Where I've been and where I'm going

Andy planned a quick little weekend away to celebrate the beginning of summer break.

 There was lots of bed jumping,

and cute sibling poses that ended in head-locks that ended in screaming that ended in all out fist-fights.  But, hey, what's quality family time for if not bludgeoning each other to death?

 Andy and Mia were in theme-park heaven at Six Flags.

 If there's one thing I have learned about theme parks it's that they are humbling places. You may think you look cute when you get there, but by the time you leave you are just as nasty and stinky and gross as everyone else.  

 Bode and I had our fill of Six Flags about 3 hours before Andy and Mia. 

 The kids loved the roof-top pool.

 Bode got all tatted up for the occasion.

 Nothing says vacation like a giant-sized rice krispy treat.

(And apparently nothing says vacation to Andy like hot fudge sundae flavored pop-tarts.  Never send your husband to the store before a trip to get breakfast foods for your children.  I think I should have made him take the oath of doctors before he went shopping for food for our children.  "First, do no harm.")

 And then there was this little impromptu event.  I can't even explain the bizarre fascination we had with this, but it was to the point that we paid to put our kid in this bubble and let tons of strangers gawk at her.

 Andy interviewed her afterwards.  "So tell us, how does it feel to be "that weird mall freak person?"  We were bursting with pride.

 And finally, there was Leggo Land.  This place was pretty neat for little kids.  Bode loved the play area.  Here he is building a leggo car to race in the little leggo race track.

 Mia loved Leggo City, the entire Dallas/Fort Worth area made out of Leggos. 

Now the next section of this post is reserved for mothers, mothers-to-be, or any woman who thinks there is even the slightest chance she might be a mother in the future.

This is where I am going to be this week:

That is the sign for a local church camp.  This is one of the nine million things I have done as a mother that I swore I would nev-ver do.

Right up there with letting my kid sleep with me for any reason what-so-ever and eating hot fudge sundae flavored pop-tarts, I swore I would never go to camp with my kid.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not too high maintenance to rough it.  I haven't had a pedicure in three years, for goodness sake.

But camp is not my thing.

Camp is for fun, outgoing, energetic people that like being around tons of children and not having access to a Starbucks.  Camp is for creative, spiritual people that can teach and inspire the youth of America.  Camp is for sporty, athletic, not afraid to try new things kind of people.

But thank goodness church camp is also for a slightly apprehensive (ok, terrified) mother who wants to be a part of seeing her daughter have a completely new and potentially life changing spiritual experience.

I wouldn't miss it for all the mosquitos and copperheads in the world.

(You know i just said that last sentence for dramatic effect, don't you? If I see a tick I'm outa there.)

The most humbling lesson of motherhood is that you will most certainly do all the things you swore you would never do and even more things you could never have dreamed you would have to do.

And you love {almost} every minute of it.

Every day is Father's Day around here

 (You know it's officially summer time at the Lashley house when Bode spends 95% of every day totally naked.)

They're just slightly crazy about this guy, as am I.

It's a great day to be a kindergartener

Mia has survived her first year of school relatively unscathed.  

Her most memorable achievements were "learning to do the monkey bars and losing three teeth."

Her favorite parts of the day were: "Specials and when you came to pick me up."

Her favorite things to eat in the cafeteria were "cheeseburgers and chicken strips." (duh)

And just look at what a difference a school year makes: 

She went from cute to beautiful, apprehensive to confident, a baby to a girl. 

Only a man is capable of "checking out" at a moment's notice.

Sunday, fun day.

Sundays are not a relaxing day for anyone in our little family.  Mainly because my husband works here. 

I'll admit it has taken me years to adjust to not having a husband around on Sundays for things like dropping us off at the door when it's pouring down rain, watching the kids in the afternoon while I attend bridal showers, wrangling children while I fix dinner for small group, or helping me get kids dropped off or picked up from bible class.  

But I'm not complaining (Really, I'm not).  I have sort of found my groove on Sundays and make the most of it.

The kids and I enjoy things like eating cereal in the middle of the afternoon. 

 And, of course, pillow parties.

 This past Sunday we met back up with Daddy for a wonderful evening at Walk for Hope.

 Mia was determined to walk with her friends and nowhere near her parents.  Mission accomplished.

I got to spend some quality time with Simon in the Moby wrap.  This thing was awesome...for the first mile.  Then it got kind of sweaty and he may have almost dropped out of the bottom of it onto the street.  And then he may have had a major blow-out and then he may have spent the last mile trying to nurse me.  Other than that, it was awesome.

But no matter the amount of poop under my fingernails, at the end of a Sunday I usually feel exhausted and I always feel blessed.

The Sonshine School Program

Last night was "The Sonshine School Program."  The fam came to town to watch Bode sing about three inaudible lines of something that didn't even slightly resemble a song.  

I still thought was precious.

 (BTW, something crazy is going on with my neck.  I'm blaming my jacked up thyroid, which is to blame for everything these days.  Burned dinner - it's the thyroid.  Tired - thyroid.  Can't sleep - thyroid.  I know, I have issues.)

 Bode's feeling upstaged by this adorable little kid.  I may or may not have forgotten all about my child for a minute (or five) because this little boy had me in some sort of a trance.  He's that adorable.

 Behold, the chaos:

 Juliet was perfect the entire night and even let my sweet Ahmo love on her.

 I can see a glimpse of him at 18 in this picture.  It's precious and terrifying all at the same time.

This little man could go to "big school" next year.  But he's not.
Which means I have more SSS programs in my future. 

And I'm just fine with that.

Happy Mother's Day to Me

Meet my surrogate man-children (I just googled that term and realized it is an actual syndrome which means that I probably need to remove it from my arsenal of phrases-I-think-are-hilarious) children:

These guys are seriously the best of the best. 

Teach for America Corps Member - check

Harvard law school - check

National Merit Scholar - check

Double major in business and finance - check

Capitol Hill church urban ministry intern - check

Are the kind of men I pray Bode turns out to be like and Mia marries - check

House-sits, dog-sits, fish-sits and babysits for me anytime I need it - check, check, check and check

 Eats my cooking and thinks it's fabulous (even when it's not) - check

And hey all you single girls (I seriously doubt too many hip, young single girls even know this blog exists, but just in case):  Three of them are eligible bachelors. 

I'm just sayin'

And these young men know how to treat a lady, or at least a mom.  

How would I know?

Because a couple of days ago they surprised me with this:

And in case you haven't noticed what I am referring to because you are too busy trying to figure out which one's going to Harvard and if he happens to be one of the eligible bachelors, it's a Kindle.  

And I'm in love.

Thank you, boys.  You have been a blessing to my entire family.  

My kids idolize you, my husband respects you, and I'm so proud of all of you I could pop.

I highly recommend being a mentor to college students.  

They will bless you more than you bless them, I promise.

I feel fine.

You know those weeks when you are so busy that the only time you have to feel guilty about how little attention you are paying to your family is in the wee hours of the night?

Well, this was one of those weeks.  

I think I passed my husband in the garage a couple of times as he was pulling in and I was pulling out.

We may have brushed arms in the hall carrying sleeping babies to their correct beds.  Or maybe I just dreamed that.

Anyway, my point is that this week wasn’t a mother-of-the-year week.  I didn’t cook a single thing.  The family devotional did not happen.  And horror of horrors, neither did the laundry.

But I did let both of my children lie in bed with me last night and watch the greatest movie of all time, Holiday Inn.  Bode was happily snoring on my shoulder before Fred Astaire’s first song was over.  Then I allowed myself the luxury of listening to both of my babies make their sweet little sleep sounds. 

And then I felt a peace wash over me.  

And guess what? 

No guilt.

That’s right, I don’t feel guilty that I had a busy week and barely saw my kids, yet alone my husband.  It’s just a week.  I haven’t failed them.  They will not resent me for the rest of their lives (at least not for this), they are just fine being shuffled around from friend to friend and tomorrow is a new day.

It’s hasn’t been an ideal week (Is there really such a thing?).  But I’ve let it go, and I feel fine.

Dear Children,

I know this will come as quite a shock to you, but your parents aren't perfect.

I'll give you some time to let that sink in.

Of course this is no surprise when it comes to me.  You remind me daily of all my shortcomings.  You both know how to keep a woman humble.

Comments like, "Mom, why is your hair striped like a zebra?" and "Moth-ther you are so embarrrrrresssssinnnnnngggg." and of course the "Mommy, your boobies are little like mine," leave no room for ego-inflation.

But your Dad, well, he is a super-hero who can do no wrong.  In fact, he is on such a pedestal that you beg me not to tell him even the smallest of your shortcomings.  And it's certainly not because you fear some sort of crazy Father-wrath but simply because you think he is perfect and you want him to think that you are too.

Mia, you always ask me not to tell Dad if you have gotten in trouble, made the tiniest mistake, or even when you have a loose tooth ("I want to surprise him when it comes out.  He'll be so excited.").

But the gig is up.

Remember this?  Well, it didn't happen.

And yes, there was a race.  A race that Mommy ran in pouring rain, horrific winds, hail, and freezing temperatures.  It. Was. Miserable.

But Daddy wasn't there.  He has this thing called a job.  It pays the bills and puts food on our table and is truly one of the greatest blessings of our lives to date.  And Sundays are insane.  That's just the way it is for us.  And that's OK.

(Oh and there is this minor detail: Your Father gave the training a decent effort and still HATES running.)

So I plan to move on to my next unsuspecting victims - you, my children.  I have already spent a shameful amount of time daydreaming about how adorable you will look in tiny running gear with little numbers pinned to your chests.  (Everything is so much cuter when it's miniature.)

And if running is not for you, I will still love you as much as I love your almost perfect Father, which is slightly less than I love running.

That last sentence is a joke, of course.