I will never be able to argue that this is my favorite time of the year.  With Christmas…always comes hope…excitement…joy.

And as much as I want to feel those things…

this year is very different.

This year…

as Christmas rapidly approaches…

so does what would have been our baby’s birth.

I think I always thought…even during that horrid week…that when this time came…I would be safely pregnant again.

Yet here we are…the whole in my womb every bit as big as the whole in my heart.

Admittedly…I have tried to fight it.  I have tried to not allow myself to be reminded.  Go on girl’s weekend trips.  Celebrate birthdays.  Dance.   Keep enjoying the every day.  All the while…blocking facebook feeds that are announcing pregnancies with precious ultrasound pictures or only talking about pregnancy and how you think you’ve found the perfect name.  Look away from glowing, pregnant women.  Stay away from the baby section at Target…even if it means you walk completely and utterly out of your way to get to the frozen section.  And never…EVER…allow yourself to look at a newborn baby.

It’s the tiniest things that render me to tears these days.  It could be the sound of a baby crying.  It could be the smell of baby powder.  The sight of a swaddled child…or the first few notes of a lullaby.

I’m going to the Nutcracker market tomorrow…a tradition that holds so much joy for me.  However…I can’t help but remember my plan last April to buy our baby’s December birthstone at the Nutcracker this year to add to my necklace…before I knew.  I’m prepared for the hurt.  I know that I will pass buy the soft baby blankets and the darling infant gowns…touching them softly…trying to hide my broken heart.

I’ve had many conversations with God lately.  I’ve told him how taking a child away from a mother is a deal breaker.  It’s something she just can’t rally from.  She may keep walking along…like everything is going to be okay…but it’s not at all how she really feels.  The minute there is a reminder…the memory and emotion comes forcing it’s way to the surface…bringing pain.  A pain that is like no other.

Today…I kept wondering,

Why is the pain even worse now?  Shouldn’t it be better?  Why does it hurt so bad?  Why can’t I stop crying?

And he answered me in a single instant.

It’s because now…my baby would not just be a tiny beginning…but ready to be born…ready to meet us.  It would be ready to breath it’s first breath.  Ready to cry.  Ready to be held and rocked and swaddled.  Only it’s gone.  And I don’t even know whether or not to call it he or she.

Today…I wonder how I will make it through Christmas.

Today…I wonder when I’ll stop crying.

Today…it just hurts.

Okay.  So…it’s possible that I may need an attitude adjustment.

I just got mad at a guy for not being nice to me after I told him that he must have the wrong number.

There was no…”Oh!  I’m sorry…or…okay, thanks…or…my bad.”

Just…click.

What is the world coming to if after an “I’m so sorry…you must have the wrong number…I hope you find who your lookin’ for” you get hung up on?

On another note…I’m really having trouble getting inspired to write about Halloween because I’m in full swing Holiday mode over here.

And might I add…contrary to what Chad Clarkson might think…I do NOT start playing Christmas music too early and therefore not give Thanksgiving the proper celebration that it deserves.  I celebrate Thanksgiving plenty!  I just happen to be THANKFUL for Christmas.  Smile.

But tonight…as I reminisce on Halloween…I have to have Bella’s Lullaby piping in my ears to conjure up a little inspiration.  So beautifully, hauntingly romantic.

We did have a magical Halloween.  And as many of you know…I do up Holidays right.  And Halloween has a special place in my heart because of old, childhood, Halloween, birthday party memories.

Many-a-birthday parties were in costume.  And once I got a little older…I convinced my mother that we needed to rent the movie Halloween for my slumber party.

In hindsight…that was a big mistake.  I’ve been traumatized ever since.

Apparently…I scare easy.  Who knew?

Anyway…

According to every weather expert in the world…Thursday night in Houston was going to be a wash.  It poured all day.  We had planned to fill a friend’s pick up truck full of bales of hay for a hayride.  We had bought pumpkins for the hayride.  And we had talked up this hayride to the kids like nobody’s business.  Only you can’t very well have a hay ride in the rain.  So…we waited.  And made plans to bring Halloween inside.

When I talked to my dad on Thursday…he said, “Don’t worry, darlin.  It’s gonna clear.  It’s gonna be good.”

And I listened to him.

And it did.  And it was.

The puddin cup got to dress up for Ballet and Tap.  I let her pick her costume for this.  She chose the costume she wore last year.  And…I was glad about this.  Because…you may remember from last year that this is the costume that my mother made me when I was little.  And seeing her in it does something to me.  It just does.

But seeing her dance in it…well…

that just makes it even better.  Like…infinitely.

We carved our pumpkin the night before Halloween.  It’s pretty much dwindled down to me and the girls.  The boys were watching the Red Sox win.  But that’s ok.  I know that I can’t force the magic.  I knew that once I turned the lights off and lit the candle…they would feel something magical was happening…that they would gather around…and appreciate it.  And they did.

The game was paused.

And we all stood around and admired how a small flame in a dark pumpkin could be beautiful.

She got to dress up for school on Halloween.  But she had to be a book character.  She chose to re-use the Little Red Riding Hood cape that my mom made for her 2 years ago.  She had out grown the dress…

Thank you to Ann Ryskoski for making her this skirt in 2 days notice.  You are just the bees knees.

Looking back…I love the rain in the background.

Chad got lucky…and the Red Sox won the world series the night before.  So…he actually matched Red.

Aiden said that she wanted to be a vampire this year…and that she wanted me to be one too.

She had me at “vampire.”

I wish I could be as beautiful as my daughter.  Sometimes…I can’t take my eyes off of her.

I thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world that night.

Annslee was Tinkerbell.  I can’t tell you how much I love this costume.  It was Aiden’s…way back when she was 3.  And I kept it hung in the back of the closet…just in case.

We had “Izzy” from Jake and The Neverland Pirates.

And if these two don’t go together tonight…both straight out of the Peter Pan Fairytale…then I don’t know what does.

Aiden and her best friend stuck close together…whispering and running from house to house without a care in the world…which is as it should be, if you ask me.

It was a good group.  and there’s something to be said for a good group.  You are down right lucky to be a part of one.

Every one of these children are so beautiful.  It almost makes me cry looking at them.  (Admittedly…it could have something to do with Bella’s Lullaby on repeat as well.)

Elvis showed up.

Colt didn’t dress up…but he did help out watching the kids on the trick-or-treat run.  We had quite a few to keep up with.  He met up with a few friends along the way.

I asked all of them what their favorite part of the night was.  They all replied the same way.

“THE HAY RIDE!!!!”

They got to throw candy.  They just loved that.

Even vampires do homework.

I think this is my favorite picture of the night.

Actually…I know it is.

Happy Birthday Puddin’ Cup!

annslee’s 4th birthday from mindyclarkson@comcast.net on Vimeo.

This October 15th date is throwing me for a major loop.  I don’t quite understand time.  The way it can creep and fly…without warning.

This weekend was filled with simple joys…rain boots and umbrellas, puddle jumping, slumper parties, and basketball.

I haven’t been exactly myself lately.  I can’t put my finger on it…a bit more contemplative, maybe.  A little Negative.  A tad Impatient. And the worst…tormented by the distrust demon.

I don’t like it.  I don’t like not trusting.  It goes against every fiber of who I am…trust trust trust and then trust some more.  And I can see how sneakily that distrust pushes it’s way through…whispering things like,

“BUT…look at this or that…look how that’s not fair…look how that makes no human since…look at how unfair your
God is…why would a loving God allow that???  See…look at all these situations…look at how you are better off not trusting…look at how that will hurt you.”

Except not trusting only works for…like…a second.  Because, shortly…after not trusting for a while…you start building a wall around your heart.  You build it brick by brick…BUT by BUT.  You get it higher and higher, working harder and harder for the false promise of protection…of control.  And you wonder why you still aren’t yourself…why you are still negative…why you are still impatient…why you still don’t have peace?

This weekend I recognized it.  I felt my wall.  I realized how quickly that I had taken the reigns…steering and fighting to be in control.  I was doing it for my kids.  I was making decisions for them for what I thought I wanted for their future here in this world.  I was doing it for me.  I was arguing with God about how wrong He was for taking our baby last May…while He allowed the crack addict who didn’t even want a baby to have hers…and then didn’t even love it.  I began placing more importance on Colton making the basketball team at school and being socially successful than I was his heart.  I began sending the message to Aiden (at 8 years old, mind you) that she needed to focus more on becoming a good tumbler…you know…just in case she wants to try out for cheerleader one day.  Because…let me tell you, honey…in this district…average doesn’t cut it.  And I realized that all of this was my way of showing God that I wasn’t going to let Him take something from me anymore.  Colt will make that basketball team.  Aiden will become the best tumbler.  I will have that baby.  Whether it’s God’s plan or not.

So…apparently I can’t be one of the people who bop through life with their wall up…willing and forcing life to be exactly what they want.  Because once I recognized the bricks being stacked around me…one by one…I realized who was doing the stacking.  I stopped blaming everything else for them.  I saw that I was the one stacking and sweating and working.  I saw why I was so tired.  So I quit.  I just stopped stacking.  I just stood there…looking at all the time and energy that I had wasted.  I dropped my arms to my sides…shoulders slumped.  Head down.  Eyes closed.  And said…

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that I have cut you out.  I’m sorry that even though I know what you did for me and how you love me…I have hurt you by saying that I don’t trust you.  I’m sorry that I have chosen the world.  I’m sorry that I’ve listened to lies about you…and that I believed them for a while.  I know what that feels like…for someone to lie about you and have people believe it.  It hurts.  It hurts badly.  The world is lying about you.  I’m sure you know that.  But that doesn’t hurt you like I have.  Because I believed them.  I believed that you couldn’t possibly be who you say you are.  I believed that you couldn’t possibly care.  I believed that I didn’t need you any more.  And I’ve been so wrong.  I’m so sorry.”

And at that…I started taking the bricks down.  One by one.  Ignoring every “but…” that came my way.

Even thought it was hard…and painful…and scary…

I started trusting again.  I chose to trust.

Not long ago…Chad told me,

“Mindy…we are not preparing our kids for the 7th grade basketball team at the Intermediate school.  We are preparing them for eternity in the Kingdom.”

And he’s right, that man.

All those bricks…

there is no place for them in the Kingdom.  They won’t transfer.  They aren’t needed.  So…why give them any attention now?  It’s just a big waste of time and focus.

Prepare for eternity.

Prepare for the Kingdom.

And trust that He knows what He’s doing.

I’ve tried to type a blog post for several days now.  Each time I would try to get to the admin page where the magic is made…it would say that it timed out and that it was unavailable.  It said to check the proxy.  What the hell fire is a proxy?  I tried to fix the situation myself…due to Chad’s increasing frustration with having to “attend” to all technical problems in the house.  And at the moment…by “technical”…I mean the air conditioner.  It went out.  Twice.  This time…it’s for good.  Soooooo…it’s kinda hot downstairs.  Three different air conditioning fixers have come to take a gander and all of them hypothesize the same thing.

It’s broken.

It’s being fixed tomorrow for a small fortune.

And the last thing I wanted to do tonight was bother Chad with a technical blog problem.

But after I was certain that I had absolutely and positively  exhausted all possible solutions to the proxy problem…I broke down and asked him.  I assured him that something was definitely wrong and that the computer had been abducted by the proxy problem aliens who had decided to screw with my admin page.

He sighed…and sat down at the laptop.

Now…I’m not kidding when I say that it was about 15 seconds into him sitting there that he said,

“Well…there’s 2 o’s typed in Clarkson in the address bar.”

For the love of all things holy.

So…sweet Annslee James…don’t you worry.  Your birthday post is comin’.  Momma just had to deal with some proxy aliens that sneakily hacked into my computer and added an o to our name.  They think they’re so funny.

****

Keeping with tradition…I didn’t order individual school pictures for the two middles today.  I took them myself this afternoon and didn’t even entertain the notion that I may look like an unfit mother to the picture company.

Aiden Annee-Grace:  3rd Grade and beautiful

Chase:  5th grade and extraordinary

I’m very excited about the way they turned out and I didn’t even spend a penny.

Tune in to upcoming posts on Annslee turning 4 and Chase’s celebration at the Alamo in San Antonio.  I’m a little back-logged.  Thank you extra o.

****

I saw a quote today that I loved and will leave you with.

“If you think my hands are full…you should see my heart.”

Goodnight, friends.

Today was picture day for Colt.  Can you even imagine the OCD control freakazoid I become on picture day?  I mean…

A.)  I’m not with them at school to straighten clothes, lick down hair, or wipe the last of their Capri Sun off of their mouths.

B.)  I’m not taking the picture.

and

C.)  Well…the stress of A and B are enough for a C.

I don’t even understand why they keep using the same company.  The packages are astronomically priced.  The backgrounds are old fashioned.  The poses are boring.  And there is always way too much space above the top of the head.  So…I decided several years ago that I was not going to spend $30 times 3 on school pictures.  I take enough pictures myself.  It’s not like these childrens lives are not adequately photographically chronicled.

And don’t think for one second that I don’t feel guilty about it.  Every time the packet information comes home and I send them to school without it filled out and a hefty check…I think,

“My poor kids.  I know what the teacher and crappy photographer, whom I will never meet is thinking.  How could these kids have such an unloving mother?  How does she even live with herself?  How could she not care enough about them to order school pictures?  How does she even sleep at night?”

But…I found a solution.

Every year…on picture day…I make them endure a home “session.”

Because it was Colt’s first official year in Jr. High…I did go ahead and order the $13 “loser” package that got us 1 3.5 X 5 and 8 stupid wallets.  I didn’t know the drill up there.  And I didn’t want an uncomfortable situation for him in the gym…like the crappy picture guy saying over the loud speaker,

“Colton is up.  Although…what’s the point because his mother didn’t order any.”

I know enough not to set him up for any embarrassing situations like that.

(And let’s just humor me for a second and say that this little situation is a realistic one and worthy of my worry.  And my $13 package order.)

But…because I’m not one to break tradition…

here is my little man.

On picture day.  7th Grade.

I absolutely adore this age.  He is restoring my faith in Jr. High.  The other day, he and I drove to the outlet mall to look at shoes.  We were laughing and joking and he saw a Starbucks up ahead.  I hope I never forget the moment that he looked at me and said,

“Can I buy you a Starbucks?”

Yes you can, son.

As I have parented over the years…I have found that my relationship with the kids changes from stage to stage.  Sometimes…and I can only be honest…I find myself thinking,

“I love this kid…but Lawd help me…I don’t like him/her very much right now.”

And I hate those stages.  The ones when they are hateful…or smart elic…or disobedient.  The ones where you find yourself fighting with them and arguing and pulling your hair out.  The ones where you go to bed wondering if they felt loved…in spite of the discipline.  The ones that make you feel inadequate.

But I’ve learned that those phases will ebb and flow into the phases where you marvel at their maturity…their kindness…their growth.  The ones that make your heart sing and swell with pride in who they are.  The ones that bring the emotions that you felt when you first met eyes in the delivery room come flooding back to the surface.  The ones that make the potty training and tantrums and “I hate you’s” fade to the black where they belong…because if God can forget our fails when we ask him his forgiveness…then it’s only natural for mamas to forget too.  The ones when your oldest son will buy you a cup of coffee…and God gives you a sneak peak into the man he is going to become…and you realize that it’s His little way of saying,

“Child.  You are doing okay here…with these kids I have entrusted you with; my children…whom I have given you control of.  You are doing O.K.  Just look who we are, together, forming him to be.  It’s amazing…no?

Yes Father.  It is amazing.  And thank you.  Thank you so very much.

I spent all yesterday in the lazy boy.  Chad shared his cold with me.  I’d rather him be stingy.  And now…I find myself counting down the minutes.  Waiting for the hit.  Craving it.  Needing it.  Wanting it.

Damn Afrin.

I have found myself addicted to Afrin on more than one occasion.  Apparently my body addicts itself to it rather quickly.  I used it once last night and once this morning and I already feel it’s pull.  The worst it ever was…I lived in Clemson.  I had used it for several nights in a row to get through a nasty respiratory virus and BAM…I was in need of a 12 step program.

I think it’s hereditary.  I seem to recall my Dad hitting the Afrin during hay fever season on a daily basis.  I blame germs.  I’ve been trying to tell people for years now.  No one listens to me.

Tonight I had a massive dinner fail.  After doing my weekly grocery shopping/meal planning with my bestie on Monday…she had me convinced of the glory and family togetherness that a make your own pizza conjures up.  I bought two tubes of refrigerated pizza dough.  One for a margerita pizza for Chad and I, and one for a plain pepperoni for the kids.  Now…I’ve watched my share of the cooking channel.  I knew enough to use flour when working with dough.  I just overshot on the amount I needed.  We had flour everywhere.  And I mean everywhere.  I also had the bright idea to trapse across the street to my neighbor’s basil plant to pick fresh basil.  Don’t worry.  I ask permission first.  I also thought this would be a great experience for the kids!  “Hey kids!!!  Come with me and pick fresh basil!!!  It will be like we live on a farm!!!”  It was picture perfect until little miss decided to drop all her basil in the middle of the street in order to “leave a trail.”  That was a catalyst for a lecture on waste.  I mean…who was she leaving a trail for???  It’s not like we had been abducted and our only chance of survival was the trail of basil that our knight in shining armor would detect…leading to our rescue and a follow up love story.

Anyway…after I got over the fact that I now only had enough basil for a 1/4 of the pizza…I had the bright idea to wad up the dough to make a circle pizza instead of just unrolling it on a 9 X 13 pan…like the directions instructed.  This is where I started to get frustrated.  At this point I had 2 girls…covered in flour, one can of dough ready to go, and one can wadded into a ball that refused to take on any other shape…no matter how hard the 3 of us pounded and stretched it.  I was losing my patience.  And quickly.  At one point…I think I yelled at them,

“That’s it!!!  You’re done!!  I’ve told you to quit touching it and your are disobeying!!!  Out of the kitchen!!!”

Then I thought back to when we were in the isle at Kroger…talking about how fun making your own pizzas are.

I’m pretty sure that all my daughters were thinking about  was what a stark raving lunatic their mother becomes when making our own pizzas.

Then…I forgot to bake the dough before topping it.  And since you can’t really take off pizza toppings after they are in place…I just decided to cook it all at once.  How much difference could it really make?

Turns out…

alot.

The cheese was burned.  The dough was raw.  The only thing that tasted half-way descent was the basil.  And that’s just because I didn’t have anything to do with it.

Moving on.

Things that are making me happy:

A weekend of painting and button diddy jars.

.      

Family game nights.

The babe in my old dress.  I distinctly remember loving this dress when I was 4.

My child on my Father’s shoulders.

Old milk bottles.

Bathing my littles with this.

And the fact that I was interrupted from typing this blog post by a 7th grade boy who needed to talk to his mom…and the meaningful conversation that we just had in the kitchen.

Goodnight friends.

Sweet dreams.

It’s come to my attention that it takes about 2 1/2 weeks for me to transition.  This is good information to know.  I wish I had figured it out sooner.

We are 2 1/2 weeks into the new school year and I have finally caught my wave.  I struggled to paddle, took in some water, had a few balance checks, and missed a few all together.  And all I knew to do was relax into my board, keep breathing, take joy in my view, and wait for the next set.

This week…I finally caught one.  And the satisfaction of finally feeling that wave take over…where all I had to do was stay balanced…was a bit of a relief.  Like…Finally.  I knew I could do this!  I’ve done it a million times.  School schedules, homework, sports, busyness is not new to me.  I’ve balanced before.  I just have to take my time…and get used to the feel of the ocean again.  I just have to take some time to re-unite myself with the waves before I can ride one.

After begging all Summer, I finally said “OK” to ballet for Flicka.  I had reservations.  It has been hard for me to break free from what I know.  I know Gymnastics.  I know Soccer.  I know Swimming.  I do NOT know Ballet.  Ballet scares me.  Ballet is slow.  Ballet is rules.  Ballet is not me.

But it could be her.

So…she shall do ballet.

When I finally gave in, and pulled her out of gymnastics…I dug out my old ballet shoes that my mom had saved from my one and only bout with ballet.  I was 3 years old.  And they fit her perfectly.

And as fate would have it…she is taking from the same dance teacher that I did.

My mother tells me of my first and only experience with ballet with fondness.

“You took with your best friend.  All the little girls were very excited to be in there.  You were bored out of your mind.  You wanted to be jumping and flipping.  At the recital…you actually rolled your eyes.  You said that ballet was too slow.”

This is what I half expect to happen with Flicka.  She has too much of her mother in her to be satisfied with toe pointing and beach ball holding arms.  But…I’ll be John Brown if she doesn’t look like a doll in the clothes.

I could appreciate the beautiful combination of pale pink and black for hours.

I could sit and watch her twirl unsteadily on her toes…wondering at the amazement of her flowing skirt for years.

I could watch my girl dance forever.

Maybe it’s not so boring, after all.

With Fall comes Crock Pot recipes.

And new hair-do’s for school.  This particular day, she wanted her hair just like the girl in Teen Beach Movie.

She has the hair that I always wanted as a kid.

I made that inspiration list…and hung it loud and proud on the front door.

And then enjoyed a little bit of all of it.

She has the best big brothers ever.  They let her tackle them every single time.

And all that tackling can make a girl hungry.

The Pumpkins happened.  And not a minute too soon.  I’m burning the last of my Summer candle…making room for the goodness of Fall scents like Pumpkin Spice and Camp Fire.  There are calling my name, rather loudly.

Chad heard me telling Aiden about my favorite book series as a kid.  He found someone who was selling some online and purchased them for us.  I waited every day, like an excited child for the mail to come…deflating in disappointment until they showed up late last week.  I surprised Aiden with them that night at our new nightly tradition.

Each night, everyone is to be finished with their homework and showered by 8:00.  At 8:00, we all gather in the Lodge room…leaving our phones and laptops and ipads in the other room.  We each sink into an over-stuffed chair or lounge under a blanket on the couch and settle in for a story.  I started The Haunted House.  Even the boys are interested in how Elizabeth is going to convince her twin, Jessica to influence Lila Fowler to stop tormenting Nora Mercandy at school.  The 8:00 hour has become my favorite time of the day.  And I don’t think I’m alone.  There is laughter.  There is conversation.  There is sibling snuggling.  There is warmth.  There is connecting.  There is love.

I carried this book around with me everywhere when I was little.  I tried to get my hair to look just like Jessica’s.  It never did.  But I obsessively studied the front cover…willing my hair to grow.  I remember riding in the car with my Grandpa one time…telling him that I wished my name was Jessica.

He laughed and replied, “Well…maybe some day you will have a daughter and you can name her Jessica.”

I don’t know about you…

but I like “A” names for girls.

And I guess I don’t feel the desire to be anyone but me now.

I kinda like Mindy.

But…my girl…

well…she does have the hair.

****

Cheers to catching waves…and to Fall…

and to the magic that a new season brings with it.

One thing I know for sure is that life…for whatever reason…is full of curve balls.

The minute you think you have a handle on it…

WHAM-O.

Annnnnnd…

no.

Like…it just can’t stand it if you think…for one second…that you’ve got your sh*# together.  The second the ole’ “WOW!  Things are going so well!” thought enters your mind…just go ahead and take 6 steps backwards (one for every word), stand on your head, and do some sort of sunshine dance in every room of your house to reverse that thought.  Heaven forbid life get the clue that you thought it.

Well…fine.

Two can play at that game.

The long weekend offered some traces of the Summer that has been replaced by annoyingly hot temperatures, homework, and a mosquito infestation right out of the Amazon.  We are not even two weeks in and my attitude sucks.

And when this happens…I know it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Like…forcing my focus onto things like College Football, Pumpkin Spice Coffee creamer, Fall scented candles, perusing the holiday inspired store at Cracker Barrel, the promise of plaid flannel dresses for the girls and long sleeve waffle t’s under t-shirts for the boys, talking about costumes, and pumpkin candy corn.

This weekend provided some inspiration.  But truth be told…I’m gonna have to tape the above list to the fridge and make something off of it happen daily.

Clemson had a big win over Georgia Tech and we were cheering with gusto.

The girls set up a “buffet” and AJ even drew the game with marker.  Let’s not even mention how much spilled lemonade I mopped up off the kitchen floor the next day.

She made it until the 4th quarter.  And in her defense…it was a long game.  She literally went from a full buck to this in about 8 seconds.  There’s some rodeo lingo for ya.

This morning…she created a work space right next to mine.

I sat and uploaded pictures and she wrote a letter to a friend.  I could totally see myself sharing a cubical with her.  Although she would have to cut down on the “mamma…how do I spell” questions.  That’s somewhat distracting.  But for now…I’ll take it.

Three cheers for inspiration.

And burning through the last of the Summer Scented candles.

And mosquito spray.