"Shirts and Shoes Required"

I like to seem like a girl who's in control. I try to come across to people like I have it together, and for most of my life I've been able to. Even after Miller was born, to those who didn't know me too well, I might could have come across as cool, calm, collected. That's the thing about a child like Miller. She looks neat, has a somewhat even temperament, and in public, the worst case scenario has, in the past, been a small tantrum (unlikely) or refusal to answer another adult's question (which kills me.) With a child like Miller, I can usually put on a play entitled, "I've got this motherhood thing down." Enter Robert, stage left. There's no show with this boy. I can have on my Sunday best, right shoes, right accessories, and all pride and dignity are out the window as I try to pick him up from a flailing fit on the floor. Or I can chase him through a public place, calling his name as he runs at warp speed and never looks back. Or, I can try to not show my undergarments to the world as he runs up and grabs either my pants or shirt and pretends like they're monkey bars. Sometimes I fear that everyone I know has seen my whole bra. Today, as we grabbed a quick lunch at Moe's, I realized that NO ONE thought I had the motherhood thing down. Robert was jumping up and down in the booth seat, no shoes, when I suddenly realized he had also removed his shirt. He started crying LOUDLY when his cookie ran out, and as I haphazardly gathered us up and scooted us out, dressing him as we went, I realized the title of my play is really "All I can down is another piece of humble pie".

Have I ever mentioned, though, how cute Robert looks without a shirt on? Since we live in Alabama, hopefully no Moe's patrons were too shocked.

SO HOT!

Everything is better when it's warm outside. After snow day this past Sunday, today was in the seventies, with a partly cloudy, beautiful, blue sky. I took my kids to the park, and after playing on the playground for a while, we headed out into the open field and they just ran and ran. It was just what we all needed. As we were leaving and headed for the car, I told them to remember this day, because weather this perfect doesn't come along often. Just as I was finishing my sentence, Miller started crying. "Mom, I'm SO hot. I'm SO hot!" Are you kidding, baby? We climb into the car. More crying. "It's too hot in here! It's SO hot!!" Miller, do you remember what Alabama summers are like? It's not that hot! And on and on we went, her in distress, and heatstroke, apparently, and me vainly trying to convince her that an 80 degree car wasn't all that bad.

For a child who never stops all day long, Robert's nighttime routine is worth noting. He quietly sits in his rocking chair and looks at books for about 30 minutes before he gets put to bed. It's amazing. Tonight when I went in to rock him (yes, I still rock him), it occurred to me that I probably won't keep rocking him once new baby comes. He'll transition to stories and singing in bed, and the rocker will have a new customer. What a sad thought! Though he's already huge and hangs off the end, snuggling with my bud in our chair at the end of the day is one of the best parts of the day. (Usually. Unless I get bonked in the head or catch an elbow in the ribs.) So I'm going to try to memorize just how he feels when he's cuddled against me, how soft his neck is on the back where I kiss it, how sweet and rough his little feet feel when I cup my hands around them, how his hair smells, sweet on bath nights and like a dirty puppy on dirty nights, how soft and slobbery his kisses are. Hmmm...maybe I just need to invest in a second rocker.

Snow Day

Along with every mom in Birmingham yesterday, I milked the snow day for all it was worth in terms of photo ops. The picture I wish I had was the expression on Miller's face when she saw the snow - wonder and shock and delight. Andrew saw Robert's reaction and said it was equally great. We made and ate snow ice cream for breakfast, a big hit with Miller, especially. As a deep south mom, I've never bought my children waterproof gloves (or any gloves, possibly), so our snow experience was dampened by freezing cold hands. We did march around a little, and Robert danced a little snow jig in enjoyment, after pitching 25 fits about his attire. We threw a few snowballs, and the kids built a snowman with their daddy, Bubba, and Chicky, who always drop by to make every experience more memorable and exciting.

There have been several occasions when it has kind of snowed over the past several years, but Saturday's snow was a real snow. It didn't last long, but the world was completely covered when we woke up. I drove to church alone later in the morning, and was as amazed as a child at the beauty of it, the way every itty bitty branch and every leaf of every tree was outlined in perfect, pure white. It started snowing harder during our service, and I was feeling warm and toasty and much like I was in the opening scene of Little Women (the movie), when our pastor, during his prayer, thanked God that "though our sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow." Washed whiter than snow by His blood. What a crazy, mysterious, wondrous thing to believe. And every ounce of this sinner believes it.

We sang this song at J.J.'s funeral, and we sing it often at my church, and sang it yesterday. I remember talking with Andrew around the time of her home going that the lyrics could sound bizarre if they didn't mean something to you, but yesterday as the snow fell, and today as a little of it remains, and as Andrew's grandmother, Meow, arrived safely home in the arms of her savior last night, too, I just loved the words even more and felt like typing them out.

There is a fountain filled with blood
drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
that fountain in his day,
And there may I though vile as he
wash all my sins away.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream
thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme
and shall be till I die.

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing thy power to save.

Miller just got out of bed for the third time to tell me she had another bad dream, and I know she hasn't fallen asleep for one second.