The Macs

Sneak peek for the Mac family…   There’s no way to capture every ounce of energy this family has.  One of my faves so far!

Not So Fast

 

 

I look at this picture of my baby and realize how fast it all will go.  She’s only four.  I want it to stop.  I want her to stay this way.  With that dimple on her chin when she laughs.  I want to bottle her giggle when I sing silly made up songs about her.

What is going to happen when she realizes I can’t fix everything?   How do I make her cling to her wide-eyed enthusiasm for life?  Who will she be when she grows up?  Will she still call me her best friend?

I look at her and ask myself, “How did I get so lucky?  What did I do to deserve this?”

I love this child.  This one who is scared of lizards, but thinks bugs are cool. Is a princess and only eats vegetables so she can grow up and wear high heels.  This curious child who ever so carefully selects rocks as gifts for people she loves.  This baby.  My baby.

God’s most precious gift.

Slow down, Baby Girl.  Mama can’t keep up.

 

Downtown

I shot this smokin’ hot chick this weekend.  I think the shots on the tracks were well worth the threat of the misdemeanor charge.

Doing My Part….The Missy Project

This was by far the best book I’ve ever ever ever ever read and I’ve read a lot of books.

Do your part too!

Hi Ate Us

It’s been so long I forgot my login for wordpress.  Then I forgot which of my e-mail addresses to enter for the password recovery.  Then I renewed my vows to twitter and EJ had to eat Sponge Bob Cheez-Its for three days.

I KNOW y’all are lettin’ out a giant sigh of relief that I didn’t bail on the whole blog thing. Right?  I mean, at least 6 people a day are checking the site to make sure I’m still alive.  Mama, was that you? Six times a day.  Really?  Psycho.  Just text me next time.

Then Knology scored a big fat ZERO (again) and my caller ID quit working.  I had to talk to three people in one day who otherwise would have been sent to voice mail.  Jerks. (Knology. Not the people I had to talk to. Well, one of them.)

There’s been a lot going on.  I survived a birthday party at Chuck-E-Cheese.  Before 10am.  No alcohol allowed till noon at such fine establishments in the South.  12.3 of the adults actually made it out alive.  2.7 of them left speaking in tongues and forgot to take their kids with them.

I lost all self-control and sucked on a capri-sun after my snotty 4-year-old and ended up in a relationship with a bottle of mucinex.  I still sound like the spit sucker at the dentist’s office when I laugh.

I’ve had such soaring hopes that I would have already posted the birthday milestone post I want to post about the past four years of motherhood and how hopping on clouds happy I am about all the joy my daughter has given me.  I’m a slack ass.

Don’t leave me.  I promise promise promise I’m going to do better.

Head First

Y’all. For the love of parenthood.  I’m all in on this one.

To quote The Blackeyed Peas: “Good Lawd Have Mercy.”   I don’t need to refresh any memories that my BFF is about to friggin’ pop, right?  Second child, it’s a girl, yada yada.  What I haven’t been real clear about is how damn excited EJ is about that baby getting here.  Back when the baby’s name was still a big ol’ question mark I even asked EJ what she thought her name should be.  Bless my baby’s heart. She’s going to be crushed when Rachel doesn’t really name her Strawberry Shortcake.

Well, it was only a matter of blessed time before curiosity tried to kill the mama.  (That would be me in this particular case.)  EJ notices, on a regular basis, the increasing size of Aunt Rachel’s belly and feels compelled to mention it to her oh, just about everydamntime she sees her.  How do you explain to a three-year-old who can’t decide if this birth or her own 4th birthday is going to be the best thing about this September, that you DO NOT remind a pregnant woman how big she is in the middle of AUGUST?  In GEORGIA.  Well, that’s really neither here nor there now.  Because the million dollar question is, “Mama, how is Strawberry Shortcake going to get out of Aunt Rachel’s belly?”  Note:  My child didn’t ask how she got IN there.  She wants to know how the hell she’s getting out.  Shit.

The first time she asked me I tried to answer it without really answering it.  It went like this:

EJ:  “Mama, how is Strawberry Shortcake going to get out of Aunt Rachel’s belly?”

Me:  “Well, the doctor is going to get her out.”

EJ:   pause. reflecting. more pause.  “But HOW?”

Me:   it was bedtime so I played the trump card.  “Eva, it’s bedtime. Save your questions for tomorrow.”

EJ:   “Okay.  Maybe I’ll ask Aunt Rachel.”

Me:   “That sounds like a great idea, Princess.”

My luck would have it that she did indeed see Aunt Rachel the next morning, but the previous nights ponderings were not on her radar screen.   That evening while I was bathing her she asked again.  I decided I would just be honest.  There’s no reason she can’t know the truth.  Right?

EJ:  “Mama, how is Strawberry Shortcake going to get out of Aunt Rachel’s belly?”

Me:  “Well, right now Strawberry Shortcake is growing in Aunt Rachel’s belly and she can’t come out until she’s all finished.  When she’s ready, Aunt Rachel will go to the hospital and the doctor will help her come out.”

Ej:  “How does she come out?”

Me:   I said I was all in here, remember?  “She’s going to come out of Aunt Rachel’s bottom.”  Just go for it, Ash. “And as a matter of fact, the bottom is really called a vagina.  That’s where the baby will come out.”

Words cannot describe the look on her face.  TERROR is the closest I can come.  I crumbled.  I screwed up.  Shit.  What did I do??? Why did I feel like she could handle that?  What the HELL was I thinking?

Ah, but wait.  I was mistaken.  It was not the logical thought of HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? or even DOES IT HURT??  Nope.  Not one iota of concern for the mother here.

EJ:  “Can we watch?”

Me:  “No, baby.  We will need to just wait until she gets here to go see her.”

EJ:  “Will Aunt Rachel take her pants off?”

Me:  “Yes, I’m positive she will not be wearing pants.”  (major self control to not add an aside here.  you’re welcome, rach.)

EJ:  “But who is going to see her? Will the doctor see her bottom?”

Me:  “Yes, he will have to see her to catch the baby when she comes out.”

EJ:  “Did I come out of your bottom?”  (Glad to know she’s already forgotten the V word.  No need to be screaming that at the cashiers at Publix anytime soon.)

Me:  “Yep! You sure did!”

EJ:  “Did I cry?  Was I scared?”

Me:  “You cried a little.  I don’t think you were scared.  I think you just wanted to eat.”

Something happens here.  She pauses for the briefest moment.  Her eyes tell me she’s considering something.

EJ:  “BUT MAMA!!!!!  What about the HAIR????? DOES THE BABY HAVE TO TOUCH THE HAIR ON YOUR BOTTOM?????”

Me:  Stifling laughter and making a mental note to schedule an appointment with Dayna. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”

EJ:  “Mama, don’t tell Aunt Rachel.”

Me:  “Don’t tell her what?”

EJ:  “Don’t tell her she has hair on her bottom.”

Conveniently Enough

Apparently they can be purchased in gum ball machines these days.  For a DOLLAR.  What a steal!  Too bad this one is sold out.  I know a few people who could use them.

Sweet 16

Happy Sweet 16, Mackenzie!  I’m so proud of the young lady you have become.  You are beautiful and bright and sensitive and you have a heart as big as the moon.  Here is my gift to you:

Put God first.  Yep, even before that monstrous list of chores!

Your Mama is, and always will be, your best friend.  She knows you better than anyone else.  Plus, she HAS to put up with your crap.

Your Daddy is your protector.  No one will ever be good enough for you.  Just go ahead and accept that now and you’ll avoid a bucket load of tears.

Your sister thinks you hung the moon.  She doesn’t know that right now, but she will.  You two have something in common to complain about: your parents.

You don’t know everything. Not just yet. Neither do your friends.

Teenage boys don’t know everything either even though they are going to tell you they do.

Young love is so sweet.  It shapes how you will love when you are an adult.  Cherish it.  Learn from it.  Don’t let it consume you.

Broken hearts do heal.  Sometimes they heal faster with a hug from Mama, a promise that Daddy will kill him, and of course a new pair of shoes.

Dream about what you want to be when you grow up.  Dream BIG.  You can do anything.

Be honest always or you’ll end up lying to yourself.

Insist on learning how to drive a stick shift for no other reason than to say you can.

Learn to laugh at yourself.

Don’t say, “I wish.”  Say, “I will.”

Keep your promises.  Especially the ones to yourself.

Don’t ever settle.

Be respectful of others.  Even the idiots.  It’s how people learn to respect you.

Hold yourself, your morals, and your family in high regard.  If you think you aren’t worth something, other people will too.

Read. Books, the news, the Bible. Everyday.

Write letters to people you love.  Text messages and e-mails aren’t forever. Letters can be kept in fancy boxes or tied up in pretty bows and kept in secret hiding places.

Learn to cook.  Ask your Nana for her recipes and save them for your daughter.

Go fishing with your Grandpa.

Your life is stretched out in front of you, Mackenzie.  Go get it.
xoxo – ashley

Pretty Dang Funny

Eugene Cordero

Ain’t No Shame In Her Game

I’ve tried all afternoon to decide just how to convey what I witnessed during a lunch with friends today.  I know what I saw.  I know what I thought when I saw it.

Most of you are familiar with my friend of 22 years un-biological sister, Rachel.  Her mother should have been my mother because of the unhealthy fear of germs thing we share and my dad should have been her dad because of the weird ability to do head-math and psycho-analytical and policital views things they share.  Well, that and we sort of think for each other.  You know that, “Get the F out of my head, biatch! I was just about to say that!” thing.  Random, but completely relevant aside: We were in the car one day with some co-workers (yes, we work together too… can you imagine how annoying we are?).  I forget which one of us was drivng but we were both in the front seats.  Approaching a four-way stop, we were behind a car with the license plate: MRS BOX .  Y’all.  Really.  It only took a nano-second for it to register and invoke hysterical laughter and snorts from the front seat.  We were both thinking the SAME thing.  “Does her husbands plate say, MR JOHNSON?”

Okay, so at lunch today… yeah yeah. I know I remember I was telling a story.  Halfway through the meal, she leans back and puts her hand on her very pregnant belly and says, “Will you stick your finger down my throat so I feel better?”  Just in case you said “EEEEWWWWW” or maybe even gagged a little, that didn’t shock or bother me at all.  I was more annoyed that she might actually be serious and I wasn’t finished eating yet.  We are the Queen Mama’s of inappropriate table/workplace/church/dressing room/etc conversation.

What shocked me was that she didn’t STOP EATING.  She continued to trowel more french fries into her mouth for the next 10 or so minutes.  I was in the middle of that completely charming and notatallbothersome thing I do where I talk to anyoneandeveryone about my child to my other friend at the table.  I finally took notice of ol’ Takeru Kobayashi sitting next to me and called her ass out on it.  I also may or may not have been unnecessarily loud about it.

Me: Are you seriously still packing your face after you just asked me to help you puke?

Rachel (mid-chew): What?  They TASTE good.  I can’t help it.

She had one last fry for good measure and then used her straw to drizzle her tea all over her fries.  After a moment of pondering how that might taste, she decided to trump her lack of self-control and flooded the remaining food with salt.  There.  Done.  She sat back completely satisfied with herself.

Room for dessert.