Gotta get me one

Have you ever checked out one of these fashion blogs? Don't laugh. There are dumber things to look at on the web...trust me. You play Facebook games, I fashion hop. Who knew the things that you could do with a scarf? Wow. I have learned some mighty fine tips, I'll have you know. No sirrie, my stellar fashion sense is not a natural instinct. (Remember by passion for "What Not To Wear"?)

I am thinking that I need to start me one of them. Okay, stop laughing now.

Seriously.

The free stuff that gets thrown their way is ridiculous. Ridiculous I say. Who wouldn't give a review of a Shade leisure suit if they sent you one complimentary? I am wondering though, you probably have to be a credible fashion critic...don't you think? But I wonder further, what qualifies someone as that? Outside of attending an institution of higher education for such a degree.

I wear clothes. That must be a prerequisite. I am a mom on the go. That would have to be helpful in some lines of critiquing. I am all about fit that flatters. Because everyone, size 2 or 20, who has bore a child knows that skin stretches to unfathomable limits and never quite returns to normal upon delivery. So if the Gap sells a pair of cords that can somehow hid the down-sides of delivering five children in eight years...I am all over that. I think that I could well represent 'every man'. Well, actually, every woman.

Yeah, I need to get me a fashion blog. Any clever ideas for a name?

The celebration in pictures

Olivia's 8th Birthday Celebrations!

It started with her girl classmates and sister celebrating after school on Friday.
A little game of "Accessorize the Princess",
Musical Chairs, and some word searches, crosswords, & connect the dots.

Here are the silly girls. Such great friends.



On Sunday, her actual birthday, we celebrated with great-grandparents,
grandparents, great aunts and uncles, aunts and uncles, and cousins. It had
been such a long time, due to the weather, that we had seen everyone
and the day was truly special.

Serious game playing.

Elizabeth with her two great grannies. She is so super duper blessed.

Great granny Helen is 96 years young. We love her so much.

Elli didn't know what to think of the commotion.
But she was all over the wrapping paper.

The girl cousins tickle Panda.

Erin, Olivia, Kate & Ky

Me and my birthday girl.

I love her so much.

Shhhh....I think Heidi is trying say something!

I remember a certain blogger having a very meaningful discussion with her son about quiet thinking during Lent....leading him to wonder if it meant "no talking" for forty days. To which I made a comment such as this:

"hmmmmmm, now that might be impossible.

can you even imagine? argh, i'd die a thousand deaths. and i clearly mean if i couldn't talk for 40 days!"

Well now. I am hoping that God did not wish to test that theory. I really am. Because as the day came to a close last night I could hear the sounds of my voice changing. As we gathered around the kids' bed to pray our family rosary, the kids commented on how 'funny' my voice sounded. Knowing that by praying the rosary I was possibly stressing it even further, I had hope that there would perhaps be healing power in my words. But by my own bed time my voice was sounding squeak-ish and weak at best. I awoke this morning unable to utter a sound above a whisper.

Imagine if you can, trying to direct traffic at 7:30 AM between five children, three of which are needing much attention as they ready for school. Imagine further how quickly one must move to get their hands on the shoulder of the big brother tormenting the little sister, because a quick shout out is out of the question. Or if at all possible, think of how difficult it was to whisper my way through the longest story book that Andrew could find because I could not turn down my four-year old's request to sit on my lap and read.

So Just Mom, I will keep you and your son posted on this silent thing. And hopefully, unlike Zechariah, God does not have a nine month time frame for me!

Happy 8th Birthday Olivia!

Olivia Mary is one of a kind.

The second child in a family of five. A big sister and a little sister. The quiet one. The stubborn one. A corny joke maker. Biggest smile. Collector of oddities. An adventurous spirit. Special. Genuinely considerate. Creative. Obstinate. Content to sit. Compassionate. Beautifully deep brown eyes. Finding peace in quietness. Unique. Rocker to good music. Eccentric. Tough on herself. Does not want to exert too much energy. Willing to be the cheerleader for her siblings. Playful.

One of a kind.

Happy Birthday my sweet Olivia Mary.

It is still not too late....

...to send me a Christmas card.

Because this:

plus this:

equals this.

Yes, just another added bonus to sending the Comes family a Christmas card. While we pray our family prayers each night during Lent we will be taking one card from the box and offering prayers specifically for the needs of that family as well as offering prayers of thanksgiving for the gift of them in our lives.

Blessed Ash Wednesday.

Back in the day

Isn't it a shame that we spend so much of our young years in marriage being annoyed with our spouse?

.....crickets chriping.

Okay, so I used "we" in hopes that there is someone out there who can identify with me. I refuse to admit that I may have been the only wife who found many aspects of her husband's personality annoying at some early point of their marriage. And if I am, then someone is lying.

I remember long, very silent car rides. Where the miles would just D-R-A-G on and on because I was using the very immature fighting tactic called 'the silent treatment'. Which ladies, by the way, is actually a state of bliss for many men. They have no idea why we consider silence a punishment. What a waste of a perfectly captive audience! Just think of all of the silly, mindless blog fodder I could have used on him, instead of boring you all with it years later. We have already established in previous posts that I am full of mindless blog fodder.

Seriously though, I do look back and long for a few of those moments back. Back before we had such important things to get upset about. Back when blowing extra cash only meant that we would be reigning in our freedoms for a week or two, instead of sending sack lunches to school with the kids for a month. What did I really have to get so annoyed with? Especially when one short trip to the doctor's office with kids can supply enough annoyance to last a life time.

I guess it just speaks to my amazing maturity in the area of tolerance. My patience and accepting nature must be growing. I mean, let's face it, it simply is not possible that my husband has become LESS annoying.

Handy Andy

Andrew received a really special tool kit from Grandpa and Grandma for Christmas this year. He was super excited when he discovered that his tools were the 'real thing' and not just some 'silly toys'. His tool box included a complete screw driver set, a soft mallet, a hammer, a pliers, a tape measure, and a flashlight.

Mom was not so excited at the prospect of her furniture being 'remodeled' with the new tools. And the sound of a hammer banging brought a sense of dread to my stomach. But Andrew is a very responsible and wise carpenter. He knows that he can only fix that which is broken, and uses his tools for the good of the family, not the destruction.

I have come to appreciate this gift as well. It is very handy indeed to sneak a tool from Andrew's box for little household fix-its.

Recently he was eating breakfast and spotted his screwdriver on the counter. "Hey, what's my handiest tool doing out here?"

"Oh, Mom had to use it. Thanks Andy!" I replied innocently enough.

He jumped up, snatched it off of the counter and held them high in the air and said very matter-of-factly, "Then handy Mom should put them away when she is done!"

Ladies, let's hope he still has this discipline as a grown man. Right Grandma?

Feeling Elli's pain

Elizabeth is hanging in there. She is a trooper with a strong spirit. We are praying for a speedy recovery! Please say a prayer for her too.

Live and learn

So our skiing weekend did not quite go as planned.

Something in my gut, maternal instincts, told me that it was not the right time to leave Elli. I supressed it. Instead, trying to convince myself that it was necessary to get away. I had remained close by for nine months. She could, and better still, should be able to be away from mom. Somewhere I allowed the little influences of others to convince myself that I was doing her and me a disservice by remaining hostage to her needs. What a load of crap that is.

I am her mom. She needs me. Period.

My ever wise husband sensed it as well. He voiced it time and again that we could take her. We could make it work. But I insisted that it was ridiculous to attempt a skiing getaway together when one of us would be on Elli patrol 1/2 the time. We needed a better plan all the way around. Bring the kids and the sitters, perhaps.

So we live and learn. We drove 14 hours for six hours of skiing. With a hasty return in the dark of night, driving in conditions not all that pleasant.

Elizabeth enjoyed immensely her waking hours with Gramps and Gram. She found grandpa's silly antics quite amusing and grandma's soft lap rather comforting. But not enough to want to go to sleep for the night with no mama in sight. What we did not know, however, was that the medicine we were giving her to fight a nasty ear infection, was making her sicker yet. She smiled through the aches and pains and tried her darndest to be cheerful.

Today, home for several days, I rushed her to the clinic because she was having a severe allergic reaction to her medicine.

Live and learn. And listen to your heart.

Andrewism

Andrew feels the need to announce most of what he is about to do. For example: "I'm going into my room to play Legos now."

It is usually done in a very sing-songy voice and always super-duper sweet. I certainly appreciate it, I know what he is up to all the time. I think that because we spend so much time together he wants to be sure that I do not panic if he disappears from sight unannounced.

So it is very common for me to hear through out the day something along the lines of, "I'm going to go potty now! Number one."

You know, just so that I am clear that he will not be needing any assistance from me at any point in his trip to the potty.

However, recently after an announcement like the one above, the little man didn't appear again after the allotted amount of time for a #1 break. And I heard this: "HELLLLLLLOOOO, the other number one!"

Clearly someone needs to explain this whole number thing to him.

Full steam ahead

I do not usually tend to realize that I am weary until I am headed big time into the wall. By 'the wall' I am referring to that super ugly place where mama resembles something from a science fiction meets horror movie kinda gal.

One would think that having lived in this skin for a little over 32 years now, that I would be a little bit better at reading the road signs and map markers that are pointing in the direction of a major meltdown. But, not so much. And while these meltdowns come far less frequently than they once did, and perhaps with a tad bit more self-control and a smidge more humility than those of the teens and 20's....there is still a lot of drama that could stand to be checked.

I guess it is just proof that no matter how many days I manage to muddle my way through, and no matter how many books on the fruits of the spirit, and no matter how many sermons on reliance on Jesus....I am flawed. I am human.

And occasionally I am a train wreck. I just pray that the train is running smoothly more and more with each passing year and the steam is coming out at the proper times and the track is clear and the passengers are safe and the wreckage is fixable. And Jesus is the engineer.

Fighting Goliath with a "Hey dude!"

We like to make use of our fabulous community center every chance that we can. Some love to swim, others play racquetball, perhaps a brisk walk around the track, and some a pickup game of football in the big gym. While the experience was once one of togetherness, with age and maturity, Nicholas has been able to venture out and enjoy some other activities while we take the younger ones swimming, from time to time.

Football is his game of choice. He never heads to the gym with only his basketball shoes. There is always a football tucked solidly under his arm. "Just in case there are some boys there that wanna play, mom." Is his canned response every time that I ask why.

I am always a bit anxious about him 'picking up' some other boys to play. Besides the various age, skill, size and maturity levels, we don't know the boys or their families, usually. But nothing stands between a boy and his love of sports.

Recently after an evening spent at the CC I visited with Nic afterwards about what he did there.

ME: "Did you have fun?"

NIC: "Oh yeah mom, Jerett and I played football before basketball practice with some other boys."

ME: "Did you know them?"

NIC:"No, they've been there before and I've played with them but they are sixth graders."

Me: "Sixth graders...were they good boys?"

NIC: "A couple of them were swearing alot." His honesty impressed me.

ME: "What do you do?"

NIC: "I told them to knock it off or we were done." He very matter-of-factly stated.

ME: "What did they say?"

NIC: "One of them said to his buddy, 'Dude you just got owned!' and I said, 'I wouldn't talk, you've been doing it too'."

ME: "Nicholas are you serious? How do you tell them to stop?"

NIC: Looking at me as though it is the simplest thing in the world, "It's my ball mom, and they really want to play. I just tell them, 'Dude stop the swearing or you're out of here,' and they stop."

I guess the need to sweat trumps the need to swear. Gotta love boys. I am so proud of that kid.