Rough day.

I hate crying.

More than that, I hate crying in front of people.

Even more than that, I hate crying in front of boys.

And I just did all three. During a staff meeting.

And what brought it on?

High school cafeteria lunches.

True story.

Don't you, forget about me. Don't, don't, don't, don't you...

I'm still here. Well, I suppose here is relative.

I'm sitting in a cottage in Fenwick Island. And tomorrow, we head home.

After spending a day in D.C., we're headed back home, hoping to arrive about 2 a.m. Saturday.

Plenty of stories, TONS of pictures, and probably another sad rambling about how I missed my sister's departure.

We'll laugh. We'll cry. Ansley will wet her pants while sitting on grandma's lap. True story.

Remind me to tell ya about it.

Bittersweet.

As I sit here and type this blog post, it is T-minus 43 minutes until the end of my work day, and thus, the start of vacation. However, it's T-minus 4 hours and 43 minutes until we hit the road.

So I should be excited, right? I mean, a wedding and seeing tons of family, followed by 5 days on the beach with nothing to do except relax. I should be looking forward to Ansley's first time at the beach, and all the cuteness that is sure to be involved (especially a little lady bug bikini that I found as a steal at Goodwill).

And, I am excited. I've been looking forward to leaving for about 2 weeks. I've got outfits planned for some great Ansley pictures, and, of course, the typical khaki and white family photo on the beach. It's totally happening.

But, there's this nagging feeling that has brought me so very close to tears a few times today. Even now, the screen is getting a little blurry, and I'm wondering if this is what drunk texting is like.

In September, about 4 days before Ansley was born, I had to spend 23 hours in the hospital for observation. The worst part? Not the fact that I had to wear that stupid gown, or the fact that nurses kept checking in because they thought someone was crying in my room (actually, Paul was close to crying, but America's Funniest Videos was on, and his laughter was echoing).

No, the worst part was that I had planned to have dinner with my family, because they were heading out to New Mexico that evening to help my sister move. And instead, I was stuck in the hospital, unable to hug my sister's neck, and tell her in person how much I loved her before she moved across the country.

And, that's how it will be again.

When I leave tonight, it will be the last time (for awhile, at least) that I'll get to see my sister. She's leaving again. And while I'm so terribly excited for vacation and relaxation, I'm also terribly sad that Ansley will have to say goodbye to her favorite aunt, and not understand why.

But, I am excited. I'm excited that she'll soon see her husband, who has been deployed for several months. I'm excited that they get to be newlyweds again, even if their 1-year anniversary is nearing. I'm excited that she's more courageous than I am, and brave enough to start a life somewhere else. And I'm excited about what the Lord has in store for them.

And, maybe the excitement does color the grey. But, right now, it's T-minus 4 hours and 7 minutes, and I've made it through just about a whole tissue box.

Don't Forget your Manners!

Dear Volunteer Co-irker,
I mean, Cowoker,

I am so blessed that you have decided to spend your afternoon here at my place of work to help sort donated baby clothes. This ministry would not exist if not for kind-hearted people willing to give of their time.

However, though you are working in what seems like a big, multipurpose room, I must remind you that my office is is the corner. I just don't have walls, or even a cubicle. But, it's still my office, and it's where I spend the majority of my time.

Because of the openness of the area, I can hear all that is going on, and, unfortunately, some of it is very distracting. So, I ask you, please say "excuse me" or "pardon me" if you feel the need to burp. OUT LOUD.

I know it seems I am working really hard and I'm focused on my project, which is true most of the time. But burping is one of those things that simply seems to stand out. Loudly.
,
I don't know all of your circumstances, and the burping may be due to some digestive issues you can't help. But you can say "excuse me." I know you can. I've heard you.

So, please, pretty, pretty PLEASE with a cherry on top of real whipped cream, use your manners, m'kay? How am I supposed to teach my kiddo manners and expect her to use them if older adults around her don't do the same?

Huggsies,
Ansley's Momma

On the Horizon

It's almost here. I can tell.

Ansley is on the verge of standing on her own. I mean, I've caught her in the act a few times, but as soon as she notices I'm looking, she quickly grabs the couch or whatever else is nearby.

This morning, Paul was eating a bowl of cereal on the couch. Ansley was STANDING on the couch beside him. As soon as I walked into the room, she smiled at me and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. She's playing me as a fool.

The day I bought her a little pool, she decided she didn't like to sit in water anymore. Her last 3 baths have consisted of her standing, holding on to the edge of the tub, and picking up her rubber duckie in her mouth. What an entertainer.

I feel as though she knows she can stand, and may even be ready to take those first few steps, but she simply doesn't want to. She isn't ready to gain a little more independence.

And I think I'm ok with that. Because right now, she still holds my hands if she wants to walk around. But once she's going, I'll have to make her hold my hand just to cross the street.

So, maybe she's waiting. Maybe she thinks everything is happening too fast as well. Maybe she isn't ready to let us in on her little secret. She does seem to have a sneaky little grin.

Am I McFatty Material?

Several of the mommyblogs I read have a series called "McFatty Monday." It's a group of women, that since the birth of their child, or just because, have decided to lose weight, get in shape, and just plain eat healthier. Each Monday, they post on their success of the previous week, any setbacks, and encourage others on the same journey.

After I had Ansley, I dropped my weight quickly. I'm not trying to rub it in anyone's face at all. However, that quick drop of the weight led me to believe that I could eat anything I wanted, not exercise, and not gain back any of the weight. I took my personal rule of "only one sweet treat a day" to mean I had to have a sweet treat every day, and size wasn't an issue.

So, 8 months, 10 pints of Ben and Jerry's and 2 pants size later, I've realized that I need to get back in shape. Pronto.

Now, I'm not sayin' I want to lose a bunch of weight like my McFatty Friends have done. But, I do want to be healthy. Terribly. I don't even think I need to really watch what I eat. I'm doing a pretty good job of watching it take up residence on my butt. Seriously though, I pretty much stay away from caffeine (I miss my sweet tea dearly), salt, non-water beverages and fast food.

But, dude, I need to exercise more. My muffin tops are back.

So, here's the deal. I want to exercise five days a week. Acceptable exercise includes (but is not limited to): DWTS exercise DVD, at least a 30 minute bike ride, 45 minute walk (which includes walking around the mall for 45 minutes).

Other forms of exercise (ahem, it's exercise. Ask any doctor) do not count toward my weekly goal, but will be strongly encouraged (by the hubs, as always).

The way I see it, if I put it in writing, people are bound to ask me how it's going. So, keep me accountable.

But, if you see me with a tall glass of sweet tea and a pint of Half Baked, just know it was probably a bad day, and it's making me feel better, m'kay?

A bit harsh.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that my post about my bad day was a bit harsh, and did not paint a truthful picture of said family member.

So, for that, I appologize to all my readers. As a woman, I tend to let my emotion fuel me. Paul pointed out that no matter how hurt I was, it did not give me the right to harm another's feelings.

If you're reading, I am sorry. It was not a mature thing to do. I, obviously, am not much of a person.

A Brighter Day.

Yesterday was pretty stinky too, for many of the same reasons as the day before.

But, today, when I arrived at my office, a coworker shared a glorious video with me. My face hurt I was laughing so hard. And I may have possibly peed my pants just a little. So, take a look-see.

And then, after that beauty was shared, we got to enjoy this little ditty.

I know, I know. The last couple of posts on my baby blog have not really been about the baby at all. But we all need a little break from the norm, and these were simply too funny not to pass on.

Thank you to the guy who spotted the vibrant beauty across the sky, and the subsequent upload to YouTube. And another thanks to the rockin' song that followed.

I hope your day is as beautiful as a double rainbow across the sky! ::snort, chuckle::

Yesterday sucked.

Yesterday sucked stunk (I have to remember that I am still a lady).

It wasn't the typical run-of-the-mill bad day. Ansley was an absolute joy, and very easy to handle, going down easily and briefly waking about 3:30 for her paci.

I didn't lose my job, or bounce a check. I didn't get a ticket, or even stub my toe (though I did drop a very heavy coffee mug on my foot that got me dangerously close to saying a very not nice word).

I didn't burn dinner, or have a huge argument with the hubs. But I did cry my way home.

I normally don't use this blog for such negative purposes as complaining about people, but it's my blog, so get over it.

Growing up, I spent much of my free time with an older cousin. I pretty much lived at her house during the summers and school breaks. This was how it worked, up until about 7th grade.

We normally had a good time, but moments would come when my aunt would have to send me home, because we had obviously spent way too much time together and were getting on each other's last nerve. But, we had fun, and I have some great memories.

My first trip to Disney world and Sea World was with her. My first major-league baseball game was with her. My first trip to the Atlanta Zoo was with her.

I have some bad memories too. Like when I made her mad and she dumped a cherry slushi on my head at the Atlanta Zoo. Or when she showed me these awesome, HUGE, long cotton stickers that her mom used, and had me stick them all over the living room walls (ok, they were pads and that was actually pretty funny). Or when she told me my parents only got married because I was born.

She was an only child, and we were pretty much like sisters, even though she's about 6 years older than me.

I hit middle school, and started to turn into my own person. I would spend my summers with friends, and started to go out on my own. I started traveling, and seeing things for myself, all while she seemed to look for love in all the wrong places.

There was never really a huge falling out that I can trace our problems back to. No argument, no name calling, nothing. But somehow, I became the focus of her distaste.

She has always loved kids, and after much difficulty conceiving, she found herself pregnant with twins thanks to IVF. When I announced my first pregnancy, and discovered my little one was due just a couple weeks before hers, I was excited about having someone to share my experience with. No congratulations, only a cold shoulder.

And when I found out that I lost the baby, almost half-way through my pregnancy, no comforting words from someone who had experienced similar difficulties.

Maybe I'm just dense, but I didn't really think too much of it until last summer. Some of our family had ventured down from Indiana and over from Arizona. Despite being so far apart, we can have a great time when all together.

I was pregnant. Very pregnant. They were only in town for a few days, and we were planning on going out to dinner one evening. She called to ask how many reservations were needed, and once she realized that my mother and I were planning on attending, the plans were canceled and dropped, as far as I knew. I found out from my sister that everyone was getting together at my cousin's house.

Maybe I shouldn't have invited myself, but I did. And I showed up. And my aunt from Arizona was all about me being pregnant, talking about babies and feeling over-active Ansley playing soccer with my organs.

Several things happened that day. She would not be in the same room with me. And when she was griping that no one would go pick up the pizzas, leaving her to do it, she did not even acknowledge my multiple offers to go pick up the pizza. So, I left. I took my sister, brother-in-law and brother and left.

Fast forward to last night. Same family is in visiting. We are all enjoying our evening at my grandparents, spending time with cousins and second cousins.

I'm not sure what happened after that. It involved her not even looking at me, and going from room to room to make sure she wasn't near me, ignoring anyone who played with my kiddo.
And, so I left. And I cried. All the way home.

And it kills me. Because as much as I want to shrug it off and simply say "Oh well, her loss," I know it isn't. It's my loss too. And it's Ansley's loss.

My parents have always told me it's a jealousy issue. Which I find ironic since she grew up getting everything she asked for, while I enjoyed her hand-me-downs and toys from Goodwill. It's also been described as sibling rivalry, but I've never experienced anything like that with my sisters. We fought like sisters do growing up, but we are all extremely close now, and we even say "I love you."

I've bent over backwards to try to make it better. And sometimes it seems like it is, but I know it isn't. And it hurts me. Because I can see Paul's family get together, and all the cousins gather round, and share their funny stories. And laugh together for hours. And that doesn't happen with me or any of my cousins.

If you made it to the end, good for you. I left a ton out, but didn't feel I wanted to completely air out my dirty laundry. And I thought about not even writing this, since it is a public blog, and my cousin could find her way here. But, I'm ok with that. Because from everything I've seen, since it has to do with me, she'll steer clear.

My child hates me.

Of this, I am almost completely certain.

Exhibit A: If Paul is holding her, she rarely comes to me. If I'm holding her, she always goes to him.

Exhibit B: If she playing on the floor and I walk out of the room, nothin'. Paul walks out of the room, squalls, and a fast little tubby tub crawling along after him.

Exhibit C: She looks exactly like him. Ok, so I know she really doesn't have control of this, but it just adds fuel to the fire.

Exhibit 4: This morning, she woke me up at 7 a.m. After feeding and playing for a little while, I had to start getting ready for work. I showered while she happily played in the floor. I went and put her in the bed with Paul while I got dressed, thinking she would be all cute and crawl all over him, waking him up to enjoy the morning. But instead, that little booger cuddled up beside him, grabbed her bear and went to sleep. At 8:30 a.m. I left for work at 9, both still snoozing. Paul called at 11, because THEY HAD JUST WOKEN UP!!!

Friday night, Ansley didn't go down until midnight, then woke up at 2 and I couldn't get her to sleep until 3:3o. We napped on the couch until 5, struggled to take a bottle, played for a bit, had some fruit at 7, FINALLY went back to sleep at 8, and woke up at 9:30, all while Daddy was able to sleep soundly in the comfy bed. Where is the fairness in that?

Ansley,
I carried you in my belly for 35 weeks. I let you kick and squirm and make me throw up and get stretch marks. I labored to get you out for 21 hours. Despite being a preemie, you weren't small, and mommy had to get stitches where no one should ever have to get them. I fed you my own specially made milk, which Daddy didn't have, and I've taken your temperature rectally, which Daddy has never done. And this is what I get?

I'll get you back, don't worry. I haven't been taking embarrassing pictures for nothing. Just wait till you bring friends over, or that first boy home. Then you'll wish you had let me sleep just a little longer.

Love,
Mommy

Bella Swan is an idiot.

Paul and Ansley have been out of town the past week, leaving me well rested but missing them extremely.

So, I made me some plans, but I wasn't looking forward to any as much as I was looking forward to seeing "Eclipse." I feel I should explain.

I do NOT consider myself a "twihard." I've never once claimed a team, and my child is not named Bella. Or Esme. Or Renesme. Nope.

When the first movie opened, my youngest sister asked me if I wanted to have a girls' night and see a movie. Always up for a good flick, I agreed and quickly tried to back out once I discovered she had picked "Twilight."

I've never been into the whole vampire scene. I watched "Buffy" growing up, but, mainly because I enjoyed David Boreanez. He was pretty.

Back to Twilight. My sister insisted that I tag along, and promised that the movie was not a typical "vampire" story.

So, we wait in line for nearly an hour just to get into the theater. We find some seats, and the movie begins.

Now, having not read the books, I had no idea what was going on. I didn't know the Cullens were "vegetarians." I didn't know they sparkled. I didn't know each person has a distinct scent that can drive a vampire crazy. So, when Bella stepped in front of the fan, sending Edward starts wriggling in his seat, I lean over and ask my sis "Hey, what's the deal here? He isn't acting like that around the other humans."

She told me he could smell her blood. Hmm. For some reason, I assumed she must have been bleeding for him to smell her blood. I leaned in and asked my sister, "Is she on her period?"

After she managed to stop laughing, she explained it to me.

The movie was enjoyable, though cheesy, so I decided that I would read the books.

Four books. One month. Pretty impressive.

So, with Paul and Ansley out of town this week, I planned a trip to the theater to catch the latest installment with my sisters, mom, a bestie and one of my sister's friends. And, here's what I learned, not just from "Eclipse," but the whole series.

1. Bella Swan is a complete idiot.
Some examples: Typically, I like to think that age isn't an issue. Sometimes, however, it does come into play. Dating someone 8 years older than you while in middle school? Big Deal. Dating someone 8 years older than you in college, or after college? Not so much. Girl being older by 2 years? No biggie. Guy being older by 90 years? HUGE DEAL. Come on Bella. That's beyond cool. We call that "illegal" where I come from.
Why would you get on a motorcycle after dark with some scuzzy guy you don't know? Even if it made you feel like you departed love was with you. Couldn't you just relive the memories? Stupid move, Swan. Stupid move.
Picking an ice cold, sparkly dead guy over a tanned, beautiful smile, warm, toned previous Shark Boy? Did that really happen?

There are a number of other events that leave me scratching my head throughout the books and movies. I often refer to the series as "girl porn" with my girls in class. Not only is it entirely driven by hormones (there were more hormones in that theater than a Tyson chicken plant), but it leaves girls with a complete misconception of what a guy should be like.

Should a guy be a gentleman and protect his girl? Yes. But does that mean he should climb into her room at night and watch her sleep? H-to-the-No.

The Twilight Saga captures teen angst perfectly. Every girl longs for an Edward, just like in years past they've longed for Romeo. The thing to remember is Edward is not real. And neither is Jacob. And to expect real men (or, teen guys) to act like such is a false reality.

There's nothing wrong with getting swept up in a good story, and nothing captures female's attention more than a story of a star-crossed romance succeeding. But, we have to remember, that in reality, guys don't sparkle. In reality, guys that sneak into our rooms to watch us sleep are creepy. In reality, 17 year olds don't date guys over the age of 100. In reality, guys don't look like Jacob Black.

Except Taylor Lautner. He kinda looks like him.