To My Mom

Mother's Day obviously takes on a whole new meaning for me these days.  I got flowers made from Sassy's cut-out hand-prints, a plant that resembled KeKe's little handprint, a homemade cookbook, a magnet using Sassy's school picture, a little fill-in-the-blank book about the hats I wear. . .   Let's just say that Mrs. L, Sassy's teacher, is a Pinterest fan.  :)  I MUST remember to do some Daddy crafts in June!

I always stop to think of my own mom.  And the apologies I owe her.  :)  As I muddle through this thing called motherhood, I realize how hard it can be, how much it changes you, and now I finally get "it."  I get how much my own mother loves me, yet it took becoming a mom myself to truly see the world through her eyes.

So for Mother's Day (a little late), I have a few things I'm sorry for.  I'm sorry: 

1.  That I was such a picky eater.  Planning meals for picky children isn't fun.  This must be something that my mom takes great delight in seeing.  I know someday I'll hope the same fate on Sassy.  :) It's EXHAUSTING.  We don't cook any alternatives for our kids (they have what we make) but it's never a good sign when on Monday (we usually cook at the beginning of the week and plan on several nights of leftovers), Sassy says, "How many nights do we have to eat this?"  Oh honey, this is Night #1.  Gonna be a long week.  We have some recipes R and I LOVE that we don't even attempt anymore.  Then we find new ones that we think will be a hit only to hear complaining and whining and "I don't want any dessert tonight anyway."  I have no clue how my mom survived cooking for all of us.  I think she must have had some booze hidden in a cabinet behind the food that none of us would eat.  

2.  That you probably gave up way more than I'll ever know to give us what we wanted.  And not just food and clothes (though that alone amazes me--who can feed and clothe a brood like ours?)  My mom had kids at home for 30 years.  30 YEARS.  In that time, she chauffeured us everywhere.  We did sports, band, 4-H, FFA, summer ball, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts (?), speech and drama, summer jobs.  Could we afford musical instruments?  Probably not.  Did she enjoy shuffling everyone around all the time?  I doubt it.  Did she ever tell us "no?"  No.  A few weeks ago, I had to get Sassy to a softball game and KeKe to a end-of-year daycare program.  At the SAME time.  And I was pulling my hair out trying to juggle it and figure out where to be.  And then I thought of Mom.  Who no doubt did it all the time without a minute to herself. 

3.  That I fought with my siblings.  I just threatened to send my children to summer school yesterday because of the fighting.  I can't imagine that it will get better with two teenage girls.  But again, that's just TWO.  I know that I didn't fight much with my sisters because they were so much younger (of course, they'd probably beg to differ!) but my brothers and I had more than our share of throw-downs.  And looking back, I can't believe Mom let us all live.  Maybe she just escaped to the kitchen and "cooked" with her stash in the cabinet. . .

4.  That I produced dirty laundry.  Yes, I know there's nothing to do about this, but again, I have no clue how you kept up with laundry.  Sassy has softball games on Tuesdays and Fridays.  There are several days in between to get her uniform washed.  And it's not like we have surprise games.  We have a schedule.  I know when the next game is.  And yet, more than once, it's been midnight the night before a game when I realize it's not clean, and these thoughts have crossed my mind:  "She doesn't stink yet.  How dirty can it be?"  But somehow she has grass stains or dirty knees, and it's to the wash we go.  I've been up many a night at an insane hour thinking of my mom and saying a little prayer of gratitude for all she did.  And wondering how she always got stains out. . .           

5.  That I didn't always appreciate what you did.  A few weekends ago, in the heat of the moment, Sassy declared, "She (that would be me) NEVER lets me do anything fun!"  Ouch.  It hurt.  And made me crazy mad.  I drive all over the country for softball because I can't figure out what else to do on a Friday night?  And then I stopped to wonder how many times I said something mean and hateful to my mom.  And how many times she just silently took it without lashing back.  How many times did I not appreciate all she did or break her heart with my words?  :(  R had to remind me that Sassy is a kid who just spouted off when I was being "mean."  I need to grow some thicker skin because the day may come when she thinks she hates me.  She can't possibly look through my adult eyes and realize how blessed she is.  That will come MUCH later when she's a mama and writing a blog to apologize to ME.  Hopefully at the same time, her kid is refusing to eat what she cooked for dinner and there's a dirty softball uniform somewhere. :) 

Personal Space

I've said that my mom often said, "Never say never."  Because of that, I've often said, "I'll never marry a millionaire."  But alas, I married R instead.  :)  Motherhood has made me eat many of the words I spoke in Life B.C. (Before Children.)  There are a few things though that we've stuck to.  We've never bought the stereotypical soccer mom mini-van.  (In fact, I think we're "downsizing" to a car soon.) We've never had kids sleep in our bed.  (Hotels and camping trips are a different story.)  We've never had to scoop poop out of the tub.  (And at this point, any booty that does will be promptly swatted.)  And until recently, I'd never slept with my kids in their beds at night.  

With Sassy,  I didn't want to start bad habits and send her into future therapy sessions.  So I followed all the "rules."  Like not sleeping with her.  And then Keke came along.  And from day one, she's been a cuddler.  I don't know if it's her personality or the fact that I spent the first few weeks of her life sleeping with her on the couch (so much for rules, huh?) but that little honey badger loves cuddles.       

And me. . . . not so much.  Don't get me wrong:  I love to love on my kids, but in general, it's just not something that's natural for me.  I like my space.  During a movie, I'm fine getting all cozy with my quilt and a bag of popcorn.  I don't need to have R's breath in my face or his foot touching mine as we fall asleep.  (Uggghh, move your foot!)  I think it's the oldest child syndrome.  You should see my younger sisters.  Grown women who STILL lay on my parents' couch together all wrapped up and entwined.  Disgusting.  I would make it about five seconds before declaring, "GET OFF ME."

But there's something about that Stinkus that ropes me in every time.

"Can you way wiff me for just a wittle bit?"

"Will you cuddle wiff me tonight?"

Or the worst:  "I can't seep wiff-out your wuvs!"

And I swear she knows how to make her eyes well up with tears.

I dare you to say "no" to that face. So I pull back her covers and somehow, she cuddles up close enough to me that there's room for the rest of our family in her twin bed.  She WANTS my breath in her face, our legs all entwined and her arms around my neck in a chokehold.  And I have to say, I love it.  I realize that I won't sleep with her forever, that there will come a day that she won't fit cuddled up to my chest anymore, that it's ok to spoil her a little bit.

And then I feel guilty that I've told Sassy "no" for almost seven years.  So I climb in with her one night.  We cuddle for a little bit and then she leans in, pats me on the cheek, and murmurs ever so sweetly, "OK Mom, you can go now."  

Ouch.  Keke, can I way wiff you for just a wittle bit?       

What Works

I was WAY smarter about life before I had kids. . ."Smart" like when I was in high school and knew everything about the world. . . .only to go to college and realize that my parents were the smart ones.  Before kids, I was never eating McDonald's (especially in the car), never listening to kid CDs (again, in the car) and never working.  And then I had Sassy.  And while it would be a few years before McDonald's and CDs appeared in my car, I realized pretty quickly that I HAD to work.  And not just for financial reasons.  I liked work.  I NEEDED work.  As awful as it might sound and as much as I loved her, I needed to not stress over her 24/7.  I needed something else.  I needed to be Mrs. B.  I needed to be ME.  It shocked me.  I never thought I would want to work.  And while there are days that are hard, I don't have any regrets about working.  People will say that I've missed SO much.  I've been blessed with sitters who didn't tell me when the girls were doing something.  And somehow (I still don't know if it was the VERY first time), they happened to roll over at Thanksgiving break, sit up at Christmas, and walk during the summer.  Sassy saw Keke roll over TWICE before I caught it--not because I was at work, but because I was in the kitchen.  My first time will always be my first time.  And it doesn't make it any less special if it wasn't HER first time.  We have raised our kids, not daycare, and neither is suffering any ill-effects from me working.

I honestly think that for me, work helps me be a better mama.  I love my job.  I love that I'm able to spend my days doing something I truly enjoy.  I feel like it's my "calling."  I love when a kid comes running in to grab the next book in a series on a Friday because she can't wait until Monday.  I love when another talks my ear off about how he couldn't put a book down.  I love when someone tells me they didn't like reading until I found THE book that hooked them.  I love my role as "Mrs. B."  And I love being a mom. I love that I can do both and that my girls see me doing both.  I love when they play library or when Sassy brags to her friends that her mom's the librarian at the middle school.  (Of course, this is only "cool" until she's IN middle school. . . ha!)  I love that she comes to my building every day after school and her little "playground" while I'm finishing up is my library.  I hope she has lots of memories of playing in the stacks, of finding books about Pompeii and Harriet Tubman, of joining my kids for book club on Wednesdays.  I hope that someday she--and her sister--both do what they want in life.

A map of Sassy's "spy room" aka the library

I know that these early years are fleeting, but in one short year, Keke will leave to spend the majority of her waking hours with teachers at school--for 13 years!  That's all they'll ever know.  And honestly, while I'm SO grateful that my own mom was able to stay home with me, I have very few memories of life before kindergarten.  I remember that was the year I learned to tie my shoes, I repeatedly watched in awe as one of the Crystals in my class drank (yes, drank) from her glue bottle, and I cried in the hallway because I didn't understand the "drill" part of a tornado drill. But other than that, life before the 8 am-3 pm schedule is pretty much a blur.

I was recently challenged for a) having C-sections, and then b) working.  As if both make me somewhat "less" of a mom.  Insert sad face here.  Some moms never carry a baby in their body, but it doesn't make them any less of a mother.  I love my girls with a mad, crazy love--one of the many things that I couldn't even begin to comprehend before I had kids.  It's that mad, crazy love that made me choose C-sections to get them here safely.  And it's that mad, crazy love that makes me choose to work.  A happy mom is a good mom, regardless of if she stays home or works.  Motherhood changes you SO much.  You do things you swear you'll never do (like clean projectile poop off the bathroom sink) and you say things you never dreamed you would say ("We don't chew our boogers.")  (Funny how often these days I hear my mother's words of wisdom, 'Never say never.'  HAHA!)  Bottomline, you do what works for you and your family--even if it means turning down the "Stinky Feet" CD so you can hear the McDonald's employee in the drive- through.      

Green Grass

A few weekends ago, we helped my sister-in-law and brother-in-law with a "new to them" house that they're moving into soon.  It was so fun to see them get settled, to start this new adventure, to see their dreams become a reality.  It took me back about nine years ago--when we bought our house.  I couldn't believe it when the realtor pulled up and THIS was the house Hubby had been excitedly telling me about.  All I could see was 1970s matted shag carpet, paneling, gold linoleum and a blue toilet (still seeing that way more often than I planned to. . . .) Thankfully Hubby saw a lot more.  Here are some before and after shots from the last nine years:

It's been a love/hate relationship but with each passing year, it's becoming our dream home.  I love that we've done most of it ourselves and that we're making it our own.  I know that a lot of friends and family don't get it.  How do I live out here in the boonies?  In this house?  Why did we leave the "big city?"  Why HERE?

I didn't get it either, until I did exactly what I'd been waiting my whole life to do:  get out of Small Town, America.  I didn't go too far, but "the city" is one of the bigger ones in the Midwest and it was a far cry from where I grew up.  And I hated it.  I hated that there were no windows on either side of my house because the neighbors were THAT close.  I hated that the most interaction I had with several of our neighbors was watching them pull in and out of their garages at the beginning and end of each day.  I hated that there were regularly 20 some neighbor kids playing basketball in our driveway, skateboarding on my front porch (yes, really) and playing hide-and-seek in our backyard.  (One day, I heard someone on the back deck so I opened the sliding glass door.  A kid was crouched down behind our grill and actually shushed me when I asked what he was doing:  "I'm HIDING!") I hated that there were five high schools in our suburb alone (30 some elementary schools!) and that this was the world our future kids would know.

So when Hubby was transferred, we agreed to go back to Small Town, America.  I LOVE:

• that our girls have five acres to run around, explore, and . . .encounter "copper snakes" as Keke calls them (OK, so the "snake farm" isn't a love. . !) 
• running into Sassy's principal at the grocery store ("Mom, how did Ms. R get here?  Does she have a CAR?!")
• running into Keke's daycare teacher on the same trip, just two aisles over.  (And that's probably not a "love" either because that became a 20 minute conference on "Why Ke Acts the Way She Does And What We Can Do About It."  There was no magical answer determined, by the way.)
• the opportunities our girls have in a small school.  Yes, I know that bigger schools offer "more" but here my girls get to be Homecoming flower girl, Citizen of the Month, the Mouse in the school musical, and the first grader who's a "beast at reading."  (One of her classmate's words.)      
• going to our small town's annual parade and hearing all my students yell my name and chuck a ton of candy our way.  Someday the girls will appreciate how my near-celebrity status affects their candy supply.  :)  
• small town sports and the "magic" in the air during a Friday night football game.  
• that the people I work with feel like family and they've become extended aunts and uncles to my girls.
• that I know the names of all the kids in my school and that the girls know everyone at theirs.  
• being friends on FB with Sassy's teacher and parents from my school (well, most of the time. . . .  Note to self: don't let anyone tag me on Girls Night Out . . .)  
• that this is where our girls will spend their childhood years.  

I know my dad gets offended that none of us have moved "home" to raise our families. But I hope he realizes that several of us live in small towns just like the one in which we grew up--and there's a reason for that.  Ironically enough, I had to leave to see how green the grass was.  I admit--there are days when I wonder why we bought this house.  When the pressure tanks in the basement are thumping and we know they'll go out at any moment.  When I vacuum and get annoyed that our not-even-ten-year-old carpet has wrinkled.  When the list of projects around here is longer than the ones we've crossed off.  But then I remember everything we have--and I'm SO grateful for my own green grass.  All five acres of it.  (Well, actually it's about five acres of brush, timber and rocks.  But never fear, trying to get grass to grow here is on The List!)     

Fun and Games

Every year, November and December nearly kill me.  We travel three times back to the state where we grew up (one family is five hours round trip, the other ten!) and then we have Christmas programs, parties, shopping. . .   There are never enough weekends to get it all done.  And then comes January and February.  Apparently I'm never happy because we go from run-run-run to. . . . NOTHING.  And it drives me crazy!  This year has been even worse because R is studying for a big test at work and not only do we have few plans, but yours truly is carrying more of the kid-load while he uses weekends to study.  (A huge shout-out to R for all that he does.  I don't realize how wonderful he is until I'm doing it all!)  Soooo. . . .at the B house, we've been trying to keep occupied.  And out of Daddy's hair.  Poor guy has resorted to sitting in one of the living rooms with ear plugs!  HA!

We've been doing lots of board games.  Ke got Uno Moo for Christmas and while I get bored of playing (AGAIN), I never tire of hearing the giggles when someone gets "skunked."  Oh my, it is FUNNY.  We've also been doing a lot of Cranium and Blockus (Daddy even takes a break to play because it's THAT fun.)  Ke doesn't quite get the concept--she just warns us that she's getting in our "air-uh-toria" (territory)--but it's great to see Sassy strategize and figure out which tile to play next.  She is definitely a spatial learner!  Ke has become a huge fan of Miss May (aka Old Maid.)  We even came up with an easy way for her to hold the cards:

We've also had several movie nights and this mama was on cloud nine when they picked Hairspray one night.  Helllllloooo Zac!  Way easier on the eyes than Disney!  :)  On the way to school one morning, Ke was repeatedly asking to watch "Sparkle of the Meat" and even my interpreter, Sassy, couldn't translate.  Ke just kept saying, "Sparkle of the Meat!"  Finally she started explaining it and Sassy burst out:  "Despicable Me?"  HAHA!  Oh we laughed HARD.  We may forever call that movie "Sparkle of the Meat." 

Over Christmas, Sassy had some homework: send a gingerbread cut-out to someone out of state and have them mail him/her back to the classroom.  After break, the class got to open their envelopes and learn a little about the state they had visited.  "Ginger" had a great time in California with Aunt Mo and Uncle Bear:

 
SO jealous of her day at the beach! Thanks to our family for making one little first grader SO excited!

Then it was time for the 100th day of school and she got to dress like she was 100.

She's been looking forward to this for a whole year ("No fair, the first graders get to dress up!") so it was really fun.  Her class also did a bucket list of stuff they want to do before they turn 100.  (All her own spelling and words.)  LOVE.

1. Go to Yosemite National park (She just read a book about this.  We've decided to camp there someday!)
2. Get a pet panda
3. Try sushi
4. Discover the Conctacon Cordian (Ummm, that would be the Costa Concordia--the Italian ship that sank last year.  The girl is a sponge.) 
5. See the Eifel tower
6. Get an Ipad
7. Go ziplineing
8. Be a hairdresser
9. Go to the North pole
10. Set a Ginness world record

She's also been doing a lot of art projects.  I'm constantly impressed by the things her art teacher has them create.  This was a recent lesson:   "After reading Snowmen at Night, and a demonstration on blending with pastels, students created their own snowman doing whatever they wanted their snowman to do! They had to show the values on the snowman and the snowman cast shadow based on the position of the moon."  Ummmm, values?  I'm not even sure what that means.  I love having her work framed in our house.  Warm fuzzies. 

Ke's been doing her own artwork.  One day I was going through her papers and found a picture of her teacher, Miss S:

She insists that she did it, even after the extensive interrogation I gave her.  Poor girl.  ha!  Over night, she's writing her name on everything and coloring SO well, and apparently doing eyelashes and smiles.  I think I blinked even faster with #2.  I can't believe how much she's growing up!

Last weekend we did Valentine boxes--no Pinterest needed!  I had decided that I didn't want to be one of those moms who does it all--I wanted some ideas that the girls could do too.  We decided to think of characters that would be easy to re-create.  First up was Backpack.  I just covered a cereal box with purple wrapping paper (Cheapskate here can use the rest of the roll later. . .) and then hot glued purple ribbon on for straps.  I drew his face, Ke colored it, then we cut it out and glued it on.  Sassy's Lalaloopsy was a little more time consuming.  We used a cute box from fundraiser cookie dough (no wrapping necessary!), she colored and cut out a face, then we glued on two buttons, yarn and a bow off one of her backpacks.  Then she drew on a smile and eyelashes, and cut out two pink cheeks.  I was pretty happy with how they turned out and I love that the girls have their own little touches on them. 

Finally we made valentines for our families.  I had the girls paint all over some paper and the next day, I traced their hands and then cut them out.  See the project here.  Butterflies!  It was "easy" until I realized that we needed 16 of them!!!  Two in each envelope for six aunties/uncles and two set of grandparents.  Whew.  That was a LOT of tracing and cutting!  I included a little poem:

It's 2013 and these butterflies
are our little hands, the shape and the size.
We made them for you and sent them your way
To wish you a Happy Valentine's Day! 

And now I need to make one more set so I can remember what their hands looked like! 

I've been kind of pouty on the weekends because we haven't had a lot to do.  But then I realize that this past week, we didn't turn a TV on for 48 hours.  And I read this post and realize how busy we've truly been.  Funny how when you do a whole lot of nothing with the people who mean everything, it becomes a whole lot of SOMETHING.

More Stinkus-isms

1. "Of course!" Me: Can I have a hug? Ke, formerly known as Stinkus: "Of course you can!" Me: Did you clean your room by yourself? Ke: "Of course I did!" And of COURSE, she doesn't quite say "course" correctly so it's even cuter.

2. I think we're in trouble with a boy-CRAZY girl. She came home from daycare one day and told us she was marrying Carson. Which was the first time I'd ever heard of anyone named Carson. "Who's Carson?" I asked. "He told me I booooo-ti-ful. . . " she answered, batting her eyelashes and flipping her hair. She was literally beaming, and enjoying it a little too much. She decided last summer that she was going to marry her friend Will, despite his very obvious refusal. I think there were even some tears shed: "Her said she's going to marry me!" Insert tears here. The girl's not taking no for an answer! Another night she revealed at dinner that she tried to kiss Alexander today but (pouting) "Hims got away." Mothers with small boys, lock them up NOW.

3. So far, she's NOT outgrowing the "Hold me, hold me, hold me. . . ." Which has become "Homa me" for some reason. . . Somedays I'm grateful for the extra loves, and somedays I'm trying not to pull my hair out. As independent and fiery as this one is, I've said since she was tiny that she'd crawl back inside if she could. :)

4. A few nights ago, I heard something that I thought wouldn't happen for about ten more years.  An angry, tearful daughter stormed out of the kitchen and stomped to her room, yelling, "Dis is the worst night EVER!"  Big dramatic pause.  "And you is da worst mudder EVER!"

A little back story.  My family is guilty of underestimating the amount of time we have in the evenings.  I leave work, all geared up to 1) fold the heaping baskets of laundry that have become decor in my living areas, 2) sweep up the never-ending crumbs under the bar from breakfast (and on more days than I want to admit, clean up the breakfast dishes ON the bar. . .), 3) whip up a fabulous, homemade meal that everyone will LOVE and eat and not pick through to see exactly what ingredients I used and try to find a few lone bites that are acceptable and not contaminated by anything gross.  Unfortunately, I get home and my couch beckons me and my "To-Do" list becomes a little shorter.  You know, we can just dig through those clothes to find outfits--it's like having a dresser in the dining room. . .  And there will just be more crumbs tomorrow.  Plus it's almost dark.  If I just turn on one lamp in here, I can't even see them! 

Anyway, my girls have inherited my ambitions. . .  as well as the lack of follow-through. . . .  That night, Sassy planned to organize her desk.  She even said, "I just LOVE organizing things!"  Hello, little apple from my tree!  She started, but let's just say, it still needs a lot of organizing.  Ke decided she wanted to do Play Doh--and watch a movie.  I despise Play Doh.  I like that it keeps them entertained, and it IS fun, especially with the cool molds and accessories that they have.  But clean up makes me want to scream.  It crumbles and flakes and then they step on it and track it all over the house (which adds to the crumbs I still need to clean up) and then it's all smushed into their socks (which just makes laundry worse).  So after that, dinner was late and it was a bath night so we were pressed for time.  Ke decided it was time to play beauty shop, despite my reminders that we needed to get in the bath.  By the time they decided to listen, it was way too late for a movie.  Cut to door slamming above.

So I convince her that the next night is Friday, we don't have to take baths or go to bed early, and we can watch a ton of movies.  "Oh but wait," I say, "The worst mother in the world would NEVER do movie night. . .   And I'm the worst mother ever. . . "

"Wellll. . . ." she answers sheepishly and I'm totally ready for her to sing my praises and thank me for almost four years of maternal blood, sweat and tears.  "You just da worst mudder today.  Maybe to-mah-whoa you be a better mudder."  Oh, lovey.  You're always going to keep me on my toes, aren't you?

5. Today as I'm finishing up lunch, I hear a very urgent:  "Mom!  I pooped!" and she didn't come and announce to the world that she needed to beforehand.  Hence my panicked reply:  "On the toilet?"

"No. . . ."  Oh fabulous. . . "IN the toilet!"

Oh this girlie makes me laugh.  And grow gray hair.                  

Keeping Score

I'm continually amazed at how fun life is through the eyes of a child.  We took the girls bowling last weekend with some friends.  I've been bowling.  It's fun, but nothing to write home about.  Probably because I stink.  While it's normal for my cousins to bowl 280+, I'm lucky to hit 100.  But this was the girls' first time together and my heart was about to burst in the first few frames.  They LOVED it.

First was the excitement over the black lights and discovering all the ways we glowed.  Ke giggled like crazy every time she pushed the ball down the ramp, then jumped and stomped and laughed. . . . even when it knocked nothing down. 

Sassy was jumping up and down too, and squealing with pure joy. . .  until she noticed the scoreboard.  Ugh.  My little perfectionist who has always had everything come easy to her was suddenly way more interested in everyone's score.  And who was ahead of her.  And then the pouting, sulking and TEARS (yes, tears) started.  Especially when one of the little girls was beating her.  Because (insert sarcasm here) they had SUCH strategy in pushing the ball down the ramp and watching it creep down the lane, hit a bumper and knock over some random pins.  I was SO frustrated.  Sassy wanted to quit, she refused to acknowledge her friend when A got a strike or a spare, and seeing the little girls get one nearly pushed her over the edge.  Grrr.  And of course, I tried to blame myself.  What had I done to make her this way?  Too much praise?  Too much pressure?  Too much glory as the oldest "golden" child?

And then I realized yet again---Uggghhh, she's ME.  How many times do I HAVE to be the best?  And how many times do I compare myself to others?  That woman is: really skinny, fun, pretty, fashionable, cute, tall, petite, etc.  She has: perfect hair, a cute purse, great shoes, a fabulous husband, expensive jewelry, etc.   That mom: makes homemade Play Doh, always does fun crafts, takes her kids to exotic museums, clips so many coupons that the store pays HER.  Their house is: bigger, nicer, prettier, better decorated, newer, etc.  Just the other day, I was stewing over something that someone else had (when I KNOW that's a Commandment to follow. . . ) and I heard a tiny voice whisper, "But you have Me."  And I suddenly realized how much I've been blessed with.  Not that others don't have Him, but I truly don't "NEED" anything.  Someday when I'm gone from this earth, nothing else will matter.  When I stop to realize everything I DO have, I'm embarrassed at how often I dwell on what I don't.  And all this time I've been telling Sassy that she won't be "the best," there will always be something else who is, and it's OK. . .  Why is it so hard to practice what you preach?

During the very last frame, A and her family went to the restroom, and go figure, Sassy got a strike. 

She squealed, yelled, and jumped up and down.  I was SO glad that she got to feel that.  But of course, I had to remind her:  "Wouldn't you have wanted A to be here to celebrate?  Maybe she wanted YOU to celebrate earlier with her."  On the way home, Sassy commented that she apologized to A for acting the way she did.  I was shocked.  And proud.  Without any prompting whatsoever, Sassy realized that she wasn't acting appropriately and she took responsibility for her actions.  A great way to end the night.

If she's anything like her mama, she'll probably always struggle with comparing herself to others and trying to be the "best."  (An unrealistic goal that's never attainable. . .why doesn't her mama see that?)  But I'll take the unsolicited apology.  Even if I'm not the skinny, perfect, fashionable mom with the cute purse who takes the girls to exotic museums, I'm still doing something right.  And not that we're keeping score, but that's gotta count for something.  :)