He hugged us and cuddled us and spun us a round just for fun.

He especially liked giving High Fives.  Or would that be High Faces?

Ultimately, Davinci won us over with a few rides on his belly. 

Tonight as we were talking to Miss Priss about our new friend Davinci, she begged and begged for us to bring him home.  She insisted that he could be a baby dolphin that lives in a box in her room.  And if he gets lonely, we can bring his mommy too, who would live in a box in Lil Sis's room.

As ideal as that sounds, I do believe he'll be staying here.  Sorry sister.

We'll miss you Davinci.  You were definitely my favorite Mexican friend.

Viva La Mexico

Hola from Mexico!

HOTY and I are here in Cancun, preparing to photograph a wedding and I have to say.... we are having an amazing time!  The resort is amazing, the beach is amazing, the activities we have planned for the next few days... Ahhhh-Mazing! 

We're headed out tomorrow for a full day of snorkeling, exploring the jungle, zip-lining and more.  And Thursday we'll be spending our morning with dolphins, and then parting ways that afternoon while I spend some time in the spa and HOTY heads out with a group of guys to deep sea fish.   I mean.... c'mon!!  Am I dreaming???

Friday is the wedding and I cannot tell you how I excited I am to take the next step in my photography.  It'll be my first wedding and the ideas running through my head has kept me up at night... for months!  The bride and groom are the absolute cutest couple ever and working with them is always so much fun.

So wish us luck... these next few days are days we'll never forget!

Adios!

Being More

I’ve been in a mood lately.  A downright funky mood.

And what I’d really like to do is skip the mood and narrate the wonderful day we had on New Year’s Day playin’ in the snow.  I’ll gladly sit around and let y’all ooh and ahh over how cute my kids are.

Because they really are super cute in the snow.

But if there’s one thing I’m not… it’s a faker.  I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’m terrible about pretending to act one way when I’m feeling another.

So we’re going to stream those said photos.  And I’m going to think out loud while I’m doing it.  By the end maybe, just maybe, it’ll all come full circle and make one happy post out of it.

We shall see.

Miss Priss left last week for Disney World.  I cried the whole night before she left and then the whole trip down to Grammie’s to drop her off.  She’s been gone a half-dozen times… but this time, it was on an airplane, across the country, to a place that mommy wouldn’t be one-step-away at all times.  Talk about a panic attack – this control freak was on the edge of nervous breakdown.

And although I managed to get through our goodbyes, I realized about half-way through them that I was being a crummy mom.  Here I was a sobbing mess telling her how much I was going to miss her when she started to tremble… her bottom lip getting a little longer… and before I knew it, she was telling me she didn’t want to go.  She wanted to stay home with me.  She wanted to skip a trip to Disney World because she didn’t want to make me sad.

My heart sank as I realized that it was my job to plaster a smile on my face, wipe that heart right off my sleeve and promise her that she was about to have the time of her life.  I was supposed to be the strong one.  Not the whiny, scared, I-don’t-like-letting-go-of-my-babies mama that was making a scene in the McDonalds parking lot.

She did go.  And she had a great time.  I talked to her every night and not once did I replay the drama that she’d had to endure as she left.

And we had a wonderful time with little Goose while big sister was off on her adventure.  It was fun to play “only child” with her and see our sweet baby in a whole new light.

She’s funny, that kid.

But that moment when I realized I wasn’t being strong enough for my kid… that has stuck with me.  Through her arrival safe and sound back home.  Through New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day and through the last few days as we’ve gotten back into our regular routine.

I keep thinking about how my job is to be more… more strength, more encouragement, more patient, more giving… more, more, more.  And in this time in my life where I feel like I’m already juggling way too many hats, the thought of being more is terrifying.  Which is probably the source of this funky mood I’m in.

Just a few days ago – I wrote I am capable on this little blog of mine.  I told you how 2012 had taught me that I can do many more things than I thought I could.  Yet, writing it and believing it seems to be two very different things for me. 

I know I am capable of being more.  But sometimes I slide back into neutral and let others around me be the more.  Dishes pile in the sink, cartoons become the babysitter, evenings are less about family and more about survival to bedtime.

More is hard.

Remember the tantrum I was telling you about… the one where I didn’t want to let my big girl with her grandparents to Disney World because I had built up a list of fears and “what ifs”?

It was in the midst of that tantrum that Miss Priss hugged me for the eight-hundreth time, and then took my face into her little hands.  She looked me in the eyes and whispered…

Mommy, I want to tell you a secret.  I love you and I love being your mom the best.

And although the words were tangled up a bit in her five-year-old mind, she was mirroring the one thing that I often tell her.

I love being your mom more than anything else in the whole wide world.  It’s my favorite thing to be.

The tantrum was stopped in its tracked, but the tears… oh the tears… just continued to fall.  My little girl knew to be more.  She knew that mommy was more and those words were what comforted her when she needed to hear more.

And again, my wild and precious child reminded me a life-lesson that I dearly needed to learn.

Be the more at what’s truly important.

I have a long road to go before I am the more that I want to be.  But I’m working on it.  And these realizations of what I’ve done wrong and how I want to do better are simply the stepping stones I need to get there.

I am capable of being more.

****

And a few more Snow Day photos because we were on a roll that day...