That time I said "thank you" to the homeless man

I was pulling out of the Walmart parking lot. Again. This had to be, like the 3rd time today. There was a different man on the corner. There's always one there. Scraggly beard, unkempt hair, raggedy clothing and shoes, and a defeated look on his face. It's not always the same MAN, but these characteristics are always the same. And I always have the same reaction, I smile, sometimes wave, and move on with my life. I'll admit, although it is probably awful, I have sometimes thought, "If you need money so bad, get a job." But this day, this day was different. I pulled up just as the light turned from yellow to red and stopped right next to the man. I knew I was in for a long wait, so I peeked at him. And I really SAW him. A man. Just like my husband, just like my two boys would someday be. Just a man, in need. And for the first time in my life, I KNEW I needed to help this man, a complete stranger. I thought, "I can't! I don't have any cash." You see, I never carry cash. (Who does anymore?) And then I suddenly remembered the fistful of cash I had shoved into my coat pocket last week, after pulling it from the bank for something that no longer had any relevance. The coat that I was now wearing. I reached down and unzipped my pocket, pulling out the cash. Before I could even examine any of this, I rolled down my window, watched him scurry over to my car, handed him the money and heard him say,  "God Bless." I numbly responded, "Thank you," because this was all very weird for me. And then the light changed and I drove away. It was all over in a matter of 60 seconds. But as I drove away, I kept thinking, "Why did I say thank you? Of all the things I could have said, THAT was what came out? In that moment of service, why did I thank him?" And the answer came to me very clearly. I needed that opportunity to serve. Maybe he didn't need that money all that bad, or maybe he did. But I needed that moment. Maybe you believe differently, and that's ok, but I believe in the Holy Ghost, or Holy Spirit, and I believe that if we are worthy of his direction and influence, he will guide and direct our lives for good. He will prompt us toward those experiences that will help us to progress and become the people we are meant to be. I believe that this was one of those moments for me. I felt his influence and his guidance so perfectly during those 60 seconds and I am so glad that I didn't second guess those promptings, I did what I felt like I needed to do. And then I thanked the man, who made that experience possible. Service is honestly one of the greatest natural highs we can feel in this life. There is no beating the joy that we feel when we can provide for someone else that which they cannot provide for themselves-- It brings us closer to the Savior, because we are doing exactly what he would have done in that situation.

Mother

Mothers' Day. An amazing, terrible, wonderful, heart-wrenching day. Pre- 2008, my mothers' days were all about making breakfast for my own mama and writing beautiful (and often cheesy) cards to let her know how wonderful she was and is. But as of Mothers' Day 2008-- that all changed for me. As so many of you already know, our little Zoe Belle came on February 9, 2008 and only stayed for a little while. By Mothers' Day, I thought I was doing great. On the Saturday before, I talked Tyson into buying me this beautiful yellow and black dress, in order to commemorate the day. I don't think he understood, but he went along with it. And on Sunday, I showed up to church, proud, in my new dress, with empty arms. I listened to the talks and tried to focus on my own mother and how much I loved her. But the sadness crept in like a mid-winter storm. By the end of the first talk, I was teetering on the edge. And then, some friends of Tyson turned and offered to let us hold their brand new little boy. As Tyson held him and smiled at him, I tried to talk myself out of my tears--

This is a little boy, not a girl. He is nothing like our little girl.... That's right. He is NOTHING like our little girl. No one is just like our little girl. There is no one on earth that is just like her. Because she is no longer here. No longer here. Not in my arms, not in Tyson's arms, and NOT within arm's reach. She is gone.

And then, before he could push that little boy into my arms, I stood up and ran out of sacrament. I bawled all the way to the bathroom, and sank into one of the stalls. I stayed there until my tears dried up, and then when I finally came out, I listened to an older woman tell me all about her sister who had lost a baby and how she had seen a vision of what her little baby looked like now, with her beautiful hair flowing and a brilliant smile on her face and how she just KNEW that her little girl was trying to tell her that she was fine. I felt so empty. I had had no such vision. Empty and thoroughly melted, I walked out of that bathroom, and right out of the church. I stood outside the car until Tyson figured it out and came outside. We went home, and he spent the rest of the day trying to make me smile.

Flash forward to Mothers' Day 2014-- I awoke to the sound of the printer. But when I looked around the room was still dark and no one was there. I sleepily got up and went about my normal morning routine. When I opened the bedroom door 10 minutes later, two pairs of little feet ran to greet me. Quinn and Mac, both with large bags, "gifts," as Mac kept repeating, and huge smiles. They unloaded their bags on me and then followed me out to the living room. I unloaded untold treasures from those bags-- chocolate-covered pretzels, milky ways, beautiful crayon portraits of myself, and immeasurable "love notes" from Quinn- with only one discernible word, "mom." My tears were teetering on the edge as I unpacked those bags and took in those beautiful faces, going crazy with excitement. And then Tyson explained the printer-- it was his note to me and also my wake-up call. He went in and retrieved it, and as I read through his description of shopping for Mothers' Day with the children, my happiness was overflowing. These kids, these crazy, loud, annoying, BEAUTIFUL kids are mine. And though there are days that I cannot even fathom why, they love me SO SO SO much. Happiness. Immeasurable, all-consuming happiness.

You see, I have experienced both sides to this whole Mothers' Day fiasco-- the pain and the pleasure, the sadness and the happiness. And I get it. To all of you women out there, I get it. Mothers' Day is something of a symbol for motherhood. Sometimes it is terrible and frightening and just plain heart-breaking. And then there are moments or days where it is the epitome of wonderfulness-- death by happiness. It is everything all in one. And we wonder why it changes us so much...

Finding the GOOD in the sucker bowl

Yesterday I took Quinn to the doctor to get her shots for kindergarten. But as far as she knew, she was going for "immunizations." And she was happy. She never once questioned me on it. Until we got in the car to head to the doctor's office....

"Mom, what are 'munizations? I think I forgot."

The buck had to stop somewhere and I figured it would be better to get the tantrum over with before we got to the office, so I charged ahead, "Actually honey, you didn't forget. I just never told you. Immunizations are shots. You have to get shots so that you can go to the big school in the fall." 

Crickets may have actually chirped at this point. 

I looked back at my Quinn, buckled snugly into her hot pink zebra booster, thinking this was just a big breath moment before the screams erupted. What I actually saw broke my heart. Her little face had crumpled and she had big fat tears just begging to be let loose down those rosy cheeks. So I tried to explain WHY we have to get shots, why even MOMMY and DADDY have to get shots sometimes. And why baby Ti was going to be getting shots today too. 

And that was when the screaming started, not your typical, "I hate shots!! I hate hate hate HATE shots!" No. She began to bargain with me. "We don't have to do this today mommy. Let's just go home. Maybe just Ti needs shots today. I want to get sick. Mommy, can you hear me?! I WANT to get sick! See I don't need shots!" On and on, all the way there. At one point she decided maybe if she didn't have shoes on, I wouldn't make her get out of the car. So she yanked off her pink sparkly boots, and threw them on the floor of the car. 

When we arrived, I was bracing myself for the inevitable battle to get her out of the car. But it was in vain. She was out of the car, and up onto the sidewalk (shoe-less, of course). She looked like she was primed and ready to bolt. So I calmly got Ti out of the car, grabbed the diaper bag and her boots and started heading into the office. She followed, crying and yelling, but she followed. At check-in, they of course handed me a huge paper to fill out on both Ti and Quinn, so I obediently began my paperwork, while alternately trying to keep Quinn from peeing her pants just so we would HAVE TO go home. We were finally called back into an examining room and the hysterics began anew. "Mommy, I don't want to go first. Make Ti go first. Mommy I have to PEE!!" Finally Ti got his shots, Quinn got her wish and didn't have to go first. He cried for all of 10 seconds and then just looked bored with the whole situation. One of the other nurses held him while I grabbed onto Quinn and tried to calm her down once AGAIN. Finally, the older nurse told me to just put her on my lap and lean back while holding her hands securely on her chest, and they would take care of the rest. I obeyed and 10 seconds later, Quinn was crying silently in my arms with band-aids on boths legs.

And then something really unexpected happened, she laughed. I stared at her like she was crazy and she just looked at me and said, "That wasn't so bad Mom!" Like this whole time, I had been the one screaming and crying. I did the only thing I could, I laughed too. And then the nurses brought over the sucker bowl and told her to take as many as she wanted. With tears still streaming down her face, she grabbed 1, 2, 3.... 4 suckers. And just as I was about to berate her for being greedy, she said, "I'm glad I got four, now I have enough for everybody!" And she immediately pulled out the blue one, because she knows blue is my favorite color, and put it in a pocket in the diaper bag because my hands were full. But guess what? As full as my hands were, my heart was even more full. This girl. This girl.

Just constantly amazes me.

 

Miracle

Miracle-  "A surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency."

Have you ever wanted something so bad, but it seemed like such a long-shot, that you decided it would probably never happen.... so you don't let yourself think about it. But, in not thinking about it, you begin to obsess about it. But you don't talk about it, because that would be proof that you had broken your cardinal rule and actually thought about it. Maybe you've never been there, but this was me for the four months before Ti was born. Everybody talks about adoption and how amazing and miraculous it is. Nobody tells you about the harrowing, sleepless nights, and the good news and the bad news and the no news. But I digress-- that is a post for another time. This post is about a miracle. A real and true, amazing miracle, that I could not talk about for the last five months. 

How did this come about? I have been asked that about a million times by friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers. So I will tell you. Tyson grew up in Dayton, ID next to a really great (really big) family. One of the daughters in that family recently graduated high school and found herself in a difficult situation. She knew that she wanted to place her baby for adoption, but wasn't sure with whom. Now a small digression-- when I was pregnant with Mac, Tyson and I made the decision that he would be our last child that would be conceived naturally. This was because of my blood-clotting disorder, and the shots that I had to be on for the duration of any pregnancy (these shots also cause loss of bone-density). So when I had my C-section to bring Mac into this world, I also had a surgery done that would not allow me to have any future children on my own. It was a hard decision, but one that we made based on doctor recommendation and prayerful study. But at this time, we also had an overwhelming feeling that our family was not yet complete, but that other children would come to us in alternate ways. So we had been considering adoption, but were in no way ready, prepared, or ready for adoption. You catch my drift? Now back to the story. This young girl's mom talked to Tyson's mom about the situation, and Tyson's mom mentioned that Tyson and I had been thinking about adoption. Well, one thing led to another and about a week later, Tyson's mom called us and told us that she definitely wanted US to adopt her baby. We were shocked. To say the least. Also- completely dumb-founded. Also a whole lot of other things. We decided to meet with her and talk it out face-to-face. This was the best idea ever. After talking with her we were assured that she was serious about placing her baby with us. So we got started on the adoption process. We contacted a lawyer and after hearing a dooms-day address that he probably tells all potential adoptive parents, he laid out the steps to making this happen. I won't go through all of it, but there was a lot of both time and financially consuming steps. 

And then on December 27th at 1:30am we got the call that we had been waiting for. Baby Ti was about to make his entrance into the world! He came at 2am and we were able to be there for all of his firsts-- first bath, first feeding, first poo, all of it. And then on December 28th around 1pm we were able to take him home. 

The next few weeks were a blur of sleepless nights and a very angry two-year-old. And then on January 16th, 2014 Titan Benson officially became Titan Benson Allen. Oh blessed day! 

And then, just two short days later we were able to have him sealed to us in the Idaho Falls temple and blessed in our church building. Words cannot describe that day. It was just-- perfect. 

A perfect miracle.

3 Things to do before ANY abdominal surgery, and 3 things for after...

As a courtesy to my fellow man, I have compiled a list of three things to do before you have any kind of abdominal surgery. Here ya go:

1. Sleep on your stomach every chance you get. Revel in it. And I mean really REVEL in it.

2. Enjoy getting on and off the toilet without praying for those handicap handrails. Maybe get up and down a few extra times, just out of the sheer joy and freedom of it all.

3. Encourage your children to punch you in the stomach a few times, jump on you, and throw things at you-- help them to get it all out of their system now, because afterwards it will make you swear like a sailor.

And 3 for after (ok, it's really just one big long one):

1. Sleep lots, without any guilt, and take those dang pain pills, without any guilt, and keep your kids away from your stomach, also without any guilt.

Also, maybe 2: don't try to write a blog post while on said pain pills..... :)

Mac likes princesses, and why I'm not worried

It is 5am. I woke up an hour ago, SURE that Mac was going to die. I was breathing heavy, pulse racing, and I knew that I had to save my son. There was no going back to sleep. So after I laid there and hashed out why Mac was NOT going to die, I started thinking. I thought yet again, about whether or not I should include in our Christmas letter that Mac likes princesses. I wrote it in, and have been agonizing about it ever since. I know that someone who reads it (probably a relative), is going to think, "the boy loves princesses? What... is he gay or something?" For the last hour, I have thought and thought and thought on this subject and I have learned something. Something that I probably already knew, but just didn't KNOW. ya know?

Mac likes princesses. He really really does. When I accidently gave him Quinn's princess plate at Grandma's, he moved all the food to the side, so he could see Cinderella and was so excited he just kept saying, "Momma! Princess! uh-super coo!" Whether this has stemmed from his big sister drilling it into his head that princesses are cool, or just because they're pretty, I don't know. But he does. And guess what? THAT is all it means. Sometimes, we draw these lines, especially for boys. It's a sort of do-not-cross line. And if you do cross it, you're gay or just plain weird. And all of a sudden, a boy's interest becomes taboo. It becomes something bigger than what it is. Maybe it's a love of music or dancing, or maybe it's a straight-up love for princesses and all things beautiful. And we, as society, take that interest and turn it into something else. We label. Why do we do that? Why in the HELL do we do that?!

It is because our own inconsistencies scare us.

Maybe you're not quite there with me yet. That's ok. It took me a while to get there-- An hour to be exact. After thinking about Mac and the pressure that society puts on our boys, I started to think about our girls. Even they do not escape the labeling. Let's say a girl prefers a nerf bow-and-arrow set, to dolls. What then? Well, she's a tom-boy. I guess, in all fairness, I'm a little bit of a tom-boy. Guess what? I know this is going to be a shocker-- I hate cooking. I really really do. It is agonizing, everyday around 4:30 when I have to decide on a dinner and then commence with making said dinner. I seriously hate it. (And 2 nights out of 10, I flat refuse to do it, and we order pizza) And guess what else? I like to shoot guns. Ok, ok-- mainly just a .22. This was something that I didn't learn until recently-- because my husband pushed and pushed me to "just try it," and guess what?? I love it. The rush that I feel when I nail a moving target (this skill was only recognized a few weeks ago!) is comparable to when I really nail an idea in my writing. I feel like I can take on the world. But guess what else? I am also the girl that went home for Thanksgiving, found my sister's old prom dress, and wore it around the house for two hours straight-- just because it was fun. So why does a preference for "boy" toys and a hatred for cooking mean that we are tom-boys? Why can't we just be US?

Within all of us, there are so many different parts to our character. Some we are proud of, some we're not so proud of, some we display openly, some that we hide, and some that are never even realized, because we never let ourselves go there. We are human. We are incredible entities that are always changing. There is no end to our possibilities. So why do we limit each other? It is because our own inconsistencies scare us. We are scared of how others will view us, if they know who we really are. We might be perceived as "weird" or "not normal." (heaven forbid!) So we label others. We continue this downward spiral, in order to protect ourselves. Only it's not protecting us, it is severely limiting us.

I am reminded of Dr. Seuss, "A person's a person, no matter how small." That's it. We're all just people. We don't have to let the labels interfere with us figuring out who we are. And that is why, in my house, it's ok for Quinn to love monster trucks as much as Mac, and likewise-- it's ok for mac to think that princesses are "uh-super coo!" and wear around Quinn's heels. Cause we're all just people-- and I refuse to hold my children to a ridiculously rigid view of their role. They are more than that. We are All-- more than that.

Things my daughter has learned from "Tangled"

1. I'm not really "mom." I've stolen her from her real parents and am actually a witch. (AND she is REALLY a princess.) She loves to make me sing "Mother knows best" while she runs screaming and hides from me.

2. Frying pans can solve any problem-- especially annoying little brothers....

3. All princesses live in towers (or... the top of the swing-set). And wear dresses. All. The. Time.

4. Kissing is equivalent to marrying. Period.

5. Kings and Queens sleep together.

6. Horses are cool. And also.... can be treated like dogs. (Drop it!)

7. ALL girls go through the long-hair, short-hair phases.

Guys... I'm a little stressed. (and this post is all over the place)

This is a safe place right? I could use one of those right now. A place where I can admit that sometimes I wish I could ducktape Quinn's mouth closed. Right? (I mean, my gosh.... she talks CONSTANTLY) And that Mommy really needs to watch her mouth. That's right. I said it. The other day, one of Quinn's barbies (the crazy-haired, ridiculously tanned, brunette one) turned to the other barbie and said, "What the hell are you doing?!" Ok, really?! I have only said this to her probably twice in her whole friggin' life! And now she's throwin' it around in B-town. Although she did make up for it later, when she tried to teach crazy tanned barbie how to pray (hopefully for forgiveness). And while I am on confessions, I left Mac's poopy butt on him for one whole hour yesterday before I changed it. Wow- that feels good to just get that out there. 

But can I just say-- that I am so glad that I have two crazy little munchkins? Because when mommy is being a poo-head, as Quinn likes to call it, they have each other. Always. I love that. And usually when I hear them start giggling at each other's snort noises in the other room, it has a magical tendency to boost my mood. Seriously. 

Brothers and sisters are the best. And on this day I would like to give a big thank you to my own mama for having 10 of us. Because there was never ever a dull moment, and because even when my "friends" were all being jerks-- I always had a real friend in my brothers and sisters.

Midnight Banshee

It started out like any other night.... the kids and I accompanied Tyson on a few tree bids. (I sat in the car and did my darnedest to keep the kids entertained, while Tyson worked his tree magic on some unsuspecting customers.) The following are actual text messages (that went unanswered, by the way) from me to Tyson during this time:

"Little problem here.... Mac pooped and the wipes are not in my bag. Yay."

and then, three minutes later.....

"Also, Quinn threw up in her mouth because of the smell.... :)"

By the time Tyson got back to the truck, Mac's poo was a hopeless pancake, but still (thankfully) contained in his diaper, and Quinn was sitting as far away from him as possible and breathing through her mouth.

We had accompanied Tyson with the thought that we would all go to Rexburg when finished, to help Emmy pack up her stuff. We bagged that idea and I stayed home and changed poopy-butt and put the kids to bed while Tyson headed to Rexburg S-O-L-O.

What followed, was the only two peaceful, restful hours that I got that night. And I spent them reading a dang book. If I had only known what was coming, I would have slept like a baby during that time. Stupid hindsight.

Tyson got home a little after 9 and spent 15 minutes talking on the phone before the puke-bomb went off. Apparently Quinn's puking in her mouth earlier, had not been due to Mac's poops. Wishful thinking on my part. From then on, Quinn puked (or dry-heaved as time went on) every twenty minutes until about 4 in the morning.

At one point she was laying next to our bed looking completely wretched and Tyson leaned down and put his hand on Quinn's head and said, "I'm sorry, Gup. I'm sorry you're pukey." She looked at him and said, "It's okay. It's not your fault." Geez, I love that girl.

Also-- on a side note-- Quinn enjoys doing her best banshee impression after every time she pukes. We're talking top volume here. So Mac got to be awake, enjoying the show, most of the night as well. We're pretty sure she gets this from my side of the family-- Grandpa Bray sounds like a mad dog whenever he pukes. Some good pukey-yelling there. Yep.

And BTW- you're welcome. This was just one of those nights that was too good not to share. I'm sure you all have your own stories to match or even best this one.....

From us to you....

First of all, can I just say how much I love this first picture-- Tys and I were completely oblivious to the crazy Quinnness going on behind us and Mac is just loving it!

 a BIG thank you to Emilee, for stopping by and taking these pics for us, on her way home! Here are all the losers..... (the ones that didn't quite make the cut, but show a little personalitay)

 

And here are the masterpieces.......

Merry Christmas!

I had a bad day....

Sunday-- and not just any Sunday-- FAST Sunday. And for my non-mormon friends out there-- that does not mean an expedited Sunday-- it means the one Sunday each month that the entire church goes without food and water for two consecutive meals (usually accompanied by prayer, and a special purpose). This particular fast Sunday started off like any other, except that Tyson slept in and when he woke up, he had to take his antibiotics (MUST take with FOOD). And so.... I was the only person fasting. That is a lonely place to be, my friends. But I soldiered on. I prepared my Sunday school lesson and got ready to propose a big project to my class, one that I was REALLY excited about. We even left for church with plenty of time to spare and claimed some soft seats for sacrament. Sacrament was okay-- I think. I missed most of it, because Mac was either hitting me, pulling my hair or otherwise causing some general havoc. I took him out halfway through and just let him run the halls (this was done for my- and Tyson's- sanity, not Mac's). When I came back in, Quinn had to go potty, so out I went AGAIN. By the time we got back, it was time for the closing song and Tyson and Mac were nowhere to be seen. When we got out of sacrament, we found Tyson and Mac in the hallway and bundled up the kids and sent them home with Tyson (they were both sick as well). And I soldiered on (AGAIN) and headed to my Sunday School class, already thoroughly frazzled....

Now, before I continue on with my narrative... a word about my Sunday school class-- they are 13-14 year olds and are usually VERY well behaved. They contribute to the lesson, and generally make me very happy to have the calling I have. Sufficeth to say.... I was not prepared for what awaited me behind door #2 this day.

I walked in and after explaining that Tyson and Mac were sick and would not be joining us, I was answered with exclamations of, "uhhh, today is going to be so boring." One of the more polite girls stated that today would be very "calm." Ouch. BUT I soldiered on. It only went downhill from there. At one point, I was trying to talk OVER their obnoxious remarks and found myself yelling, "I know that the Lord will bless us when we ask for help in our callings!" Wow. I mentally took a step back and just decided today was not going to go as expected. At the end (more or less) of my lesson, I broached the subject of the big project......... nothing. No enthusiasm. And they all pretty much shot me down. When the conversation ONCE AGAIN delved into Justin's suspenders, I just said, "okay- who's praying?" They were all taken back, this was the first time that I had ever ended a lesson without bearing my testimony and thanking them for their participation. Justin stood up and prayed and then I practically ran from the classroom to my car. I came home and bawled my eyes out, ranting about everything including my ridiculous inability to teach. I told Tyson I wanted to be released.

Now here's the thing about me and FAST sunday-- I don't do well on an empty stomach. Things of a spiritual nature seem to come much more easily, but my ability to think and reason and think reasonably GO OUT THE WINDOW. I mean they literally FLY. My self-confidence hovers around a negative one and if anything goes wrong, I am instantly an emotional wreck. I don't do well. 

So Tyson did his best to console me and promised that my class had just had a bad day. Things would be better next week. I silently vowed there WOULD NOT be a next week. I tried to cheer up over the next few hours and not think about the cheesy sandwich I had watched Tyson wolf down at lunch. (I failed by the way, and broke my fast early- around 3:30)And then at 4:45 we headed into tithing settlement. (a time, once a year, when each member of the ward sits down with the bishop and declares whether they have paid a full or part tithe that year.) We got into the Bishop's office and our children went crazy. It was like someone had hit the ludicrous button located on the top of their heads. Mac just started SCREAMING and hitting Tyson as hard as he could over and over and over. And when Tyson put him down, he just screamed LOUDER. Quinn absolutely refused to sit after the first five seconds, and ran around the room making fart noises on her arm and intermittently begging the Bishop for MORE candy. And in the midst of this, the Bishop turns his penetrating gaze on me and asks, "Sister Allen, how have you been blessed in your home as you have kept your covenants?" Wait, what? Do you see what's going on right now?! Okay, blessings.... ummmm..... (fart noise-- I'd call it a trumpeter) "I think..... that we have felt a greater sense of.... um.... peace?" (oh please, just send us on our way) Bless his heart, he acted like it was the right answer, ended our interview, and ushered us out the door. We went home and had Quinn recite, "I will not make fart noises in front of the Bishop." twenty times and then made her kiss our feet. (totally kidding-- but I thought about it!)

The rest of the night I prayed for bedtime-- harder than I had ever prayed for anything ever. And it eventually came. We put our kids down and settled in for some relaxy time. Tyson wanted to watch "The TESTAMENTS," so we did. And then came my happy ending. I remembered why I am here, and why I do what I do. Because God has blessed me to live now, and to be a MOM, and to raise these crazy wonderful children. Because I am blessed to know the plan of salvation and to know of our Savior's atonement for us. Because the atonement is REAL and PERSONAL. Because Jesus Christ knows my name and more than that-- He knows my struggles.... 

and because I love HIM.

Q is for Quinn

I haven't done a post dedicated to my sassy little 3 year old in quite some time. This is overdue. Up until about two months ago, whenever Quinn woke up with a bad dream, she would just scream at the top of her lungs until I came stumbling into her room and sang "Child of God." And then, all of a sudden, she stopped doing this and started quietly creeping into our room and just standing beside the bed until I woke up with the feeling that I was being watched. Creepy, right? OR is that just ME that has a fear of waking up with someone standing next to the bed holding something scary... i.e. a knife or gun or cheese grater (hey-- I have cut myself many-a-time on that bad boy!) ? Anywho, so two nights ago, this same situation occurred-- Quinn came in and quietly whispered "mom," and I woke up thinking death was near, and when I recovered my senses, I said, 

"Quinn, what's wrong?"

"Mom, my bedroom is so scary."

"Oh, it's not scary, babe."

"Yes it is, can I sleep in the tunnel?"

"Huh? Are you sure you're awake?"

"The tunnel, mom"

??

"The tunnel by you and daddy."

Lightbulb!

She wanted to sleep between me and Tyson! Apparently, the two of us form a protective "tunnel" when lying in bed. Who knew? And it must be magical, because she was asleep within a matter of seconds. It made me remember a time when I was around 3, crawling into the safety and security of my parent's bed and finding my own "tunnel" in the crook of my mom's legs. Laying on top of the cream colored silky blanket with orange yarn ties, I was completely safe.

For Emily..... Tea parties, sleep, silly faces, and pumpkins.

I got so much done today!! You would not even BeLiEvE!!! I promise. And when I came inside from washing the Expedition-- I found a sweet (hardly) little note from Emily expressing a desire to see some life on this here blog. And since I am in a Get-er-dun kind of mood-- here I am.

These pics are from a glorious tea party with Auntie Emily one day when Quinn's little friend ended up not being able to attend. She was so stinking excited I couldn't just NOT do it! (Emily, of course. Did you think I was talking about Quinn?)

One night after watching some TV- I came back to Quinn's room to check on her and found this....

These are your eye candy Em....

And Monday night, our first FHE of October, we spent carving pumpkins and watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!"

Good enough, sassy pants? :)