Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Dear Everyone

Dear Stella;

You are such a big girl. And you are way ahead of where you are supposed to be developmentally. But I didn't know that you were old enough to steal the home phone and dial 911 this morning. This is WAY too advanced.

And I'm glad that after a week of sleepless nights with you, your first tooth finally came in and you're feeling better. Again, ahead of where you're supposed to be, at least ahead of your sister. She didn't get her first tooth until she was almost 15 months old.

Dear Chloe;

Last night you threw up all night long, poor girl. The next time you think you want a bite of spicy Thai food, turn and run the other way. And the next time your mom hesitantly says, "I think it's okay if she has a bite," turn and run the other way. In fact, every time you see me, turn and run the other way. I think it might work out for the best.

One more thing, I would appreciate it if you stopped calling every guy you see, "Daddy!!!!" It's starting to get a little awkward for all parties involved.

Dear Police Officer;

I'm sorry you had to come to my door today. And I'm sorry that the first thing I said to you was, "who died?" Thank you for smiling and saying, "I hope no one. Is everything okay? We got a hang up 911 call from this number." And thank you for not making a point of my beet red face. And thank you for saying this sort of thing happens all the time. And thank you for believing me when I said it was my 8-month old that dialed 911, because it really is the truth.

And I'm sorry that my 19-month old ran up to the door and yelled, "Daddy!!!!" I realize it was a little embarrassing for us all.

Dear Jason;

I'm sorry that I air all of our dirty laundry on this blog. Literally and figuratively. I'm sorry if I'm a little crazy because I haven't really slept in over a week. I'm sorry that a police officer was called to our house today, and I'm sorry that our daughter called him "Daddy!!!!" I think it's pretty obvious that they are yours.

I totally understand if my ineptness in mothering as of late makes you feel the need to hire nannies. You can even hire four nannies like that lady off of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. And I'm sorry that I watch that show... especially sorry for the Atlanta one. But back to the nannies.... I would hate it* if you hired one, or four, because I'm opposed* to the sort of thing. But if you need me to send out an ad, I will hate* every second of it, but I'll send that out right away.

*obviously sarcastic

Dear God;

Are You There God? It's Me, Morgandi. Thank you for the book about Margaret. It really helped me through those awkward pre-teen years. But I need another book. One for moms, and their changing bodies, and emotions, and daily dealings with their children. I need a book that I can hide under my pillow, and pull out at night when I know that no one is watching. A book that will make me feel not so alone. A book that lets me know that EVERY mother goes through this sort of thing. And since you're the writer of books...really, really life-altering, best selling books (or The Book)....could just help me out with this one?

Dear Me;

Don't ever assume that just because your 8-month old is feeling better, that your 19-month old won't puke all night long, thus; not allowing you that night's sleep you assumed you'd get. In fact, quit assuming that you'll ever sleep again. Maybe, just quit assuming.

And don't let your husband convince you that Thai food can be consumed by your toddler without making her puke.

And don't forget to keep the phone out of your childrens' reach. Apparently they know how to dial 911.

And don't wear a red shirt ever again. Because every time you wear a red shirt like you did today, you get embarrassed, and your face turns red. And you know what people are thinking. "Her face is as red as her shirt." And this will make you feel like you're dying inside.

And don't greet police officers at the door with, "who died?" Let the man (or woman) speak.

And teach your daughter not to say "Daddy!!!!" to every guy she sees.

And quit writing really long posts on your blog. Learn to edit.

And I think you should just end this post now, because it's headed nowhere fast.

Thank you, and good night!!



**Update-- Stella just started puking. So apparently it wasn't the Thai food. Unless someone snuck her some Thai food. And I know it wasn't me. I think. Oy.

Monday, October 18, 2010

It's Really, Really Bright

This fat, little chunk turned 30 yesterday.

And I think I've accepted the number....................... 30.

It just sounds so................ old.

And I don't feel a day over...................... 65.

Actually, I feel like I'm 24. I might even feel better than I did when I was 24.

I guess that age really is just a number.

I had a great birthday! It was a birthday weekend, to be exact. I was able to celebrate with my family and friends. And it reaffirmed my love of being home. For the past five years, I've felt so lonely on my birthdays, but not this year. Everybody was there. And we celebrated.

And I couldn't be more thankful to be 30. Even if it does make me an old woman.

And even if it compels my mom to say, "it's really, really bright," when referencing the candles on my cake.

But to be honest, it was really, really bright.

One more thing.... I made a little wish list last year. And I think most of my wishes came true. Except for number 7. And number 8. I kid! I kid!!!!! I spent my 30th birthday without a bun in the oven. And it's a good thing. My two daughters are running circles around me.

One more would age me beyond recognition. And I can't handle being any older than I already am.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Because I Simply Cannot Resist Stella in a Tutu

I have to share 456 pictures of Stella. Because I simply have no self control when it comes to posting pictures of my girls. But you already knew that anyway.

This girl melts my heart every time I look at her. Hold her. Kiss her. I mean, look at those chunky arms. How am I supposed to resist those chunky arms?


And I simply cannot resist the funny and dramatic faces she makes. I have no idea where she learned that from. Maybe from me. Maybe her sister. Yes, probably from me. Definitely from her sister. I should keep those two separated.


And I simply cannot resist those blue eyes. Those dimples. Those sweet, little lips. And that crazy duck hair that I cannot tame.


And I simply cannot resist her. I love her more than I could ever imagine. And it's true what they say. There's more than enough room in your heart to love more than one child. I never imagined it possible, but it is.


She's a perfect fit in this crazy, little family of ours. Poor kid. She has no hope.

But you already knew that anyway.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


The day that I found out I was having a girl with my first pregnancy, was the day that my mind began racing. How was I to raise a daughter? Am I equipped enough? Do I have the right tools, the right mentality, the right amount of faith, the appropriate amount of shoes so that she won't think the only thing in life that matters are shoes?

Well I don't know if I always do the right thing, but I know that I love my daughters and feel thoroughly compelled to raise them the best way I know how. And really, it's only by the grace of God that I feel like I have moments of success.

I had one of those moments last week.

I had my first one-on-one date with my firstborn.

This past Friday, was our special day. We went to the hair salon to have her hair trimmed, and then we went to the mall. And this is when it really got exciting. The mall might not be that exciting for adults. But for a one-on-one date with your mom? Pretty exciting.

We hit Forever21 first. I told her that we were only going to look at fall trends (she has to learn about fashion somehow), but in the end she convinced me to buy a couple of shirts for my birthday on Sunday. (My 30th birthday................................okay. I can breathe again.) Then we went to the playground in the mall and played for awhile. I decided it was time for us to leave when she tried to rip a monkey backpack off of a little boy's back. After the near-thievery incident, we went to get a kid's meal from Chick-fil-a in the food court. This is where the fun happened. It was her first time on an escalator, and you too would've gone up and down the escalators about 10 times if you heard the squeals of laughter coming from the sweet girl's mouth. After the security guard asked us to quit playing on the escalators (I told him that Chloe made me do it) we hit the food court. We got a kid's meal, a sprite, and an ice cream cone. NOT a normal meal for this little girl. Maybe a normal meal for me, but not her. I didn't think she could be any happier than she was on the escalators, but this girl hit a Nirvana-esque state when we sat in the car booths (she loves cars), she found a book in her kid's meal (she loves books), and I let her consume nothing but ice cream and sprite (she's strangely possessive with sprite).

I hit my Nirvana-esque state when I saw the joy on her face, and how proud she felt for this special time together.

And in the clarity of that moment, I realized something. There's nothing better than doing special things with your mom. I'm almost 30 years old, and it still makes me giddy. It's exactly the thing I missed most when we were away from home. And it finally dawned on me that it's just as much, if not more fun, when you're the mom. It's beyond special.

It was one of the best days of my life.

And I'm so thankful that one of these days, God-willing, I'll get to treat Stella to the same thing. I can hardly wait for her to pick out shirts for me from forever21, rip a monkey off a kid's back, ride the escalator, get in trouble for it, and then eat nothing but ice cream and sprite for lunch.

I just love these girls so much. And I love being a mom. The blessings of motherhood continue to reveal themselves. And yes there are trials, and yes, I don't have all the answers. But it's days like this that charge me to continue to do my very best.

I don't think I could be more blessed.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Friday, October 8, 2010

This is the Way

I have been procrastinating about switching over the girls' closet to their new sizes for quite a while now. And since I hate switching over clothes, procrastination has been winning.

I really should have done it while my mom had the girls this past weekend (thanks, mom! It was the best weekend ever.) But instead I sat on the couch with a tub of ice cream and watched really, really bad TV.

Motivation kicked in this week, and I decided I needed to get it done.

So after they woke up, I sequestered them in Chloe's bed, gave them some books, their milk, and some toys and got to it.



I switched over their closet, took some cute pictures and they didn't kill each other in the process.

Mission accomplished.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

They Cannot Be Trusted

The other day, we were getting ready to leave. So I did our normal "leaving the house" routine. Milk in sippy cup. Formula in bottle. Pack the bags. Search for my keys. Search for my phone. Search for my sanity. Round up the girls. Change dirty diapers. Put Stella in her car seat. Let Chloe roam around the house. Tell her to search for my keys, because they're inevitably in her bed under her pillow...but that's a whole other topic for a whole other post.

And then I take our bags out to the car.

And then I come back in and get the girls. And we leave.

Usually it runs like clockwork. But this time was different. After taking the bags out to the car, I opened the door and heard hysterical laughing.

I walked over to find this scene.

Notice the tiny hands and feet underneath Chloe.

And you think that Stella would hate being smashed to smithereens by her big sister.

But she thought it was hilarious.
These girls are already having way too much fun. Trouble, if you ask me.

Monday, October 4, 2010

The Bra that Broke the Camel's Back

You know how it goes. You finally wash, dry, fold and put up all the laundry for the week, and then you turn around and there's five more loads to be washed.

Chloe decided to help me today. I appreciate her willingness to help, but it makes the job 10 times harder. Today she started going through the laundry piles, and she held up Jason's shirt and said, "Daddy." And then she found my shirt and said, "Mama." She continued to rifle through, and then she found this little treasure.



She finally figured out how to "wear" it.

The only problem was that she couldn't figure out how to make it stay on. Those things are rather hard to fasten.


So eventually, what was once the "I'm-wearing-my-mom's-undergarments-and-this-is-super-fun" playtime, turned into "I-can't-figure-this-thing-out-so-I'm-going-to-throw-a-tantrum-and-dramatically-throw-myself-into-the-wall-and-then-fall-onto-the-floor situation."


And so I hid the bra from her, and she eventually began running around the house with a much more wearable piece of clothing over her head.


Yep. That's her dad's underwear.

With my super padded 34A bra, Jason's whitey tighties, and Chloe sporting both, I think I've officially embarrassed three out of four members of the Lashley family today.

Stella, beware. You're next, kiddo.