Price you Pay

Well, hey there.

I've had so many wonderful reasons to be missing. For one, I've been potty training Jake.
Let's be real. That's not a reason, but it's a good segway. 

He's been amazing. Me? Not so much. Chamblee was easy, because when we were in public, I only had to take her in. Now, while Jake is in the throws of it all, I have to stuff three children into a nasty TJMaxx bathroom stall.

It's a rough life.

Yesterday we were all in baby Gap, looking for a very specific pajama. The only pajama Josephine will sleep through the night in, in fact. Jake said he needed to go to the bathroom. I can't. 

"Hey bud, just this once go in your pull up, alright? We are almost done here."
"Ok mom!"
So excited about it. 

Then, there were screams.
"MOM! IT HURTS! OWWWW!!! MOMMMMM!!! IT HURTS!!!"

I'm sorry, what? I whip around and he's wetting his pants.

*A critical breakdown of communication that morning. K put him in big boy underoos, I assumed he was in a pull up. Seriously important information to be shared. Right? 

I don't scoop him up immediately, because, well that would make a trail.
Instead, I comfort him through it and tell him it's my fault and I'm so sorry and we'll get him all cleaned up and -- etc.

He doesn't hear any of it. Because he's still yelling at me.
"IT HURTS MOM! OWWWW!!! MOMMY OWWY! IT HURTS!"

Ok, listen here Inigo Montoya. I do not think it means what you think it means. I think what you mean is, "Gross! Disgusting! Mom! How could you?!" 

But he is grabbing and staring, screaming painful screams and using a pain-filled vocabulary.

I'm wondering if you can picture this in your head. 

My sweetest boy has clearly had an accident and is yelling about how much pain he is in.
I'm cruising through the sale rack.
No, I'm not insane. I'm trying to find and buy this little guy a clean pair of pants.
Because: Not only am I the mother of the year for telling my son to publicly wet his pants- but I also didn't think a diaper bag necessary for an afternoon at the mall with my children. #winningallday

Wouldn't you know that baby Gap has no pants in his size on sale. Not one pair. 
So I'm getting a little stressed now.
People are staring.
Two sweet women walked over to me, as I'm mopping up the floor with a cloth that was left in my ergo, and asked if he was alright.
Why is there a cloth left in the pocket of my ergo? I do not know. But I do know that in the midst of chaos, I reached into the front pocket and found it and I am so glad that at one time I was too lazy to put it where it should've been, and so now I can use it to clean up urine in a baby Gap. 

At the same time I realized that I was going to be paying $35 for my mistake in the form of a red pair of skinny jeans for Jacob, the sales associate walks over and, of course, asks if he is alright. I explain what happened, and in the calmest voice possible ask if she could PLEASE find me the cheapest pair of 2T pants in the store.

She grabs a $15 pair of sweatpants and I swipe.

We duck out of there. On the way out he's so proud of his new pants, he can't even remember the horor.
"I love my new pants, mama. You da best." Big grin.
Oh sweet, sweet boy. I am, in fact, the worst. And I love you for not knowing it yet. 
And then, as we walk by the sales associate, "You told me to go potty in my pants. Silly mommy!"

Oh, mercy.

Until Next Time,
The Guff

Scattered and Smothered

Thursday morning Josephine slept in, so I thought I'd take advantage of the shifted naptime and let her play in a play group at Chamblee's school while I took my wild man on a breakfast date. Just the 2 of us.

I took him for his first smothered and covered at Waffle House. 

We were loving it. Watching KSU buses and Mighty Machines go by the window, (always construction over there now) telling him about how mommy and daddy went to school across the street. Watching him. Just watching his little eyelashes bat over and over again makes my day.  

And then it happened. 

This older woman sitting behind us started the conversation. 

I get it, we were probably asking for it. Snuggling over in the booth and giggling and being all loud. 

Having fun. 

"Is he your one and only?" 

-everyone's smiling-

"He's not! He's one of three. Right in between two girls." 

-i'm smiling, she's not-

"Oh. You will be so glad when they are grown and gone." 

-wait, what?- 

"Actually, I am so glad right. now." 

"Right. But they are so much fun when they are older." 

-here we go-

"Interesting, I think they are so much fun right. now. Every day." 

Crickets. A sarcastic smile stare off. Head tilt.

"Well you don't look old enough to have three kids." 

...and I guess she wins? I don't know. 

Ok, Ok. 

In hindsight:: I probably should have handled this way differently. 

So many things I want to go back and say to this woman. 

But mostly, I want to send her to her room without supper for talking that way in front of my son. 

"You'll be so glad when they are grown and gone"

I do not understand.  

I don't understand why you would say that to me, because the Lord and my husband know that it is not true. I want them to live with me forever and ever amen. 

That aside, does she think it is encouraging and uplifting for him to hear that about himself? 

"Your mom will be so happy when you (and your sisters) are gone."
Why do people think that it is ok to say these kinds of things? 

It's just untrue. And it's mean. And it's potentially damaging. Also, It's. RUDE. 

I might be overreacting, but I'm not. 

I don't think that I am the only mom who gets these horrible, rude comments. 

I write about them often, because honestly, they happen to me. A lot. 

And that is so. weird. But alright. Whatever.

And, more often than not, it's a quantity comment. 

About how I have so many kids. And my hands are so full. And are they all mine? 

See also: Elevator to Chamblee's ballet class this week. All the comments. Trapped. #LetMeOut

But a quality comment? Never.
I cannot wrap my head around this woman's words.
What a sad lady. Her poor children. 

I know I'm not the only mom who gets this garbage, and I don't think it's because I have 3. awesome. little. lovelies. on the bottom, middle and top of the buggy.
3 kids is really not a lot of kids. 

It's probably just because I have more than one. 

And it's probably because I look pretty happy about it. 

Because I am. 

Weeeee!

Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift?

    the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?

Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows

    are the children of a vigorous youth.

Oh, how blessed are you parents,

    with your quivers full of children!

Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you;

    you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.

Psalm 127 3-5

There's some truth that I'm gonna say in front of my baby boy. 

Until Next Time, 

The Guff

Ain't Goin Down

We went to see Garth Brooks last night. 

I really wouldn't wanna go with anyone else, and it was the best time! 

I surprised K with tickets for his birthday, but we kept it a secret that his brother and sis in law were coming with us. 

They showed up at the door yesterday afternoon and it. was. awesome.

The four of us saw him together 4 years ago in Nashville, when Cham was just a little over 4 months old!

I should probably go ahead and tell you what happened. 
Because I'm sure there's a YouTube video of it out there, and I want to be the one to tell you.

Before the show, I went down a level to give a realquick hello to some beautiful friends of mine.
On the way back up, I heard the show starting, so I was trying to get back up top as quickly as possible. As efficiently as possible. Fast as I could. In a flash.

I couldn't find an up escalator. I just couldn't.
I didn't see stairs or an elevator.
There was only the down escalator.

How hard could it be?

I went for it. I ran up the escalator. The down one.
And I just kept running.
There was no progress once the initial burst of energy gave out.
The escalators at Phillips are twice as long as normal ones, in case you wanted to give this a try next time you're there. Don't.

I was running.
In place. 
With absolutely all of my might.

Then it happened. My legs gave out.
All the way. Noodles.

It never crossed my mind, not even once, that I could stop.
Ride down, find the up one. Miss the song.

Pride. Y'all, this. is what pride does to a woman.

So, I'm losing the battle.
And this sweet man sees me struggling.
He gets to the top of the escalator, reaches his hand out to me, and it glows like gold.
I gather the last of the fumes I'm (literally) running on and I reach for him, grab his hand and then. y'all. 
I fell. Sort of. 
I mean, he yanks me, hard, and I fall about three steps short of the top.
So he just dragged me the rest of the way.
How chivalrous. 

I've got escalator marks down my feet.
I think they are actually going to scar.
My knee is swollen.
My foot is blue.
Like the color.

But hey. I made it to the top.
And promptly had a panic attack.


Until Next Time,
The Guff

Pushing Buttons

I don't know how long I stood there, cursing the keys.

You know. At the wrong van.

It truly wasn't until I saw the mirror in front of the baby seat in this van and thought, "huh. that is not. my baby mirror."

Keep moving, Jacob. That is not our van.

I mean, how many black Honda Odysseys can there be in the Kohl's parking lot?
Well, three, actually. 
See also: someone subpoena the surveillance videos. I was losing. my mind.

You know when we finally found the right van, the doors were open. 

Did you think they would be closed? You're obnoxious. 

On top of not knowing the difference in my van and two others,
I don't know what kind of dirty dishes we are eating off of in my house.
I'm not asking. Just eating.

The dishwasher was full, I ran it. I unloaded it.

It wasn't until after the fact that I noticed that Jacob had pressed the 'rinse only' button.
The dishwasher is justtherightsize for button pushing.
Oops.

It's fall break around here. Initially I planned to head up to Princeton to visit my sister.
You know, a short drive in the car now that she's on the east coast.
But then, I realized that she had started a new blog and didn't tell me about it.
So, I booked our week with dentist appointments and dance class and playdates, so I could avoid her. Just keepin' it real. 

I had to find out she got a new blog address from our grandmother.
our. grandmother.
love you, mim. thanks for the head's up. 
this life.
therefore, I didn't go to princeton.

tomorrow we go to garth brooks.
I CAN'T WAIT to tell you all about it.

until next time,
the guff

Butterfingers

I can't even.

Today. Publix.

I always have Jake in a buggy because it's easier. for me. Today I thought I would give him a special treat and let him walk alongside me and Babyphine.
((Babyphine: What Jake calls sweet Baby Josephine))

I saw people staring at the checkout. I was honestly clueless.

I didn't think anything about the staring. I'm used to it.
Only, it's usually when I have all three. 

No, no, no. They weren't staring because I have a lot of children. This time.
They were staring because they had been watching something go down behind my back as I unloaded the milk and eggs on the belt.

I snapped around once and my jaw dropped. He was equally shocked to be caught so. red. handed.

Have you ever had to buy six candy bars at the checkout because your son took a bite right out of the wrapper?

If I had to pick one time to have a picture of his shenanigans, this would. be. it.
He stood, very still, with a fully wrapped almond joy in his mouth. Biting down. Hard.

I pulled it out of his mouth and scanned the wall of candy bars and noticed a few other butterfingers and cookies with bite marks. Some had ripped the paper, some just teeth marks. There was no hesitation.

I picked all of the ones that were undeniably chewed up and threw them on the belt.
I'm not gonna lie. When I tossed the butterfingers on there, crumbs spilled out.

I paid for them.
And hurried my self right on out of there.

If I can't have a picture of these candy bar shenanigans, I'll settle for a little "mom, i snuck in your make up drawer and put on your mascara" shenanigans.
Enjoy.

His curls. They're back. 

Thank the Lord Almighty, Hallelujah, Forever and Ever, Amen. 

Until Next Time, 

The Guff 

Brave

Have you ever had a slumber party with a four year old?
It is really something special.

It's kind of like a bachelorette party + a breakup party + a sweet dream:: you stay up late, eating lots of food, watching a movie and giggling until your gut hurts. You get to paint tiny nails, and, by request, have your toes be "twinsies" with blue sparkles. You get no sleep, because someone is kicking you. You get to snuggle with your nose up against the back of baby hair that smells like, well, a baby.
And then, you get to thank the Lord above for this life. This slumber party. This baby girl.
All. Night. Long.

Chamblee has been asking me to have a slumber party with her.
I've kind of been putting it off.
So, I like sleeping in the bed with my husband, sue me.

Last week I noticed that the movie Brave was going to be playing on TV, and I set it up to record.
And then Chamblee says, "Mom. We gotta plan that slumber party, remember?"
Yes, I remember.

So we planned it for Friday night.
We went to Target and bought popcorn and candy.
K blew up the air mattress.

We played games and painted nails and ate sugar, sugar, sugar.
We laughed and laughed.
I back scratched and hair played.
We talked about how much fun it would be when little baby Josephine could join us.
We watched Brave. I answered every question about every scene.
We snuggled and slept.

Had to wear her Brave t-shirt

Before you know it, girl. It'll be Three's Company on these girls' nights! 

can't. wait. 

Blue with sparkles? Never would have guessed.

 There is an enormous spot in this girl's heart for sour worms. Huge.

"Mom. Is it ok if I rest now? I'm getting so sleepy."

-9:40pm

If you haven't had a sleepover with a four year old, and you are a mom, grandmother or aunt of one- I recommend it. Otherwise, no. It'd be weird.


Until Next Time,
The Guff

Wild Man

You guys, I absolutely panicked.

Sometimes, I'll straighten Chamblee's hair the night before school. Just for fun. She likes to play with my makeup brushes and I'll sit her up on the counter and straighten her hair.

She likes how it makes her hair warm and cozy. I like the quiet chit chat.

Tonight, Jacob and Josephine were in the bathroom with us. I looked over at Jacob's wild man curls and thought, "Huh. I should straighten that and see how long his hair really is." So, with K at the store and a hot iron in my hands, I did it.

And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me. As soon as I heard the camera click.

WHAT IF I JUST FRIED HIS BABY HAIR AND IT WILL NEVER CURL AGAIN?

Kraig will never forgive me. 

I snatched him up and laid him across the counter and soaked his head under the sink. 

He hollered. 

When I sat him back up, his hair was sticking straight out. Straight. 

So, I ran and got shampoo. Hurled him back under the faucet. 

Lather, lather, lather. 

Prayer, prayer, prayer. 

I can feel the tears start to sting in the corners of my eyes. 

I whiplashed him with a towel dry, and there they were. 

Wild man curls. They're back. 

And I'll never risk it again. 

But I got a picture. Yes. 

Until Next Time, 

The Guff

It's a Waz

I do not make this stuff up. 

I went outside to check the mail yesterday and it was the worst. Here's why.
You know when some kind of insect just buzzes by your face and you hear a loud BUZZ and then you FREAKOUTONETIME? You know when that happens? Ok. It happened to me as I was walking back into the front door. So I went completely. utterly. full fledge Banana Bucket Crazy.
Screaming. Shaking. Swatting.

I slammed my head into the door frame. Hard.
Like, seeing stars and tasting blood, hard.

I stumbled inside, closed the door and leaned against it.
I'm pretty sure I just gave myself a concussion.
I can already feel the knot on my forehead.
The headache.

I'm bending over because I'm thinking these could be my last moments.
My hair is all kindsa in need of a cut, but for now, it's eleven feet long. So I'm bending over, thinking this is the end, and also looking at my split ends, while I'm at it. What a way to go out. 

It's right. then. that I see it.
Dude. It's a wasp.
And it's stuck in my hair.

Screaming. Shaking. Swatting.

I manage to knock it out of my hair and onto the ground and stomp until It's seventeen thousand pieces on my hardwoods and my children are all crying because they are scared. Of me.

And all I want to know is, why? how?
I do not understand. But the thing is dead and I am not.
And, really, isn't that what counts? 

Until Next Time,
The Guff

Triple Treasure

Sometimes Josephine Willow lets me kiss her to sleep. 

I'm. Just. Sayin'. 

I don't know if you have ever just kissed a sweet baby right slap down to sleep, but it's the bee's knees.

Also:: Can someone kiss me to sleep? 

If that wasn't enough, tonight, she let me sing her to sleep. Well, us. She let us sing her to sleep. 

I thought Cham was already asleep. When I took the bird into their room to lay her down, she got a little cry in her throat. So I started humming 'Let It Go'. Her favorite, always calms her down, tune. All of the sudden, I hear a little rabbit start quietly singing alongside my hum. Word for word. From the beginning. And those are the moments. When Josephine calmed down, Chamblee stopped singing and rolled right over to go to sleep. You can't teach that kind of sweet, soft spirit. Can you?

 Triple Treasure.

They keep telling me that they are growing up. They think it's funny. I think it's fast. 

Not too soon, now... and not too fast. 

Until Next Time, 

The Guff

No. No. No. No. No.

Well, it lasted three days. The not-wearing-glasses thing.
The second I started to get a migraine I put those suckers rightbackon.

The migraine could have been coming from the events surrounding me- but who knows.
I'm a glasses-wearer again. There are pros, I suppose to being able to see. One of which is not staring people down in public because I think I am wearing shades and they can't see me.
Geez. Get it together, Guff.

Chamblee turned FOUR last week. We celebrated big time. Man, we sure love that girl.

Did you get the princess vibe through your screen? Uhhh-bsessed. 
She starts Pre-K tomorrow. I'm welcoming the routine back into our lives.

This week is shark week. Which is big in this house. Chamblee's class mascot this year is a shark. Thasright. And Jacob, well. He has a special bond with sharks. No, for real. He has a shark in his brain. ::Don't Worry Guys:: He tells me that this shark is his friend, and he has teeth and he swims around in the water in his brain. He doesn't eat his brain. He is his friend. My sweet boy. We are going to be recording and watching all things shark documentaries this week. Learning about Jake's little friend. Man, we sure love that boy.

I'm pretty sure that Josephine will be walking soon. ::emoticon for WHAAAAAAAT?!:: Each of my kiddos has been very different and has taught me a variety of different and wonderful things and she is no exception. She will be ten months old this week and is just cruising along. Man, we sure love that little bird.
Sidenote- She said "Nona" last night before she said "Mama". I'll get over it before she goes to college. Maybe.

Can we talk about the rain in Atlanta? I can't even. I cannot handle any more of this monsoon monstrosity. It is providing some very, very adequate puddles for my little puddle hunters... but yeah, no. I could stand a day without bathing the dogs down every time I let them out. #hateit.
If this keeps up I am going to buy one of these things::

Don't hate. This is a brilliant idea. Genius. 

Everyone's asleep on this rainy, recovering Saturday. That means one thing for this mama. 

Laundry: No.

Dishes: No. 

Nap: No. 

Reading: No. 

Cleaning: No.

Homemade Vanilla ice cream with juicy ripe peaches and a Medium marathon? 

Duh. 

Until Next Time, 

The Guff

::Speaking of peaches. I just really love this::

Eleven Minutes

I'm in trouble.

I started wearing my glasses.

Then, after a few days, I realized that :ahem: I could actually see. A lot better.

So I kept on wearing them. And now I'm tired of it. What am I going to do? I don't care about how it looks. I've long given up on outward appearance. Although, not altogether. Yet. 
But they are annoying. I have to keep cleaning them. The kids grab them off. I have to push them up like a little twerp. I can't bend over without them sliding down. I have to take them off when I want to lay down and rest. I haven't ordered prescription sunglasses yet, so I can't wear shades. The list goes on. Are you with me? They are a pain. 

Today I am ripping the band-aid. I'm not wearing them. 
My eyes already hurt. It's been eleven minutes. 

I will probably end the day with a migraine, wearing my glasses laying in bed. Weeping.
I thought about contacts, but that seems like so much work, too. The taking in and the taking out and the solution and what if one pops out? I already know I'm the girl crawling around the aisle at Publix looking for my contact while my kids open the vanilla wafer box in the buggy and help themselves. A freak show. And did you read the article about the woman leaving her contacts in forever and some kind of bug taking up residence in there? Yes. The bug ate her eyeballs, y'all. (Read about it HERE) Also, I can barely put on mascara. I doubt I can put a lens right there on my eye bulb.

Do you see what just happened. I said eye bulb. What's worse is I said it out loud twice and still decided that it was the right word. No, Natalie. It's eyeball. 
I'm almost thirty. For the love of vocabulary. 

Until Next Time,
The Guff

Long Live Summer

Yeesh. Where did the summer go?

I feel like we have made the most of it- finding all of the elementary schools around and borrowing their playgrounds every week. That has been so much fun- finding a new playground to watch them conquer. It's fun until you've been to all of them in a 10 mile radius and you've set the expectation of a brand new playground every few days. School is starting back just in time:: I think I have run out of new playgrounds. But do you know how many playgrounds there are around here? dozens. 

Chamblee starts Pre-K in two weeks. Fourteen days! 

She turns FOUR in eleven days. ELEVEN! I'm not sure how these years have flown by, but I honestly cannot remember not being a mama. I tell her all the time that she is the one who made me a mommy. She rolls her eyes and says "I knowwwww!" It begins. I just want to put out there that she will be in Kindergarten next year. Like, a real school. And that, my readers, makes me nauseous. 

Jake is potty training. There's not much more to say about that. He peed right between my eyes yesterday. Four eyes here had a moment of panic. But hey. Urine is sterile. And he's so darn cute in his little boxer briefs. You guys. They make real boxer briefs for 2 year olds. I can't even. We decided to leave him out of pre-school next year and give him a little more one-on-one time with me. He's so sensitive and wild. I want a little more time with him before I send him out. I'm stingy. He's my favorite boy.

Oh, Josephine. Why and how do you smile so much? I know, I know. I know. I'm biased and partial and all that. But I haven't ever been around a happier baby. The girl doesn't cry. She does laugh for days. She's got some big ol' teeth and they only make her cuter. She's a pistol. She can get it now that she's crawling and pulling up. She could win an award for her clapping skills. She's a garbage disposal. Eats it all. It's making the nights easier, but she's still a mama's girl. Can't go long without me. I do love that. 

So, one more full week of summer days. Walking in the wagon and turning on the sprinkler.
finding the last gems of playgrounds. Swinging high as the moon. Playing tag in the grass. Staying in jammies all day. Catching fireflies. Waving down the ice cream truck.

Who am I kidding. We've only seen the ice cream truck once this summer. And late afternoons are still wide open for the rest. Long Live Summer!

Until Next Time,
The Guff

I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't know what I'm doing.

My days are, as I have said before, always the same and never the same.

I wake up and it's like Groundhog Day. Nursing, feeding, diaper changing, cartoon selecting, dressing and wiping down of all the sticky. all. the. sticky. all of it. 

Jake never fails. As soon as the last bite of breakfast is swallowed, he's asking me to get down his cars.
Chamblee is my slow eater. So we have some girl time together at the table. And, as her last chug of milk is gone, her little pencil thin white mustache is asking me what kind of art she can do today. "Get out my crayons, please! No, markers! No, glue and glitter!" So out they all come.
I don't bother with newspapering the table first anymore.
My little Craigslist kitchen table is stained with paint, stickers, glitter and hardened food that I managed not to clean up in time.
I'm convinced that it has never seen better days. 

It's our routine, our safe place. I clean up and wipe more sticky and get a load of laundry going or nurse my teething baby for the next hour or two. I might get two sips of tea in before I have to microwave it again. I digress. 

I parent day by day. moment by moment.
None of my children are alike. They all need something different at every different click of the clock. I don't have a plan. I don't have a guideline. And I don't know what I'm doing.

Here's what I know. I know that what I am doing is my best. And like the days of my children, my days are all different. Some of my days are easy. I feel like I have this ship under control. Hey, I'm really doing a great job! Some of my days are embarrassing, and the way that I manage my home is bewildering. Oh, the horror if anyone knew I just snapped at my kids that way. I am unfit. 

Then, when there is quiet, I've recently been hearing an almost audible voice.
"What are you doing?" 
And, for a while, I thought this voice was me.
Harping on my failures as a mom. a wife. a friend.

But hey. It's not.
That voice is the Holy Spirit. Asking me. Point blank. Straight to the heart. Just my style.
Or maybe my guardian angel. I don't know much about those. 
Or maybe it's Jesus, himself. 

Anyway. It's been asking.
And for a while I thought it was asking about my parenting.
Because being a mom is my life. And what else would it be asking about?
And here's the answer I'd been giving:
"I'm raising my kids. I'm loving them. I'm guiding them. I'm showing them how to love others. I'm teaching them about Jesus. I'm praying with them. Playing with them. I'm being present. I'm doing the best that I can."

Next, I'd tell myself that that is enough.
And also, I'd tell my mom friends this.
I have been thinking that this is great advice.
"What you are doing is enough!" 
And it might be. But it might not.

As it turns out, this voice wasn't asking me, "What are you doing, you idiot mother?"
But instead, "What are you doing.....for the Kingdom?"
And then, I had no answer.

I mean, does He really expect to give me all of these beautiful children and still have quiet time? 
Yeah, right. He knows. I'll come around in a few years. 

Oh my word I cringe to even write that.

But it's true. I have been justifying my lack of discipleship with my children. Wait, what?
That is kind of backwards sinful, huh?

And sure, I'm discipling my children.
I'm serving them.
I'm loving them.
But I know He has called me to do more.
And ignoring that and not cultivating that is wrong.
It's a cop out. And it's real that I've been ducking out.

I don't know what I'm doing for the Kingdom.
But I know it's not been my best.

I'm working on that.

Until Next Time,
The Guff

Happy in the Sun

Jake just punched me in the face. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a black eye. I'm very sure that I cried like a three year old. His fist. It's the exact size of my eye, and he is a strong, strong little guy.

I got sucker punched.

I feel sucker punched.

This past month has been an adventure.

We've been to 3 states. We family beach tripped for the first time, we hung with the grandparents a lot, we celebrated 5 years of marriage!, we welcomed our newest, tiniest little nephew.

We're traveling and we're growing. I can feel the change. It's almost tangible.

Life is good. Life is fast. Too fast. It's too. fast. My babies aren't babies anymore. There's less snuggling and more talking. Words. Real ones. Opinions and attitudes. Ideas and imaginations. Personalities and preferences.

I can't even punish Jacob with a straight face. Do you have one of those? You know, the kid that's so cute and smiles through the discipline? I can't sit him in time out without holding back fits of hysterical laughter. I mean, I can't. The curls. The grin. Dead, he kills me. 
Chamblee is on the road to college, as she has something smarter than me to say back to all of my requests and ideas. Why? Why is she so smart that I don't have a come back? It's humbling. She's also the karaoke queen. The best. We duet. 
Josephine is about { } this close to crawling. Man. She gets so frustrated. But then she giggles because it's kind of all she does. Giggle. And that's awesome. And she's beautiful, and she looks just like her daddy, who she adores. And that's just the best. Two daddy's girls? Dead.

Take a look at our month!

Seagrove Beach

Seagrove Beach

Date Night with my guy

Our Spot

They held onto each other in the pool

Happy in the Sun

My tinies

5 Years!

Love this guy

4 Generations

Fishin' Buddies

Lots of Love Here ;) 

Taking Care

4 Generations

Lake Loretta

Walkin'

Riverbend

Musical Baby

Grant! He's Here! 

Beautiful New Cousin

Friends with pools makes for an awesome Summer

Playgrounds. All Day. Every Day. 

We are loving summer. 

We are loving sunshine. 

We are loving each other. 

Until Next Time, 

The Guff