The Day my Dad Passed Me Off as a Miss America Contestant

Years ago my dad and I were driving around Jacksonville when I begged him to go through the Starbucks drive thru. Unfortunately this left him in control of the conversation with the barista.

Barista: Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?

Dad: World peace.

Barista: Excuse me. Did you say "world peace"?

Dad: Yes. I think it's something we should all hope for.

Barista: Oh I agree. In fact, if you select me as your next Miss America I guarantee every child will have a map so they can find themselves and find inner peace.

Dad: Are you mocking me?

Barista: Oh no, sir. I would never do that. Because that would not help world peace.

Dad: Well I certainly hope you're not mocking that former Miss America contestant. Because that contestant was my daughter.

Barista: (silence) Um. Sir, I'm very sorry. So do you want to try one of our frappaccinos?

My Not-So Proud Responses

Many folks have asked, "What did you do when you found out you're having triplets?" So here's my honest list of responses:

1. I asked for a recount. The doctor initially saw only two babies and at the time I saw only two on the screen. So when the dr said we were having three, I honestly thought he was joking.
2. I thought, "Um.. this is so not good." Immediately after telling us we were expecting triplets, the dr began a 5 min. speech about everything that could go wrong with me and the babies. He urged us to consider selective reduction.
3. So here is my shameful admission (just one of many): I actually considered having the selective reduction. I could not imagine carrying, birthing and raising three babies. I imagined years of stress plus loss of complete personal choice. No more vacations, no more date nights, no more easy trips to the park. So I asked the dr for the name and number of a specialist who could tell us about the procedure.
4. I calmed down and realized there's no way we could do the procedure. This came about from talking to very calming and wise people who were able to talk me off my ledge and reassure me that having 3 babies really is a blessing. Also about this time, I found an article written by a dad who had recently watched two of his 3 babies be eliminated because his wife insisted on doing a selective reduction (see http://www.lifesitenews.com/news/after-ivf-we-became-pregnant-with-triplets-then-my-wife-had-two-of-the-babi) Because of these influences I was able to recognize that we had tried and waited so long for this blessing; how could I then choose 1 or 2 babies to randomly eliminate in order to save the other(s)?
5. Here is my second embarrassing admission: even though I wasn't willing to have selective reduction, I did pray for God to take 1 of the babies. I told Him I couldn't have 3 babies and I couldn't very well kill one, but if He chose to take one of the babies then I wouldn't grieve too badly. I realize now that I was deluding myself. As soon as I had my hemorrhage, I realized how attached and protective I already had become of the babies I was carrying.
6. I panicked, panic, still panic - and probably will for the next few years. I think the biggest thing I'm trying to accept is that there's no way I will be able to do everything perfectly. The house will not be as clean as I want, Addie will not be as entertained as she demands and the babies will use more of me than I can imagine. But we will survive. God has blessed us with these babies, and He most certainly will provide everything we need.  It may not always be clean, pretty or perfect but it will be possible.

Fuzzy Teeth vs. Vomit Breath

I need to brush my teeth at least twice a day. Brushing my teeth makes me vomit.

What is a girl to do? I briefly thought about forsaking my teeth but then thought people might avoid me if I approach them with Dragon Breath or green, fuzzy teeth.

Sadly, this tribulation has become so common that - just like Pavlov's dog - my body begins to respond with dry heaves as soon as I think about brushing my teeth. I've tried waiting a few hrs between eating and brushing but that hasn't helped.

It may come to taking a vote: should I forego teeth brushing and adopt fuzzy teeth OR should I brush knowing it'll induce vomiting - which leads to vomit breath?

Closet Sex Addict

About 6 weeks ago I suffered a minor hemorrhage that turned out to be completely normal. Since that time, however, my normal ob has forbidden me to have sex. Which turns out to be harder than I initially would have thought.

So a few weeks ago, I swallowed my pride and called my doctor's office. You can not imagine my mortification as I asked, "Umm, when she said no sex, did she mean no anything or just no sex?" Thankfully the nurse on call graciously answered my question and urged me to wait until I saw the perinatologist to get his opinion.

Which led to my second sex conversation in three weeks when I asked Dr. C., "Am I allowed to have sex?"

Seriously, I'm starting to feel like a closet sex addict. I wonder if the nurse and Dr. C. left the room and giggled about how this sex-craved pregnant woman keeps inquiring about whether she can have sex, and what exactly is meant by sex.

I won't go into details regarding Dr. C's response, but suffice it to say he is now one of Mike's favorite doctors :)

Baby A and the Badonkadonk Fibroid

Yesterday was our first perinatal visit and we had the great pleasure of seeing Dr. C. Unlike some other doctors we've seen, he didn't pressure us to consider selective reduction, and he was very optimistic regarding the health of me and the triplets. Some things we learned:

• Baby C is almost certainly a boy
• Baby B loves having his/her photo taken
• All babies are about the same length and have similar heart rates
• Baby B is the one who has been giving me flutters

Toward the end of the ultrasound, the tech saw something troubling. She switched to the Magic Wand and called in Dr. C. For 2 minutes, my heart was pounding as I listened to them consult each other and speculate as to what it was they were seeing. Dr. C. finally said he thinks it's just a fibroid on my uterus. He used some special term but all I heard was Badonkadonk Fibroid. So all is well with that.

Dr. C's parting comment regarded Baby A. He said Baby A's yolk sac is larger than the other two's but not so big that it's in the Danger Zone. When yolk sacs are exceptionally large it can indicate possible chromosomal disorders. So for now we just wait until my next appointment to see if there's been any change. Dr. C said he's not worried - he just mentions the yolk sac as something we'll have to monitor in the future.

So that's where we are. A fairly good report now that we are officially past the first trimester!

Season's Firsts

First apple 

First bubbles

First eggs

First ponytail

First skinned knee

Just a cute photo

Living Alone, Dying Aloner

Our street is fairly secluded, with just three houses constituting our neighborhood. Our neighbor across the street lives in his other house during the weekends, and returns here during the week. He works long hours but we occasionally see him lounging on his porch petting our cat (who thinks he belongs to the neighbors - but that's another story).

Our nearby neighbor lived alone and was rarely seen. He was very kind and friendly when we would pass him on the street, but we often joked that Lamar could die and no one would know. He had no living family and we never saw anyone visiting at his house.

This past Monday our prediction came true. Lamar died on March 24 but wasn't discovered for four days. His obituary did not list names of any relatives or friends, and made a passing comment to a car club to which he belonged.

I don't know Lamar's situation and do not know if his loneliness was by choice or by situation. But I know it is sad to think of someone going days without connecting with another human being, and even worse to think someone could die and not be missed for several days.

Cutest Tempest

I must say, the tantrums are coming fewer each day and with less ferocity. Maybe she's starting to outgrow them (or at least realize they are not achieving her goals).

Days like today, though, remind me of how much I love just being home with my wee lil lass.

Positive side of tantrums

My daughter loves a good tantrum, and really, who doesn't? Sometimes she indulges in a good head-wack, heel-thump just for the heck of it. Once in a blue moon I discover the source of her malcontent. Often, though, I'm left confounded. Was it the grapes? Did she want the blue shirt instead of the red? What does "uhhh" mean?

It's very easy for me to get frustrated and whisper, "What is wrong with you?" After 3 tantrums within the first hour of her waking, I sometimes wonder if she enjoys slamming her head on the floor.

So I take a breath and force myself to think of the positive side of tantrums.

1. My daughter is very passionate. I honestly think part of her frustration is that she has more energy and emotion than she knows how to express.

2. My daughter has conviction. She knows what she wants and is not easily swayed. This will be a great characteristic when she's older and is faced with temptation to do what she knows to be wrong.

3. My daughter is tenacious. She won't be one to quickly relinquish her goals or desires. She will be the one who runs full out toward her destination even if everyone else stops and tries to rein her in.

4. My daughter is tough. She bounds back from superficial wounds as though they were mere flesh wounds. She does not worry over scratches, bumps, bruises or scuffs. She's a fighter, and she's tough.

5. My daughter is uniquely gifted and crafted by God. He will have His hands full trying to teach her submission. I have a feeling, though, that once she falls passionately in love with her Creator there will be nothing holding her back. We are in for an exciting journey!

I blame the vitamins

Two sinus infections in a month. This, after going nearly a year without neither sniffle nor sneeze. And the topper is that typically, my daughter inherits whatever infection I catch. Sometimes she's kind enough to stagger her cold with mine, but occasionally she thinks misery loves company and she times her sickness to coincide with mine.

After much investigative thinking (conducted while curled up in bed watching "Pride and Prejudice" - the one with Keira Knightly), I have found the problem.

I blame the vitamins.

Seems all this sickness began about the time I started taking vitamins on a regular basis. Silly me listened to my doctor and husband who insisted that I take vitamins.

Ha, I say, ha! Maybe even a "fie!" just to round it out.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go drink some Hillbilly Cough Medicine and snuggle with a pillow.

Voted Most Valuable Person

I love checklists. There's a sense of purpose and accomplishment to look at a list of tasks and be able to cross off achievements:
Pay bill ✓
Drink coffee ✓
Schedule doctor appointment ✓
Write to friend ✓
Feed baby ✓
Clean bathrooms ✓
Drink more coffee ✓

I confess I tend to peek over my husband's shoulder to compare his list to mine. Aha! My list is longer! Or, if it's shorter, then it's because my tasks took longer to do. So in a very sick sense, I compare our lists and then slip on my judge's robe to determine who has more value to the family.

Why do I do this?

Because I'm insecure. I feel like I have to justify my existence by what I accomplish, and hope it's enough to warrant my being here.

If I were on Survivor, I'd be the one hauling fire wood, gathering berries and building a fire. And at the end of the day I'd point out all my accomplishments as if to tell my tribe mates, "See! I have worth. You can't vote me out."

Unfortunately, that's not how life works. Those who we view as worthy often are not, and those who work behind the scenes often get overlooked. Also, accomplishments do not = worth.

So my desire is to get to a point where I'm not trying to throw everyone else out of the boat in an effort to be crowned Most Valuable. Life is not a drawn out game of King of the Mountain, and I don't have to prove my worth by what I do. But, more importantly, neither does anyone else.

Leprechaun Conspiracy

My husband insists that Cassiopeia isn't a real constellation. Instead, he calls it Onamonapia and creates legends about how the constellation commemorates some shrew of a woman who was banished to the skies.

A few years ago, my father and I found some sea shells in Pensacola Beach and concocted tales about how the shells were relics from spaceships that had crashed on the planet eons ago.

When my youngest brother was in elementary school, he set a mouse trap to catch a leprechaun. While he slept, my father and I tripped the trap and laid at the base a peeled potato that we had carved into the shape of a finger and dyed green. We also put a spurt of ketchup on the end for good effect. I was awaken the next morning to Ashton's sobs as he reported that his trap had maimed some poor leprechaun.

I can't wait for Addison to discover the wonders of a well-used imagination.

Dear Chicken Carcass

It saddens me to think that you preferred death by falling to death by mauling. I know you and your chicken friends probably clucked cheerfully as you were loaded onto the Tyson truck, believing you were going for a scenic drive. When the road turned into a highway, though, I imagine your little chicken brains began to question your assumptions. And then Chatty Chicken, the one who prides herself on knowing everything, began clucking that the end was near and you should all repent for the sins you committed during your short lives. And that's when you made your choice. You would rather risk road rash or death by flinging your feathered body from your gilded cage rather than face whatever horror awaited you at the end of your journey.

So you jumped.

And flopped.

Then smooshed.

I am sad, little beaked friend. You would have been tasty.

I'm pretty sure I stepped on a thigh

Mike and I are gathering with friends for a pre-New Year's Eve bash - complete with two kids under 2 ft tall. I offered to make my amazing, stunning, much asked for lasagna (full disclosure: every other dish I make tends to come out burnt, which may explain why the lasagna is so popular). One problem: I didn't have the necessary ingredients.

"That's fine," I thought. "I'll go after my afternoon nap."

Ha! I couldn't have known that 2/3 of Richmonders had the same thought. My first clue should have been the lioness like cars who were stalking unsuspecting shoppers as they returned to their vehicles. The cars waited in a line until such a pedestrian was noticed, and then stealthily began following the shopper as he or she meandered various parking aisles. The cars then whipped around corners and screeched to a halt, flipped on their blinkers while they waited for their prey to disembark from this existence.

My second clue was the dearth of shopping carts inside the store. And then, finally, in case I had missed every other sign, the most obvious was the serpentine line that wound down various aisles as shoppers waited for an available cashier. Much mutterings and expletives were heard, including the oft-repeated phrase, "The line starts back there."

It took me 5 min. to gather my meager ingredients, and 25 min. to check out. In the rush to find the shortest line, I bumped into no less than 5 other shoppers and stepped on a toe (possibly a thigh; I can't be sure).

So my New Year's Resolution: next year, order pizza.

Thank God for high school boys

Sometimes being a stay at home mom (SAHM) is similar to being a single mom - except I get reprieve most evenings around 4:30 and on weekends. But during the day I have many errands and tasks that must be completed while also appeasing or herding a toddling toddler. If any other SAHMs can relate, I suggest we dub ourselves Professional Multi-Tasking Herders and create our own badges and slogan.

Anywho, today's obstacle challenge was to haul a 50-lb box into a post office for mailing while either dragging, carrying or luring a toddler to follow me. The luring worked up until I set her on the ground. Carrying might have worked had she been willing to sit on the box rather than lie on top of it. I didn't get to the dragging bit because like a knight on a white horse, a high school boy came to my rescue.

He had been in the truck parked near my car and watched as my follies unfolded. He gallantly exited his vehicle and offered to carry my parcel inside for me. What a guy!

Thus today's task was a success and I was able to move on to the next obstacle: herding my now fussy toddling toddler toward her pen ... I mean, crib.

Christmas really is about

This was our first Christmas, really, as a family of 3. Last year Addie was just 3 months old when this festive holiday occurred, so her participation was limited to staring at the tree's twinkling lights. This year we took Addie on 2 tours of the Tacky Christmas Lights, introduced her to movie classics like "The Christmas Story," allowed her to sample Christmas cookies and watched with glee as she ripped into her gifts Christmas morning.

And yet the holiday felt empty.

Some of that hollowness can be attributed to the dearth of spiritual activities. We didn't attend nary a Christmas pageant nor Christmas Eve service. No caroling or singing of any Christmas hymns. No reading of the Christmas story from the Bible. Seemingly no focus at all on the meaning of this season - save for a toy nativity set that Addie received Christmas Eve, which she promptly shoved in her mouth.

So even with all the trappings of the holiday (commercial or otherwise), I still feel like the day came and went without much stirring in my heart. I didn't pause to rejoice at the thought of God becoming man. I didn't contemplate the awe felt by shepherds as they were visited by angels. Nor did I reflect on how Jesus' birth was the first step in His earthly life that would eventually lead to a cross on a hill.

I wish I could hit repeat and re-do this Christmas season because I feel like it passed by without me so much as glancing past the flashiness to see the humble manger.

Classic Indecency

I recently joined a local book club for a few reasons: meet new people, read undiscovered literature, create opportunities for sharing God's love. I eagerly checked out this month's selection, Lady Chatterley's Lover, only to find the book seemed to earn the "classic" designation simply because the author flagrantly defied decency laws when he wrote it. D. H. Lawrence penned this piece of fiction in 1928 from his sanctuary in Italy. Copies of his book eventually were smuggled into the UK, where it ran afoul of their decency laws. A trial was held in 1960, and the UK government eventually loosened laws regarding what was considered obscene.

This post, however, isn't about what four-letter words were used and how often. It's more about my reaction to the book. I read nearly a fourth of the novel before I simply couldn't stand the author's desensitized description of casual sex. In fact, I think the last chapter I completed ended with Lady Chatterley's crippled husband urging her to have sex with other men in order to conceive a child. His one stipulation: she choose men he would approve.

I'm planning to attend the book discussion Tuesday night, but at this point I'm not sure what to say other than I disagree with the author. Sex is not like a conversation in which partners can easily be swapped and traded. And I have yet to meet a man or woman who could say that random sex didn't cost them something as much as it rewarded them.

This should make for an interesting discussion.

Painting with Pudding

The other day we tried an experiment involving vanilla pudding and food coloring. I think it was a smashing success.

Coming Full Circle

So long ago that I can't recall the year, I sat in a German hotel lobby talking with a co-worker/friend about how to strike up a conversation with anyone and how to eventually introduce spiritual topics into the conversation. To date, I had struggled to figure out how to "live my faith" without going door-to-door. I would usually freeze up when opportunities arose to meet a stranger or to say anything of substance.

Flash forward to present day.

One of those mentors, Derek, is now located in Richmond and is looking to plant a church. He and I have continued to email through the years, and he emailed me about the vision God has given him. Mike and I met with Derek and his family plus a few other families to talk about the beginnings of Radiate. I can't wait for this adventure to begin.

Mike and I have talked sporadically for years about being more involved in spreading the Gospel. Now we'll get hands on mentoring in how to start a gathering from scratch, to get a feel for the needs of a city, and to (gulp) meet and converse with strangers.

So in that vein, I am meeting with a group of moms this Tuesday. At one of their homes. To make sushi. And I've never met a single one of them. I'm terrified. But I'm also excited to actually practice what I have learned through the years about making friends and influencing people.

Too Much Time

Addison is almost a year old. How did this happen???

Here's a quick roundup of all that I neglected to communicate:

- I quit my job in June in order to stay home with Addie. It was the best decision I've ever made. I love being a sahm and seeingall her developmental milestones: her crawling, babbling, tooth-growing, etc.

- Addie and I visited my family in July for a few week. It was a good visit but not relaxing by any standard. A friendwisely told me that I have to change my expectations fro

m "vacations are for me to relax" to "vacations are for me to ensure Addie has fun and is safe." The two aren't always the same.

- Mike and I took Addie in August to the OBX and Asheville. We visited a few music halls to listen to down-home bluegrass music, hiked a little, and slept. A lot.

-Now it's Sept. and I'm trying to understand how my baby girl has become an almost toddler. Life is definitely moving on!