New address!!!

I don’t have time to go through the redirect steps, but themommyscribe has moved. You can find us over at themommyscribe.com. I have my own domain. YAY!

We’re in the thick of lightning our load for the big move from South Carolina to Florida. My baby is with a sitter (and didn’t seem to have trouble being left for the first time!) My cat had surgery, my husband is working on the lawn and getting business squared away, and I’m cleaning out closets and packing like a mad woman.

My closest of friends who are eternal givers, have come, brought lunch, offered help and given help. I’m really going to miss it here.

BUT…. come see me over at the new site as I’m sure to continue with updates there!

I work on the redirect once I have time to stop and breathe.

<3

Friday’s Photo: My Baby Can (Pretend to) Read

I sent a different picture than the one below to my sister this morning of Miles sitting in a leather chair. His arm was hugging the arm of the chair. He looked just like a little man. My sister called shortly after getting that picture and asked, “how old his he now? 13? He looks like a little man.”

My chunky monkey little man. Love HIM!!!!

And yeah, “My Baby Can (Pretend to) Read.”

My mind is muddled but my mouth is clean.

When Todd said he’d accepted the job in Florida, I really was excited. And deep down in there… somewhere… I still am, but as the date to pack up and head way south approaches, life feels… so surreal so … kinda really sad.

Is this happening? Am I really leaving my first bank-loaned home? The one that sprung a leaky roof right after we bought it ten years ago? The one where I knocked myself out cold on the hardwoods when I ran inside, late for work, to grab something I’d forgotten on a rainy day in wet, chunky-heeled shoes?

Am I really going to live in Florida?

I’d say for the past two weeks, I’ve been a little sensitive. And I need big, warm hugs. I usually try to “be there” for other people . Be sensitive to other needs, but now… I just need some big ol’ warm hugs and some vocal support. My mind isn’t focused… at all. I’m leaving my home of ten years. The longest I’ve lived anywhere. And it’s a charming little place. With charming neighbors and beautiful trees I’ve spent hours staring into.

I feel like I’m in a time warp right now and catch myself just staring into space in these final days.

My husband caught me loading my toothbrush and brushing my teeth with soap from an automatic soap dispenser at his parents house when we visited this past weekend. Oddly enough, the soap didn’t taste all that bad.

My thoughts were a million miles away. He laughed and THEN TOLD ON ME!

Today, I caught myself about to load same said toothbrush with acne cream that my husband left lying on the sink beside the toothpaste. Good thing I paused to read.

I’ve been holding Miles so much I wonder if he’s getting sick of me. It’s like I need him more than he needs me. Something about the smell of his babyfresh breath and the touch of his crazy soft skin soothes those anxious feelings. Tears stream as we glide him to snooze-n-dream land on my shoulder.

My mind may be muddled with sad thoughts of leaving my home, this place, and the people attached to it behind. It’s not at all “in the moment”, but at least my mouth is clean.

I’m a FlyBaby

Today has been super Monday and I can’t find my cape! It’s amazing how getting your house ready for market impacts motivation to bust a move. Miles is a very agreeable baby, fortunately, so I’ve been putting him in the Bumbo and bouncing him from room to room as I de-clutter and clean.

Cute, aint ‘e?

I don’t even stop to get an appropriate toy. Spoons work fine, thank-you-very-much!

Fortunately, I’ve been following TheFlyLady routine for about two weeks now. Ok, so I’m loosely doing it and taking tiny steps as I’m still a “baby fly.” She’s awesome for the natural wandering, I’d-rather-be-reading soul like me. I’d heard about her through a story one of my colleagues did on her several years ago, but never stopped to look her up. That was long before social media and back when only the bloggers I knew of were journalists. Anyway, I LOVE her! She’s been such an inspiriation and helped put me on track.

I have a feeling the rest of the year is going to be a whirlwind. Moving (fortunately, we have movers, whew.) selling a house, looking for a house, looking for a church, learning a new town. If I’ve ever needed an inspiring role model for keeping it all in tact, it’s now.

We’re showing the house tonight. I have a napping infant, food slow cooking in the kitchen, have showered, a clean house and a fridge full of food for the next week.

LOVE YOU FLYLADY!

I love you, neighbor.

It was a matter of time before this would hit. I knew it. It always does.

Doesn’t matter how excited I get about a new place or pending move, I always shed many tears through warm hugs with the close friends I’ll be leaving behind. Even as a seasoned moving veteran, I always grieve my losses.

I’m struggling with leaving a couple of close girlfriends, but one in particular has been someone I’ve really leaned on and loved.

She’s checked on me almost every day since Miles was born and she wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with helping me through a lot of pain. Which let me know she wasn’t just trying to latch on to my sweet little baby. This friend was there, is there, for me.

I never expected to become so close to Janet. She bought the house we remodeled down the street and we became fast friends. She started talking to Miles in my belly even before we inked the deal that she’d become the new homeowner.

We’ve been good to and for each other. She’s, on numerous occasions, called our house deal “divine intervention.”

When people say, “let me know if you need anything” few mean it like Janet does. Goodness, I’m holding back tears to get through this. She dropped what she was doing so many times to come see me through those rough early weeks. She listened. Never judged. Never threw advice my way.

To this day, she calls when she’s out and asks in her sweet sweet voice if I need anything. I’ve lost count of the number of times she’s picked up milk, diapers, and whatever else was on my grocery list.

More than anything, she’s let me confide in her in so many ways.

You know a friend when they truly sacrifice time and energy for you. I consider her family. There won’t be a Janet in Florida.

She’s not just a neighbor. She’s become a sister. One I choose. One I love.

I have other friends who’ve meant a lot to me too. So I am sure to cry through other goodbyes.

I suppose the next sweet offer to pick something up at the store should be Kleenex.

Lots and lots of Kleenex.

She’ll sell umbrellas by the sea shore

Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day will bring forth. -Proverbs 27:1

My husband and I have joked for years about selling our home, all of our stuff and moving to a coastal town where we’d rent out umbrellas. Before Miles came along, that would have been a little more doable. Not likely, just doable.

Well, we are in fact, selling our house, giving some of our stuff away, and moving to a beautiful coastal town in Florida.

The hubby has accepted an offer we both find exciting.

This will make move # 19 for me and #11 for my husband. NINETEEN!!!

We both grew up in military families. Mine moved more often for some reason. My dad was a helicopter pilot and started moving through the ranks rather quickly once I entered middle school. But we moved a lot even before that. I’d lived in South Carolina, New Jersey, Okinawa, Japan and Alabama all before the start of second grade. I attended three schools, yes three, in the second grade. I attended two high schools. The first in El Paso Texas, the second, Fairbanks, Alaska. Oh, and yeah… three colleges. it wasn’t that I couldn’t decide where I wanted to be. It was because I followed my dad’s military assignment from Alaska to Alabama knowing I couldn’t live in The Last Frontier on my own. Then, I transferred really close to college graduation because I wanted to finish college with Todd. No, it didn’t financial make sense, but I was in no hurry to graduate. I loved college. I tried to make a career of it, but got married and came to my senses.

Life didn’t settle after graduation. I landed a political reporting gig in Lansing, Michigan. Tho the least paid, it was the best. State Capital just about every day. At the time, that was my bag, baby. But my husband, the brilliant engineer, took a job right out of school that had him on a moving schedule within the first year. Which, was good for me since his company in Michigan sent us to a larger area. People in TV have to move around to move up. After ten months in a small market, I landed a job in a top 40 at a number one station in Virginia. Though, I quickly learned my days would consist of blood, guts and burning buildings, I still grew as an oral, visual and written communicator. Even as It seemed we street reporters did little investigating and a lot of “hey look at this crazy stuff” stories.

We moved to our home in South Carolina om 2000 after we all learned Y2K wasn’t going to be the end of the world. We aren’t too far from my parents, which has been of comfort. We’re also relatively close to my sister. Oh, how I’m going to miss hopping in the car to go see her.

Life in South Carolina has been a mixed bag.

We found our first home here. And it’s beautiful.

I’m having a tough time saying goodbye.

We fell in love with our church and forged relationships that will likely always exist, though at a distance.

There were also a lot of tough times.

We completed a total remodel on a house we didn’t live in. That was darn hard.

And I commuted more than an hour, one way, for about six years. Yikes. For me, it was madness in the making. Because the stories I covered often sent me even further and to the stuff that can keep ya up at night. It’s tough to sleep at night when your mental diet largely consists of dead people, corruption, the disgruntled, victims… many of them children, and you take them home with you. Add a stressful, pressure-cooker environment eternally governed by the clock, and you’re primed to eventually burn out.

It used to upset me. Now I accept it and find that I’m often in good company. I know lots of street reporters who move on to greener pastures able to breathe knowing they’re no longer racing the clock and satisfying ratings-driven newscasts.

I managed to convince three news directors to give me jobs here. Two in the upstate, one in Georgia. Crazy, but I drove the distance because I was so bent on being an investigative journalist/anchor one day. The last job was the kicker. Being ignorant of office politics, vocal about what I didn’t agree with, and hard-headed, I wasn’t exactly loved.

By the time I’d reached the ten-year mark of beating the bushes, pounding the pavement and working in an environment so toxic to my nature, I hit the floor. Really. I mean, I had to be scraped off it. I was a square peg in a round hole and eventually came apart at the seams. I think some people took joy in that, sadly, which made putting the pieces back together lonely and tough. Others ignored it. But through it, I found who my friends were. And my sister, husband and parents rallied around my recovery.

This is where I reached the end of myself, experienced way too closely… my limitations, saw the ugly part of me and faced it all head on. It took the better part of three years to recover from that colossal burnout, meltdown.

This is where we had our baby. In a low-key, peaceful and beautiful birthing center in the same town where I was born. Sadly, the mere drain of having a baby, for me, landed me back on the floor, to be scraped off again, but in different ways this time. Reminded, though, again of my human frailties, my limitations.

This is where I’ve fallen, hard.

And it’s where I’ve risen to new heights. More aware of what makes me tick, what ticks me off and how to let go.

but…I am thankful for the suffering because I’ve grown in faith knowing that while it may not feel like it, God is there. It has improved my sense of compassion for others and my awareness of how God meets us in our pain.

I’ve come full circle here. From a go-getter news hound, to a burned out reporter, to a woman struggling to find purpose to a stay-at-home-mom who is happy and satisfied, fulfilled in this new role. I’m healthy mentally, spiritually, emotionally and working on physically. Life is good.

With the challenge of selling and saying goodbye to the home we adored at first sight, and leaving friends we’ve come to love, I face the uncertainty of a big move knowing we’ll get through it. We will find adventure in the process.

Perhaps I’ll even find a mommy day-out program then head over to the beach and rent out umbrellas by the sea while I journey through a new adventure on the coast of Florida.

To my friends, church family, my parents and my sister, I will miss seeing you regularly. Come see us! Ok?

Letting go but holding on

It’s a blessing to watch my baby develop and grow like he “should” but there is a Big part of me that wants to freeze time a little. Perhaps it’s rooted in the short separation we endured and overcame close to birth. More than likely, it’s the normal emotion attached to watching my baby blaze through babyhood.

He’s officially outgrown the last of a few newborn to 3month old onesies that hooked me right away. Most were gifts. Maybe it’s the two shades of blue puppies or the little green frogs that had me wrapped. I’m not really sure. He has little socks and a couple matching, coordinating bibs and I just adore them. I’ve been hanging on to most of his clothes hoping we do have another, but the bulk of them go in boxes. The really super sweet ones are in a bag that I’ll likely keep forever. Hey, I’m a sensitive, sentimental mommy.

So, this one goes into the bag to join some really sweet night wear and a couple of shirts and shorts I couldn’t just toss in a box.
Please, Miles, let’s enjoy every inch of each day. You’re growing so stinking fast!

Vacation and Blaming the Mister for Baby’s Bad Gas

We took our chances with a three-hour-drive, a two-hour wait in Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, and an hour-and-a half flight to Florida with our four-month-old, last week. He. Was. Amazing.

I’ve never been so proud. Amuse me. Read on.

The flight to Jupiter, Florida went off without a hitch. He didn’t fuss once.

When we reached our destination, it was well past two a.m., and baby was in full play mode. Chipper, sweet and cute as a button. As soon as I laid him down, he was out.

You’d think staying up all night, he would have slept in, but that didn’t happen. We were up for breakfast. Fortunately, he succumbed to the regular, quickie morning nap. And mom got a chance to kick back and enjoy the ocean view. 

 Later we ventured onto the beach.

Such a wonderful time for me.

We enjoyed three full days in a beautiful, oceanfront hotel on a beautiful private beach at an unbeatable price.

Best mini-vacation ever.

Coming back wasn’t as smooth. Somebody insisted we scrap someone else’s suggestion we buy diapers. Since we were down to two in the diaper bag, the someone who suggested buying more thought we were taunting fate by not loading up, so to speak. The other… ok, this is silly: It was the mister who refused to stop on the way to the airport and stock up with more. Ok? Ok. I knew you were wondering.

We entered the airport with two fresh diapers in my diaper bag, and he was wearing the last of the swimmies. Yeah, I took the baby into the airport wearing a swimmie. For some reason, I’d taken his shorts off before reaching security, so when I took him out of his car seat, the TSA agent thought it was cute he was still in his swimmie. Don’t ask why, because I don’t have an answer, but that’s when I then let her know I had only two diapers left and I was holding my breath that we didn’t cause “a blow out in the air.” YIKES! “Did I really say that?’ I wondered. She didn’t raise an eyebrow, but as the words fell from my lips, I cringed. Poor choice of words to a TSA agent but probably the only time one would get away with such language. I mean, a reasonable person would know what  was talking about, right? Then again, the TSA isn’t always known for being reasonable. At least I didn’t say I’d hoped he wouldn’t drop a bomb in the air. Anyway. Whew! Crisis averted.

But we still had the diaper issue. I should have insisted we stop instead of allowing my anxiety level to creep up, pushing my irritability meter into action. About an hour before we boarded the plane, I checked the swimmie, and… yes…swimmie is the perfect word choice. The liquid line was quickly reaching top level, and the sudden leak onto my pants made that clear to anyone looking. I was ready to make a mad dash for the family restroom directly in front of our chairs, but couldn’t because that someone I mentioned earlier had just left to inquire about our seats. I had to stay with our bags until I blurted out that the mister needed to come back and man our stuff. GAH!!!

Suddenly, two unused diapers become one. ONE DIAPER!!!!!!

We boarded the plane with one diaper on the baby, and one in the bag. I honestly said a prayer asking God to keep the baby from pooping because… he was in fact… due for one.

We boarded the plane.

M was as quiet upon liftoff as the flight coming, but started screaming his head off mid-flight. He shouldn’t have been hungry because I’d just fed him, but after checking everything… including his diaper I resorted to feeding him. It worked, but we’d changed the diaper even though it wasn’t as full as it could handle. That was a rash, panic choice. Something about being in a confined place, mid-air with a cabin full of people makes two new parents a bit crazy. I thought my head would explode. The one unused diaper quickly became none.

No diapers left and we still had about 45 minutes left.

That’s when I got stern and asked the mister what his plan was should we have a blow out. Cue tapping foot. He didn’t have one. I did tho, so it really didn’t matter. Fortunately, I didn’t have to resort to what I won’t indulge you with. But I will never do that again.  Two things you don’t play with when it comes to babies are food and diapers. (I’d left the reusable diapers at home.)

Major disappointment for you seeing as the story ends without a memorable, stinky, big, blow out and a plane full of people. But good for me, I suppose. We made it to the nearest drug store long before M let out a poo. Whew.

He did have some gas tho. I should have blamed it on the mister for not stopping.

Children Learn What They Live

I first read this poem after my mom posted it on our fridge when we moved to Alaska. I recall analyzing it, memorizing it and committing to myself that if I ever had children, I wouldn’t forget these words.

It actually answered a lot of personal questions I had about how I functioned negatively as well as positively. It trained my mind a bit on the areas of my life that needed work. I found a lot of encouragement in those words. And oh how the journey has changed in the years since!

Its the focus on the grace of the gospel and its power to change my life, and meditating on scripture where I continue to find strength and forgiveness in this troubled world. But I will never forget this poem.

It’s certainly taken on new life, this year.

Children Learn What They Live

by Dorothy Law Nolte

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.

If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.

If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.

If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.

If children live with ridicule, they learn to feel shy.

If children live with jealousy, they learn to feel envy.

If children live with shame, they learn to feel guilty.

If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.

If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.

If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.

If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.

If children live with approval, they learn to like themselves.

If children live with recognition, they learn it is good to have a goal.

If children live with sharing, they learn generosity.

If children live with honesty, they learn truthfulness.

If children live with fairness, they learn justice.

If children live with kindness and consideration, they learn respect.

If children live with security, they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.

If children live with friendliness, they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

Excerpted from the book CHILDREN LEARN WHAT THEY LIVE

Potty training a 4-month-old

Miles is a happy baby mostly by nature, I think. But I’d also like to believe my parenting style contributes to his general cheery disposition as well. If mommy is peaceful, loving and happy doesn’t it stand to reason that baby will peaceful, loving and happy too?

Go with me on this. Say yes.

So, I smile really big and am extra encouraging when it comes to potty training. Yes. You read that right. Potty. Training. It gets snickers and grins on the very rare occasion I reveal my diabolical plan to get my child out of diapers as soon as I can. (Good thing I developed thick skin a long time ago to negativity or under-the-breath, “I wouldn’t do that” comments. Because my ideas are sometimes quite different. Hey, I can live with that. I DO live with that.)

Miles thinks it’s funny to sit on the toilet because of the noises I make. I laugh at him laughing. He laughs at me laughing at him laughing. All over an attempt at eliminating a little pee or poo.

It’s called, “Elimination Communication” and people do it, many quite successfully. I’ve yet to set aside specific times to get him to go and I haven’t exactly figured out his rhythm of eliminating, but that’s ok. We aren’t on a schedule for actually being out of diapers. But we are laying some ground work early. Why wait? Since I’m with him all day and he rarely leaves my side, I don’t see much sense in training him to poop in his diaper if I can get him on the potty.

If he enjoys toilet time now, my guess is he’ll be less inclined to fight me on it later. But, kids are a tricky lot. What’s funny now, won’t work when he’s walking. Tho my hope is by then, the toilet will simply be an obvious choice.

Let the adventures in PTing begin! I for one love watching the tiny tot sit on the toilet with his feet barely hanging over the rim with an ear-to-ear grin. Mister happy face doesn’t know he isn’t, by “American” standards, supposed to be there.