Dear Coach...

Last night, you coached the team opposing my son's t-ball team. Most of us showed up in awe that we had come this far in the playoffs. Our boys were grateful to play another night. I had mixed feelings because my family had been at either the ballpark or the soccer fields for the last six nights, watching at least one of my three boys play. I was tired. But Max is our youngest, and the poor kid hardly ever has his entire family there to watch him play, so last night was special.

I'll be honest. I can't stand our team. And if I were you, I'd hate us. Some of our moms are crazy. And by crazy, I mean that they might actually believe that SEC scouts are hiding somewhere in the crowd, watching their boy play and dreaming of the day they can sign him to their team. I frequently grieve for those boys, as I watch their mamas verbally dress them down in front of the other boys for errors I would expect from six-year olds. And if those mamas believe their boy has been wronged, I would advise the opposing coaches and the umpire to head for cover. It's gonna get nasty.

So last night, when my son was skipped in the batting order and it was brought to your attention, you had a choice to make.

In the five minutes previous, the dugout mom had given her son a verbal lashing like few I had witnessed, and in the process, lost focus and skipped Max in the lineup. Sadly, I was so caught up in the drama that I didn't notice my own son's tears of disappointment until two batters later. When I did, I rushed over. I knew as he told me he'd been skipped in the order that it could be an out. I have years of playoff experience under my belt from my oldest boy, and I knew that a mistake like this could cost us the game. But in that split second, all I could think about was the disappointment in my own child's eyes. Maybe I should have explained to him that putting him up to bat now could draw attention to the team's error, and possibly cost them the game. But I didn't. I selfishly decided in that instant that his love of the game was more important than a win.

So there we were, waiting anxiously, as the ump approached you. You shrugged your shoulders and indicated that it wasn't a big deal. And just like that, you became the hero of the evening. You didn't even hesitate. I don't know if you saw the tears on my boy's face, or the anxiety on mine. I don't know if you had any idea how awful our moms can be. But you put my son above your need to win.

I believe that it is in these little moments that we show our true character. You showed yourself to be a gentleman.

Thank you. Thank you for teaching my boy that being a gentleman has a place on the ball field. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it was a bright moment in an otherwise bleak evening.

With gratitude,
Max's mom

P.S. Can we pleeeeease be on your team next year?

View from my front porch...

...at 11 p.m. last night.

Obnoxious much?

Too much partying, Part 2

On Friday, the partying continued.

I took Blake and Sydney to school, and we were just a minute or two late. And the tardy team wanted to give them tardy slips. Seriously, y'all? We're here ONLY for a party, and we'll be out of here by 9:30. Why do we need to record that we were 1 minute and 45 seconds late?

Their parties were very usual, and I actually really love these times that I get to meet their friends and have real conversations with their teachers and the friends' mothers. Here's Syd and her friends with their teacher.


By the way, her teacher this year is amazing. She understands the girl drama, and she does such a great job of helping the girls build relationships. She's no nonsense, but she has a great sense of humor, and she loves to teach. I love her.

And here's Blake with his teacher:


She, too, is amazing. She's awesome with the kids, giving each of them an endearing nickname, and fostering their individual skills. She's VERY organized, and I really enjoy the days I get to work for her in the workroom. Blake adores her, and I feel so fortunate that the Lord saw fit to give each of my kids teachers who are perfect for their learning styles.

When we left the school, we ran by the house to pick up the little guys. (Thank you, Uncle James, for staying the morning with them and feeding them breakfast. You rock.) Then we took them to their OTHER school for their Christmas parties. And yes, they're in two schools, but only for the months of November and December because we're in the midst of switching them over. Come January, they'll be enrolled in only one school for two days a week. (Did you really need to know that?)

But what I love about this little school is that it's little. And it's sweet. And it's informal. Yet the kids learn a ton and I feel so safe leaving them in a place where they're nurtured and cared for. Brady's class did a sweet little play, and he was a shepherd. He stepped up and sang his part beautifully, all the while tossing around that sad little stuffed sheep.

Here's a picture of the whole class, doing their play. Is it horrible that the only decent picture of Max that I have is by accident? He snuck into this one. Poor youngest child. He just wants in on the action.

Since I didn't get a video at the actual show, I had Brady recreate his part this afternoon. Enjoy the video. He is SO adorable. And I'm not one bit biased.

Too much partying, Part 1

This has been the week of school Christmas parties. Lots of parties. Really, why do they have school this week at all because it's really just a bunch of parties.

Anyway, we'll start with Thursday because it was probably the most hilarious. Brady and Max attend a little MDO in Boerne, and their Christmas program each year is OUT OF CONTROL.

The children are trained to yell songs over funky recordings of Christmas carols, and we parents line up to take pictures like the paparazzi. Really, seriously, over the top for a bunch of preschoolers. But we do it. We do it because we love them.

So the morning starts with the actual program. I was sitting in a place where I couldn't even see Max, so there are no pictures of him, and honestly, I have no idea how well he performed. Does that make me a horrible mother?

But Brady was hilarious. He started the program sweet like this.


Then he began making faces at me like this. (Please note the little girl in the pink cowboy boots that so obviously scream "Merry Christmas". Welcome to Texas.)


Then he began play-fighting the little boy next to him like this (which I actually found more entertaining than the program itself).



After the program was over (and not a moment too soon), parents were supposed to take the kids to their classrooms. Brady wasn't about to let me out of his sight, so we went to Max's classroom, where Santa was waiting for him. Max, as usual, lunged for Santa and loved on him like he's known him all his life.


We then snuck out of the room to take Brady to his classroom for his party. That's when we encountered Santa again. Man, for an old guy, he moves fast. (Look closely...the preschool had managed to find TWO suits, so the morning moved along much faster. Thank you, preschool.)

This was our last day at this particular preschool, and we will miss them. They are a sweet bunch of ladies who work hard to provide a place where parents can feel safe leaving their children to be loved on. I hope they know what an awesome ministry they provide.

Facebook is good for something

Sometimes I really hate Facebook. Sometimes there's high school drama revisited. Sometimes it sucks way too much of my time, and I wonder why on earth I ever signed on to the monster network that is Facebook.

But sometimes it's awesome. I've been able to catch up with friends I'd forgotten I had. And with friends that I treasured in my teens. And while it's totally surreal that we're all grownups now, with our own children, it's great to catch up. At our core, we probably haven't changed all that much. At least most of us haven't. We're more kind and more forgiving and more mature. But we still possess the same personalities that drew us to each other in the beginning.

So this week, Maria (LAHS class of 1991) and her clan came to dinner. They currently live in Colorado, and they lived in California for several years, making her the most amazing wine country tour guide (my deepest thanks to her for her guidance on our trip this past year). She is now married to an Englishman, which means she now uses the word "lovely" and says a lot of things with a British accent. Her little boys are gorgeous, and she is a "lovely" mother. I was thrilled to have her sweet family in our home.

(Please, no comments about the hat. It had been a long day, and I never had a chance to shower. I'm begging SOMEBODY to tell me that I'm not alone here.)

My fondest memory of Maria is that she was my partner for some kind of cruel project in the 7th or 8th grade. I felt sorry for her because she got stuck with the kid who had a THICK southern drawl (that would be me). She was WAY smarter than I was (and probably still is), so I'm thinking that she probably did most of the work. Sorry, Maria. I think we invented a cordless hairdyer. A really heavy and totally hypothetical cordless hairdryer. Which, come to think of it, was likely my idea because like I said, Maria was way smarter than I was and probably could have invented something way cooler if she'd had a partner that valued anything more than she valued her own hair (which apparently I've grown out of, thus, the hat).

Anyway, the boys ran around all evening like houligans. Syd went to bed early, so she's absent from the really perfect picture we managed to get of all of our boys. I don't care who it is, when you get this many little boys together, you're blessed if only one of them is screaming bloody murder. Lovely.

Side note: Earlier that day, I'd gone to the HEB to pick up wine for dinner. I'd left my ID in another bag, and do you know that sweet girl at the checkout actually CARDED me? When I couldn't produce an ID, she refused to sell me any wine. And while I was irritated to have to ask Andy to pick some up on the way home, I've never been more flattered. So thank you, HEB checkout girl. You're my new BFF.

More flags, more fun

Sunday evening, we took the kids to Six Flags to see Santa. We got season passes REALLY cheap this year, and the park was only open from 4 to 10 for Holiday in the Park. Rumor had it that they had a decent Santa and a sled run, and we figured it might be worth fighting the crowd, so we lined up along with a few other people to get in when the park opened.

And it was so worth it.

We went straight to Santa, who was the most awesome Santa ever.

Too bad my photography skills are so lacking. And too bad I couldn't get all four kids to smile and look at the camera AT THE SAME TIME. Oh, well. Some day.

Santa really took his time, and it was so sweet. But check out Brady's hair. What on earth was going on there?

I will say that Santa might have been playing favorites just a little. He LOVED Max and threatened to take him home to the North Pole. I thought about letting him give it a go because have you spent more than an hour with Max lately? Santa would be back. Like I always say to Max, "It's a good thing you're so darn cute." And it is. A very good thing.

Humor me

I love that my boys are funny. I live in a house full of comedians, and it makes my job amazing. This post is just a tidbit of the hilarity in our home.

Earlier this week I asked my little guys what they wanted to be when they grow up. This is what they said:

Brady: A knight who flies in an airplane and kills dragons.

Max: An elephant.
Brady: You're a boy. You can't grow up to be an elephant.
Max: Oh. A guy that wears an elephant costume. And scares birds.

Ba-dum-bum. And they're only two and three. I cannot WAIT to see what these two grow up to become.

And if you've only met Blake, it's easy to mistake him for completely and totally serious. He definitely thinks a lot, and he is often pretty serious. But that kid has a sense of humor that I just adore. Recently, he's been studying the Alamo at school (we live in San Antonio, after all). He had to make up some multiple choice questions about the Alamo, and this is what he came up with:

1. Who brought 14 more men to the USA army?
a. Davy Crockett
b. the New York army
c. George W. Bush

2. What did Texas become?
a. a place for weirdos
b. a giant cup of hot cocoa
c. independent

3. What did the Alamo become?
a. a library
b. a national landmark
c. Santa Claus's house

And yes, I am aware that Texas has indeed become a place for weirdos.

Praise God for the gift of laughter. And Praise God that He has blessed us so lavishly with that particular gift in this home.

Fancy family

Saturday morning, Syd and I thought we'd run down to the Michael's at the Rim to pick up supplies for an afternoon of Christmas crafting. I pulled on a pair of jeans and slung my hair into a pony tail.

When I walked out of my bedroom, Brady asked, "Mom, where are you going? Why are you all dressed up?"

I'm not sure whether it was the lip gloss or the sequins on my t-shirt that threw him. Really, Amy, get out much?

When I came home, Brady was dressed in his usual home-all-day-with-no-good-reason-to-put-pants-on outfit. Please notice the plastic backpack and trendy green rubber belt.

In other news, Sydney is doing a fabulous job of teaching Brady his letters. She will make a fabulous teacher and mother some day. He spends hours making B's and P's and a whole bunch of other letters that he really likes to think he knows, but really hasn't a clue quite yet. I love that he's taken this sudden interest in using crayons appropriately, and he's always so proud of himself. Who wouldn't love that grin?

It's all in the family

Thanksgiving Day was great fun around here. I was honored to host both sets of grandparents, my in-laws, and my uncle Brian and his sweet wife, Carla.

But once again, I did a dreadful job of taking pictures. I did not take a single picture of either set of grandparents or of the in-laws. I know, it's like I'm discriminating against AARP. I wish I had a decent excuse, but I don't. I'm just really bad at remembering to take pictures, even though I own at least three cameras.

But thanks to Dale and Larry for being the most awesome in-laws ever. Dale is so natural in the kitchen, and she thinks of everything I forget, which pretty much means she thinks of everything. And Larry, oh, sweet Larry, is the dishwasher. And he never complains. Love that.

My sweet Nonnie showed up early for dinner to help out. She vacuumed my carpets for me and shined up my dining room table. And she acted as if it were an honor to do so.

Grandma made her famous pralines, which were gobbled up rather quickly. Yum.

James, uncle-extraordinaire, is always up for a story, and he suckers for Max's little smile every time. And Max adores him for it. As a side-note, they are reading a Justice League story, and Max always points to Wonder Woman and calls her Mommy. Love that kid.

There were lots of gifts from grandparents. The kids love to open their treasures. Syd loves to model hers. This kid was born for the camera and the stage.

I love being in regular communication with my grandparents, and now with my uncle B. I grew up making laundry-room-recordings with him, and at the risk of offending other uncles (like any of them actually read this), Brian was always my favorite. As he and his amazing wife Carla sat at my kitchen table, I asked him if he ever would have dreamed when I was seven and belting "Elvira" at the top of my lungs that he would one day sit in my kitchen on Thanksgiving, watching my four children play with his dog. I think his response was something like, "No, that pretty much still blows my mind." Um, mine too.

Speaking of uncle B's dog, Jake was the guest of honor, as far as the kids were concerned. Carla has done a fabulous job training him, and we adore him. Now if I could just talk her into training a dog for us.

Sydney has been begging for a dog for...well, pretty much forever. Look how much she loves Jake.

Even Brady took to him. Amazing. Seriously. That dog is welcome in my home any time. And that's saying something.

They grow up so fast

That's what all the little old ladies at the grocery store tell me, anyway. Some days, it's so hard to believe. Some days, I'm just praying for bedtime to get here ASAP so I can lose myself in peace and quiet.

But yesterday was not one of those days. Yesterday, I loved my job. The kids were well-behaved, and we even braved dinner out with my friend Jennifer and her gorgeous teenage daughter (no, James, you can't meet her). I was so proud of my little clan. They were sweet and charming, and generally amazing. How is it that I am so blessed?

I've been waiting for the perfect time to move Max into his "big boy bed". And yesterday night seemed just perfect. Both he and Brady were worn out but still happy, so I was pretty sure they'd both go to sleep pretty quickly. And Max was SO excited when I brought the toddler bed in from the garage. He was ready to go to bed immediately. He did great last night. He fell out of bed once, but I put him back in, and he went right back to sleep. This morning, he woke up so proud of himself.

Perhaps I'm a little biased, but he really IS cute, isn't he?

These are the moments that being a SAHM is a dream job.

And as I look at the pics I took last night of my baby in his new bed, I can't help but be a little sad that he's growing up. That they're all growing up.

Those little old ladies know what they're talking about. Next time one of them tells me to cherish these days, I am making a commitment to take their advice seriously.

These days will be gone before I know it, and I'll be wishing to have them back again. I don't want any regrets.

Swing, batta, batta, batta

Blake loves baseball. I mean, really loves baseball. He loves to watch it. He loves to play it. He loves to talk about it.

This year, we were so blessed to be part of an awesome team for Fall baseball. The coaches were wonderful, Godly men. Coach Will started each game with a big smile and an excited "Boys, tonight we get to play baseball. Isn't that awesome?" He instilled a love and passion for the game in the boys that was just inspiring to witness.

I really hope that I can learn to parent the way Coach Will coaches. Wouldn't it be amazing if we all had that kind of contagious enthusiasm?

And by the way, Blake is an awesome player. He fields well, hits well, and has quite an arm on him. If you ask him what position he plays, he'll tell you, "I'm a pitcher." Funny thing about that is that his age group plays coach pitch.

Actually, it's a cayman

I recently uploaded the photos and video from all three cameras, and I'd forgotten all about several of the precious moments captured on them.

This particular day, we were home and in our jammies all day long. (I love those days.) Brady had been playing with these little figurines for quite a while. I was just thrilled he was NOT playing with a Diego "guy". At some point, he put them in perfect poses and asked in his sweetest voice if I would PLEASE take some pictures. How could I refuse?



That's when I remarked how much fun it is to take pictures of sweet little boys, pirates and alligators. He just gave me this broken-hearted look and said, "Mom, that's not an alligator. Actually, it's a cayman."

Diego strikes again.

My baby loves Toby Mac

A couple of days ago, I heard Max singing from his crib. As I entered his room, I was trying to place the song. The tune and lyrics were very clear, and I knew I'd heard them before. And then I realized that he was singing a line from Toby Mac's "City on Our Knees". They play it on KLOVE all the time.

About a half hour later, we were in the car, and that song started playing. Max declared it "his" song, and began singing along. I was in awe of how many words and notes he actually hit correctly.

I said, "Max, that's amazing!" Brady, who cannot stand to be left out, ever, yells from the back seat, "What's amazing?!" Max replies, "This song is amazing!"

Thank you, Toby Mac. And thank you, KLOVE.

Sydney's post, Edition 1

Max is singing away

One morning at church we went to pick up max from class. Once max came out of class he started singing "life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long." Until Dad asked "Did you sing that in class?" Max answered " yes! " After that happened, on the way home everybody was singing life is a Highway!

Overheard this week:

Brady: Mom, if the cars get in your way, just honk your horn.


Brady: I need to go potty.
Max: I go potty too.
Brady: No, Max. When you poop, someone just changes you.
Max: Otay.


James: Just because I AM a poor college student doesn't mean I have to LIVE like one.
Me: Um, actually, that's exactly what it means.


And this is where a few of you are wondering who the heck James is. You will likely remember him as JJ or Jas. He's my little brother, and he's living with us for the summer. And wow, I have a lot of blog catching up to do. I'll try to do that soon. Where has the summer gone? And why doesn't the fall get here quicker? I'm dying for some routine, some sanity, a clean house and a pedicure!

Bible Stories with Brady

After Sunday Bible class, I always ask the kids what they learned in class. Today, Brady's answer was this:

Zaccheus was this man who was really short. And he was climbed up in a tree. Then God came by and said, "Come down for dinner."

Pretty good for three years old, right?

Camping converts

I've always held that camping is just not my thing. I joke that the La Quinta is as close to camping as I care to get. I don't love dirt and fishing and the smell of campfire in my hair.

But I love Garner State Park.

We went for the weekend a few weeks ago and stayed in cabins, along with five other families from our small group at church. I believe the official count was 12 adults and 18 kids. And the oldest kid was nine. And the bulk of those kids were 3 to 5 year old boys.

It was wild.

The best quote of the weekend came from Blake, of course. He said, after we'd been there for a few hours, "This is way more fun than I thought it'd be."

Poor kid. He'd been poisoned by his mother's bad attitude.

Blake hiked, played in the Frio, and played every sport anyone suggested. He was right in his element, and I'm not kidding when I say that I think he would be thrilled if we told him we were going to live permanently in one of those little cabins.

And he actually cried when we left.

Brady and Max played with friends and cars and dirt. Someone brought a bubble machine, and all the little boys had a blast just running through them.

All the kids are already asking when we're going again, and I'm thinking we might just be camping converts. It was a wonderful weekend, full of new friends and outdoor fun. God gifted us with perfect weather.

I know some of you are laughing out loud that I think staying in a cabin is actually camping, but just remember that it IS more rustic than the La Quinta.

I say a lot of bad words.

Or at least that's what my son claims.

Blake told me this evening that he told some kid on his bus that his mom says a lot of bad words. When I asked which words those would be, he answered, "You know, Mom, the d- word and the s- word."

God bless my sweet 6 year old who believes the worst words you can say are "dumb" and "stupid". May he always be so sweet and innocent.

And may I learn to control my tongue better.

Adventures in potty training

 

Anyone who knows me well knows I love being a toddler/preschool mom, but I HATE diapers. While I would not wish that my boys grow up, I am living for the day that they can (a) potty in the potty; and (b) wipe their own butts (yes, I just said "butts").

Because I am so eager to rid my home of the dreaded diapers, I decided to potty train Brady and Max together. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

In their Easter baskets, each boy got big boy underpants. I bought two little potties, thinking I could seat them simultaneously and read one book to both boys while they magically learned to "make something" in the potty. Seemed like such a brilliant idea.

On the appointed morning, I got them both out of bed, announced my plan, stripped them of their diapers, and put their new underpants on them. Brady was delighted with his Diego underwear. Max screamed at the sight of his Lightning McQueen underwear. It took me several minutes just to get them on him.

When it was time to sit on the potty for the first time, Brady immediately "made something". And by something, I mean the smallest drop of pee I've ever seen. But I cheered anyway, because it was better than nothing, right? Max screamed at the sight of his adorable little frog potty. I literally held him on the potty with one hand while shouting the book I was reading over his tantrum. When I'd finally had enough, Brady said very seriously, "Max didn't make nothin'". I was beginning to sense that my brilliant idea may not work out so well.

The entire morning, every time I put Brady on the potty, he squeezed out a few drops like a real champ. And Max screamed bloody murder and refused to make anything.

Then all at once, Max, standing (praise God) on the tiled kitchen floor, began to pee, frozen in his tracks and screaming "Oh, no, wa-wa, oh, no, wa-wa!" over and over again. All I could do was laugh. Oh, how I wish I had a video of that.

Side note: It reminded me of the first time Blake realized what was going on as he peed, naked and running in circles screaming. Again, wish I had a video.

It was then that I decided that one for two isn't such a bad record, and I could just let Max be a baby for a little while longer.

So Max's first potty training adventure lasted about four hours. I guess I'll continue buying Luvs in bulk, for now.

But the good news is Brady is still doing awesome.

I warned you

I did, didn't I? I told you that I might be getting a little religious, and here I go. I haven't historically written much in the way of personal thoughts and (dare I say the word?) feelings, but I'm gonna.

Right now, as a matter of fact.

A couple of letters I've written lately prepared me for this post, and I feel like I have no choice but to write it. So here goes.

This morning, the Lord woke me up early.

And by that, I mean that Brady was screaming for a drink from the top bunk at 5:15.

And that screaming woke Max.

It took me about 15 minutes to get them both back down. Brady was easy enough, but Max took a little cuddling, which I've learned to enjoy, no matter what the hour.

But by the time I got back into bed at 5:30, I knew He wouldn't let me rest easily. I knew He was calling me to my kitchen table. To my Bible. To Him.

So after another 15 minutes of trying to convince God that I'd have plenty of time to talk to Him later, that right now, sleep was more important, I got out of bed, made a pot of coffee, and sat down to listen.

My sister-in-law, Sara, told me recently that she's adopted the philosophy that if she hears something three times from three different places, she listens particularly close because it's usually God speaking to her.

If this holds true, then God has been shouting at me lately.

Here's what He's been saying: He knows my name.

I know. Seems simple, right?

But in this season of my life, I've discovered, for the first time, that He loves ME. Not we, the people. Not we, the church. But ME, Amy.

He knows me and loves me in a deeper way than I can even imagine, though I catch glimpses of it at 5:15 a.m. when my almost-two-year-old snuggles into me.

In Exodus 33, God tells Moses that He knows Moses by name. And then he lets Moses see His glory. I've always been fascinated by this story. I'm such a visual person, and I wonder what Moses actually saw. It used to frustrate me that God only allowed Moses to see Him from behind. I mean, really, who is He to tell me that I can't see ALL of Him?

Um, God, that's who.

He loves me so much and longs to meet me face to face. But He knows what I'm ready to see. He reveals little bits and pieces of Himself to me every day.

When I believe that He's holding back from me, Satan wins.

My God, Creator of the Universe, knows my name. HE LOVES ME.

And He woke me up early this morning just to tell me so.