Confession

…I have missed more Sundays with my church family in these last three months than probably the last three years.  No, that is not to brag on my regular attendance – it is merely pointing out that we’ve been struck with yuck here and there and usually comes down on the Sabbath. 

Thus, here I lay this morning, curled up on the couch with my eldest, watching ‘Mirror, Mirror’ repeatedly.  And no, not by my choice, though I do love a good Julia Roberts flick. I’m not complaining at all.  You see, when one has multiple children and gets to spend time alone with a single, one jumps on it, even if he does complain of a sore throat {though something tells me that should I mention the word roller skating, he might be miraculously healed…}

So not only am I taking this opportunity to cuddle with Dagen, I’m also cashing in on the chance to catch up on laundry and the ole’ blog {per a certain person’s demand request}

Let’s start with a pregnancy update.  I am now in my second trimester and starting to feel a lot better,
specifically where the all-day sickness is concerned.  My appetite has come back but I haven’t noticed it to be insatiable…yet. 

That reminds me of my last OB appointment.  I’m seeing a new doctor from the one that delivered Dayne, merely because of distance, and she was going through the list of do’s and don’ts in pregnancy, all the while knowing that I’m no newbie at this deal.  When she got to the part about suggested weight gain of 25-35lbs, I just giggled.  She asked me why and I told her that she could probably just tell her nurse to save her breath every month, that I’ve yet to gain less than 60lbs with any of my children and I wasn’t looking to make this one any different.  After all, I’d hate for d4 to feel I deprived it of anything.  There will be plenty of time for that in the 18 years to follow. 

How do I know?  Well, let’s see.  Dagen has two completed baby books, Davis has one and Dayne’s hasn’t been updated since he cut his first tooth at 6 months old.  Now do you believe me?

Ahem, I digress.

We have our full anatomy scan scheduled for Jan 3^rd which would also be when we’d learn the gender of this little person.  However, my anxious, impatient self couldn’t wait that long.  I emailed my old OB {referenced above – the one that delivered my nine-pound baby Dayne almost four years ago!} and asked if he’d be willing to take a {free} sneak peek over Christmas break and he said YES! {It probably didn’t hurt my request now that I’m doing some independent consulting work from home for the hospital again!} So, unless baby doesn’t cooperate, we should see what’s between the little one’s legs on Dec 26^th. 

I’m not going to lie.  I would be over the moon to hear hamburger instead of hotdog at that appointment.  However, I know and believe that God’s will is perfect and only He knows what is best for our family.  If a girl is not for us, it’s not for us and I’m going to {eventually} be okay with it.  And since we’re considering taking permanent steps to stop the baby-making process for our family, we really will have to be okay with it. 

In other news:

*Dayne had his first trip to the ER last week after bumping his head in the garage.  The gash required two stitches and he did an amazing job throughout the whole process, though I was worried more about the possibility of contracting the flu from the nasty waiting room.  Fortunately, four days later, he has shown no signs of flu and, for that I’m SO thankful!

*Davis has been working hard on his handwriting skills.  I say that because, honestly, he doesn’t struggle in any other area of school right now.  Sure, it’s the first grade but he’s excelling in all subjects.  Fortunately, handwriting is the only area that he shows a need for improvement and, for that, we are SO thankful!

*Dagen is still pushing through third grade and giving it his best {as are we}.  Last week we studied hard for another Science and Social Studies test and I’m pretty sure I’m looking forward to Christmas break more than he is.  When we are spending two hours a night x 3 nights for a test that covers a five-page study guide, it’s time for a change-up.  And no, I’m not kidding.  Fortunately, that ten-day respite is a-comin’ and, for that, we are SO thankful!

Merry Christmas! 

{This is where our 2012 Christmas card would go if I could figure out Blogger's new features but, right now, I'm conceding and will just tell you it was another 'classy' one...}

 

 

Parenthood

You know, my perception of parenting before I had children is rather comical. I mean, I always knew that carrying a child for 9 months wouldn’t be all fun and games and that labor was likely going to hurt like hades but no one told me that being a mother to a 3rd grader was going to be dreadful. I hate to use such a strong, ugly adjective but it is rough.

Let’s take tonight for example. In an effort to help Dagen prepare for one of his FOUR tests this week, the hubs and I tag-teamed the study effort, the first being in Science over mass and motion. And then we moved on to Social Studies where he has been studying South Carolina history. Exciting stuff, right? I learned more tonight on settlers, crops and tribes than I honestly cared to know. We are discovering that if we want to see Dagen succeed in school, we are probably going to have to refresh {or learn for the first time, in some instances} what he is learning. PS – this was not in my list of expectations.

Listen, don’t get me wrong. I don’t send my boys to public school and expect that they fully handle his education with no help at home. I just never thought I’d be carrying third grade coursework for the second time at age 32. That’s all.

And then let’s discuss reading. He hates it. No, seriously hates it. He has no desire to read at all and I cannot relate. I love to read. {NERD ALERT!} I remember sneaking a flashlight as a kid, hiding it under my mattress, and pulling it out to read under the covers. When I give Dagen a book to read in his room, I usually go back 10 minutes later to find his light off while he is out cold. I know that I can’t expect him to love it like I did/do but, darn, he has to at least give it a whirl.

Now, he can speed read like a champ but his comprehension is, well, sad. Last week, he had an assigned story in his school reading book. We made sure he read it every day {as did we} and then asked him questions to test his comprehension. It appeared that he had it, except his test score indicated otherwise….and it was even an open book test. Seriously, son….IT WAS OPEN BOOK! Bless his little heart, these next nine years are going to be L.O.N.G. and probably painful {for all of us!}

For a brief moment, let me just rant about one more thing in this pregnancy. I can’t eat onions. Not only can I smell them a mile away with this ridiculous basset-hound nose but if I taste one in my mouth, I have to spit it out or risk the upchuck. WHAT?!?! I absolutely adore onions – red, yellow, white, green – and typically ask for extra on my burger, pizza or salad but, for whatever reason, this fetus has decided that ‘it’ is repulsed by them. I just don’t get it. I mean, I know that these crazy things happen but, golly Pete, what if these aversions never go away? What if I never want another cup of coffee or I never get to enjoy a slice of mushroom and onion pizza again? I just can’t even deal with the thought right now. {BTW, there are other distastes right now, those are just my two tragic ones…}

And since I titled this blog Parenthood, you should know that we have started watching that TV show on Netflix and you should, too. It’s the one show that totally makes you feel like a normal parent, even if you’re really screwed up like me.

That is all.

8w1d

So this week has been interesting. We started off at the OB’s office for our first appointment which included an early ultrasound of the bean. The scan went great, all looks on track and we even saw {but didn’t hear} the beating of little d4’s heart. Presh! Naturally, the older brothers were excited to see the pictures of the baby. That is, until they actually saw them and thought we had lost our minds because, surely, we didn’t think that blob resembled a baby?!?

Move ahead two days later to where I experienced probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. As I was walking down the preschool hallway at church before our Wednesday night Missions class, my heel got caught in the bottom of my pant leg and I went down. I can’t even imagine how ungraceful it looked to the many innocent bystanders but in my mind, I saw it like this….



Honest to goodness, folks, I don’t get embarrassed by much. When you have loud boys like mine who speak everything that their little minds think {and usually in public}, you just seem to form a bit of a ‘Whatever!’ opinion and learn to laugh stuff off.  However, this was awful. I remember seeing it happen in slow motion but seriously thinking it was a dream. 

I’m fine, the bean is fine {or so I assume} but it will take some time before I’m giggling when the memory comes to mind. For those who saw it, that is who I really am. PS - I'll be burning the perps that caused my fall.  {i.e. cute black heels}

But guess what? The next day, I popped up* out of bed and participated in the best team-building activity EVER with our staff. It was called the Greater Greenville Race and was a bit of a scavenger hunt in downtown G’ville that ended with lunch and prizes for the winners {that would be our splendid team that took 2ND PLACE!}. I swear we walked 5 miles in that 90-minute span of time but it was so much fun! See, TobyMac, I did get back up again!

So I should probably clarify the above *verb*. I may have been a little optimistic on my choice of words. Popping up out of bed actually means rolling out with lots of yawns, groans and sighs…and that’s when I actually sleep in my bed. As of late, I am experiencing some awesome morning sickness that actually means early morning sickness {i.e. 1am}. I have the overwhelming feeling of barfing but nothing comes out. It just sits in my throat. What kind of twisted torture is this kid playing on me?

Because of this mess, I’m not able to lay flat so I have to take it to the couch, where the tushy gives a bit more than my rock-hard mattress. I’m really over this. No, really. Who has time for nausea, not to mention the headaches, dizziness, bloating, fatigue and other stuff that goes with these wonderful issues? I’ve got meals to make, carpets to clean, boys to bathe. I just want to eat and eat A LOT, without everything making me sick. I want my pregnancies back from d's 1-3.

Can we now discuss my limited wardrobe from being in this awkward, in-between stage? I’ve pretty much got five outfits that I can comfortably {and appropriately} wear to work before I go full maternity, three of which are accessorized with a jean jacket. And this mess of a hair? Yep, it will probably be up in this low, wet pony-tail every morning until my personal stylist, the fabulous Delecta Rollins, forbids it and gives me a ‘do that requires zero effort. Except that doesn’t exist for my frizzy fro.

I really don’t want to sound like a Debby Downer but this part of pregnancy is ROUGH. My poor boys have been great. After I pick them up from school and we do homework together, I curl up in my normal spot on the couch while they battle each other in Mario Kart around Mommy’s limp body until Dallas gets home, whispering, ‘Do you think she’ll ever not be tired?’ to each other. Sad face but I can’t help it. I promise, boys. It won’t be like this for long, says Darius Rucker.

7w4d

Yesterday, Dagen came up to me and, as he does so often, tenderly gave me a hug.  It warms my heart that this rough-and-tumbling yet super sensitive and gentle little boy willingly hugs his mommy.  And then he spoke. 

Dagen: Mommy, how big is the baby now? Is it still the size of a bean?
Me: Um, yeah, something like that. 
Dagen: {with a puzzled look}…so if it’s that small, why is your belly so big right now? What else is growing in there?

One day when I expose my stash of secret pictures of him playing ping*pong stark naked to his high school friends and he asks me why I would do such a cruel thing, I’m going to point him right here. 

And because I need a laugh, I figured you do, too.  If you are or have been pregnant, I’m sure you can relate.  Last week, I cried during a fight scene in Karate Kid.  What the wha...?

6w3d

Funny how men & women are different. If a man reads that title, he thinks it’s the name of a new Star Wars character. If a woman reads it, she knows it’s pregnancy-related. Unless that man is my husband who has already updated ‘his’ due date on BabyCenter so that he receives weekly emails on the growth of our unborn bebe and subsequently sends me links to this, that and the other as if I’ve never done this before. Thanks but no thanks. I will sleep on my back until I no longer can and if I choose a bag of donuts over an apple for my snack, I strongly suggest you hold your remarks.

 Ahem, I digress. So 6w3d, for those in the dark, is code for six weeks and three days into this human-growing process. With Dagen, I had a cute little journal I logged everything in. And I do mean everything. With Davis, I had a free Enfamil calendar that I might have marked the big dates with fun little stickers. With Dayne, yeah, I did nothing. Sorry, buddy. It was the life in which we lived. With this one, I’m going to try my hand at blogging some things. Or this might be the only one, given the fact that I’m home from church today because I’m fighting serious nausea & dizziness. Whatever. You’ve gotta start somewhere.

So these symptoms I’m griping about this morning have been bothering me kicking my butt these last couple of weeks. No, it's not like I’ve never experienced any of it before but I’ll be darned if they don’t seem elevated. Take nausea for instance. It seems to show up around the same time every morning and last for several hours. It closely resembles the way I feel when riding through the hills of Tennessee with Dallas behind the wheel except it’s not over in 10 minutes…it lasts 2-4 hours and it’s brutal.

And then add some random smells that I’ve somehow developed aversions to and it’s even worse. I can understand being nauseated by the smell of hard-boiled eggs or fish or something stinky but my biggest aversion right now? COFFEE. My beloved java. Listen, friends, I haven’t gone a day without coffee in I-don’t-know how many years but right now, I’m on an eight-day hiatus and it bites. Not only can I not drink it but I can’t even smell it! {Sad, sad face} I guess this is a blessing in disguise for my growing fetus but my selfish me is missing my pumpkin spice latte. It’s October, for crying out loud, which is when all the seasonal flavors are out and I can’t even enjoy it. This is a travesty.

The other major symptom I’m battling is exhaustion and Dallas would gladly attest to this. My poor husband just wants to hang out with my cool self in the evenings after the crazies are down for the count and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open until 9:00. Yesterday, I laid down for a late nap with Dayne and didn’t wake up until 4:30pm. Had he not kidney-punched me with his heel when turning over, I might have slept until this morning and still looked forward to an afternoon siesta. It’s really ridiculous but I can’t help it.  Maybe if I could stomach some coffee, I might have some energy. Hmmph.

And then let’s not even discuss my growth. Seriously, it’s absurd. For the record, the scale hasn’t changed but, by golly, this belly has. You always hear that, with every child, the ‘pop’ comes faster but I’m already embracing the belly band. At 6w3d {it was actually at about 5w2d, if I'm being honest}. So yes, it’s possible that, by this time next week, I’ll be in total maternity wear. I can’t even believe I just typed that.

There are others in my list of First Trimester Fun but I’ll spare you the details only to say that they seem worse this go-round. Why is that? Is it because I’m 32? Could it be a different gender? Or…{gasp}…could there be more than one in there?

First ultrasound a week from tomorrow. Stay tuned.  

Let's Even Up The Teams

So we’re having another baby….and, boy, the comments have sure been interesting. ‘Are you NUTS?’ ‘Don’t you know what causes this?’ {Yes, Dallas sure does!} ‘Will you be the next Duggars?’ ‘You’re only four weeks and telling people?’ And my personal favorite – ‘How on earth will you raise FOUR children in this economy?’ So in case I haven’t responded to everyone via text or social media, YES this was planned, NO we are not in a competition with the Duggars and YES we have gone crazy but, hello, that was long ago. We have and are praying for this baby until the day he/she arrives and do not take this gift for granted one bit. And I sure do share early…you will understand if you see me in two weeks and wonder how I managed to digest a cantaloupe and it make its way to my quads because I get B-I-G and fast. Shallow, maybe, but I need a justification for this. Now, I realize that the baby is the size of a poppy seed {which is really tripping the boys out} and that it can’t possibly cause such blimping yet but those doggone hormones that 'force' me to eat whole containers of Cookies-N-Cream Extreme ice cream sure can. Trust me. Telling the brothers last night was interesting. I would post the video but I asked Dallas to destroy it immediately. In hindsight, I should have let him keep it so that we could show the boys later in life but, in the moment, I felt the baby would never want to hear some of the reactions. You know, the part where one of the boys just keeps repeating, ‘You’re just kidding, right? You guys are funny. No, really. You’re just kidding, right? RIGHT! R…I…G…H…T?’ That being said, some of their other reactions were as such: ‘Is it a boy or a derl?’ ‘Show me.’ ‘Is there one baby or two?’ {oh lawd!} ‘If it’s a girl, I’ll brush her hair.’ Now, I won’t lie. At first and in random periods of the day, I’ll stop and think, ‘Wow! What have we gotten ourselves into?’ But here’s the deal – this life is already crazy but so crazy awesome. With each bit of chaos, I find myself letting things go one little bit at a time. Take this morning for instance - Dayne came in the kitchen while I was cooking breakfast and told me there was poop on the bathroom floor. Did I drop the spatula and rush in to clean it? Nope. I yelled at asked Dallas to come downstairs and do it. Oh and that poop? It was from sometime yesterday. Obviously I know it’s gross but I’m over it. {Note to self: Review our family sanitary policy on fallen feces with husband.} See, I’m totally mellowing out. Bring on baby #4. {ETA: Why is Blogger freaking out right now and running all of my sentences and paragraphs together? THIS will make me panic more than the stinkin' poop!}

Back2School Time

I am now the mommie of a 3rd grader, a 1st grader and a K-3’r. What the wha...?

It seems just like yesterday I was threatening my husband’s life on Dagen’s first day of kindergarten. Now I'm walking three into school {okay, I can stop pretending now that Dayne isn't with me - he's not really in big school yet but if you tell him I said that, I'll deny it up and down...} who are turning red at the sight of certain little girls {no, Lord, please...NOT YET} and asking me to walk away without so much as an awkward acquantaince, one-armed hug. Sigh.

It’s cliché but they sure do grow up quickly. Although the days may seem long, the years are short...far too short.

The Quarter Catastrophe

I thought my next post would be about my recent girls weekend to the beach. However, I feel Davis swallowing a quarter topped the ‘What’s New with the Darnells’ list so I’ll go with that.

I’ve had several people ask me how it happened and, for a moment, I wonder if I’m missing something. I mean, is there any other way this could possibly happen other than him opening his mouth, placing the quarter in and swallowing? I just don’t want to be out of the loop…

Okay, I’m done with sarcasm. {And if you believe that, you clearly do not know me AT ALL!}

Once we established that Davis was not choking on said coin and that he was breathing fine, I took him {along with his 3-year-old brother – yeah, GOOD TIMES!] to the local urgent care center. Within a few minutes, we were taken back to the room where the Yankee technician took some x-rays. {And FTR, I don’t say Yankee to be ugly – he was way cool and I happened to love his accent, being that I used to have one of my own from living 4 years in Worcester, MA. And if you’re wondering, it’s pronounced Woosta, not WORE-CESS-TUR where cars are ‘cahs.’}

Now, if I’m being honest, I was a little nervous when the x-rays were developing on the computer behind me. No, I wasn’t concerned that they wouldn’t find the quarter or that it was lodged somewhere else. I was just expecting to see a pile of chewed up toenails and half of Woody’s plastic hat residing in his left intestine.

You see, my sweet little Davis has a bit of a chewing issue. This is nothing new and no surprise to us. I’ve just slacked off on my job of lathering up his toes with Mavala {the greatest cure for thumb sucking & nail biting} and apparently he’s moved on from toenails to twenty-five-cent pieces…

And so now we wait and, with each passing bowel movement, we pray. According to the pediatric gastroenterologist {i.e. baby belly doctor}, if he doesn’t rid himself of the coin within 36 hours, they have to ‘go in and get it.’ I have no idea what that entails or which end they will ‘go in and get it’ from nor do I want to think about it just yet. I believe Davis feels the same.

Lucky for me and not so much for Dallas, every BM has to be thoroughly examined. Since he’s still on summer break and I have to work, he’s the lucky guy for the job. He did send me this pic after the most recent inspection.



He then informed me that he would be swallowing a quarter in about 35 years so that Davis had to do the same for him. I laughed so hard, I thought I might need to visit the potty myself.

Whenever this little George Washington does appear, whether naturally or surgically, I’ll share a picture. And right below that picture will be the one of me on the beach with a cheeseburger in one hand and a Twix bar in the other, where I knew nothing but eating, sleeping and eating for 4 days. The one that I had intended to share instead of a stained coin.

A bright side perspective - he's got a great story for his first grade journal. There's always a bright side, people. You just might have to 'dig' for it. {Hardee-har-har}

Beach Week 2012

Last year, we did Disney as a family. This year, we did Myrtle Beach and I definitely enjoyed it more. Crazy to say, er type, when we’re likening to the ‘Happiest Place on Earth’ but, as it turns out ole’ Walt, I prefer the campground swimming pool, golf cart parades and redneck BINGO as opposed to the overpriced tickets, overcrowded parking lots and ridonkulous wait times. There, I said it.

Before you go thinking we did the beach high-class style, please revert back to the first paragraph in which I mentioned a campground pool. Yes, we took the infamous camper and headed to Ocean Lakes where we spent many hours at the beach & swimming pool, ate lots and lots of junk and just enjoyed life without a schedule. And, to be honest, it was my favorite family vacation yet.

This picture cracks me up! Check out Davis {aka Baywatch Babe} in the background...all he lacks is the red shorts and life preserver - he certainly has the run down!

Seriously, though. It was that good, I really have little to write about. When looking back over previous posts where I reminisce on our get-aways, this one pales in comparison to all the drama that has happened. Well, now, that’s not entirely true. Where my family is concerned, there is never a dull moment. Over the course of six days, we did have a short-term ant problem in our camper, lost 2 out of 3 boys {one at the beach, one at Wal-Mart…both equally as terrifying}, and broke a few things in one particular souvenir store. Thanks to the boys goofing around near the figurines, we are now the proud owner of a shattered turtle snow globe…oh wait, no we’re not. The clerk threw it away after he charged me $6.99. Thanks, pal!

Reading back over that recap, I am actually quite pleased. Given our track record, I really kept expecting something major to happen. I mean, it just wouldn’t have been a true vacation without some sort of catastrophe. Don’t get me wrong, losing our kids was no walk in the park and frightening as always {and yes, I have excuses as to why they happened – would I really come right out and admit that I wasn’t watching them?!?} but our camper didn’t break in half from a tree falling on it after being struck by lightning. That is the kind of stuff I’m accustomed to – these other ‘occurrences’ are almost making my life boring.

Just for the record….I like boring.

Share N Tell Time

In the last month, I have:

*Thrown a Mickey Mouse themed birthday party for my baby boy...between the handmade invites, Mickey ears and cupcakes, I spent a good 6 weeks in preparation. No one wanted to wear the ears that caused me many hot glue gun burns and the cupcakes were mediocre at best. At least the invites were cute and I convinced the group to wear the ears for one picture.








*Attended 18 baseball games for my big boys and provided a ridiculous amount of snack food to a very uninterested little brother who cared nothing about a double unless it involved a burger, cheese and a bun.

*Lost aforementioned baby boy…at an aforementioned baseball game…during a thunderstorm. I do have a defense and it’s a rather good one but you’ll have to buy me coffee before I share the horrifying, every-mothers-worst-nightmare details. The sad part is that it's not the first time I've lost a child. I guess I should keep that to myself but who could forget the Disney monorail incident....

*Ran a 5k with some besties and ROCKED it, if I do say so myself, at an average of 10 minutes/mile. Yes, I can say I rocked it because I’ve always and forever loathed running so to do it at that pace is an accomplishment for me. Who cares if I walked with a painful limp for 2 weeks after the race? That’s not important.



At least I ended with a bucket list item….

So, what have you been up to? Can you top my Mother of the Year confession? I'm all 'ears.'

Come on, now. That's pun-ee.

Hodge to the Podge

Although I have a lot to say, little of it has any substance. Still, I have things to say…or blog, rather. These days I seem to be treating my web page as an ongoing post-it note. There are just some things that go on in the day to day that I don’t want to forget so I’m jotting it down in cyber world.

*This morning I attempted to read ‘Jesus Calling’ devotional with the three boys after Dallas had already left. The two older boys were very attentive, which isn’t usually the norm. It may or may not have had something to do with me keeping Dayne in a headlock in order to fulfill my purpose. When it was over, I asked to pray with them. Dagen offered, instead, and it went something like this –

Dear Jesus,

Thank you for this day. Please be with us at school and be with Mommy and Daddy at work. Thank you for always loving us, no matter what we do. Even if we kill someone, we know that you still love us. Thank you for that because we know that you will never stop loving us, even if we kill someone. I pray that we will always follow you and that we’ll live in you….er, I mean, you’ll live in us. Yeah, inside us, not you. Okay. Amen.

Oh gosh. I have to admit that I was a little, uh, concerned after that prayer. I mean, we teach these boys that a sin is a sin and, in God’s eyes, no one sin is worse than another but….um….hmmm. So I just took a moment, praised him for his awesome, honest prayer and then proceeded to clarify that just because we know that we can’t ever lose God’s love, it is not a license to kill. He said he understood and we went on our way but, in the moment, it was a little, well, awkward.

*Last night after Dagen’s game, the boys were all looking for snacks. Since it was almost 9pm when we were finally heading home from the field, I told Dagen that it was late anyway and that the mom responsible just probably forgot. As it turns out, I was that mom that forgot. Boo for deadbeat moms. And contrary to what Dallas says, it was the first time that I had done this. Considering the fact that we’ve had two boys in sports for 3 years now, I’d say I’m not doing too bad. There are worse things I could forget, right? I have never forgotten a kid anywhere...yet. I guess there was that one time I drove all the way home, talking on the phone and, as I pulled in the driveway, realized they were still at school. But that only happened once and was a long time ago so....

And since we’re on the subject of baseball, I’ve got a couple of sluggers in my house. They’ve each got homeruns under their belt and we’re only 1/3 of the way through the season. I couldn’t be more proud of these fellers.

I have no idea why my video and photo are posting like this but they are. I like things symmetrical and uniform and this is really messing with me tonight.

*I’m running my first 5k next Friday. I’m in my 7th week of training for it and I feel ready, although it is definitely not on my list of favorite things to do every other day. My knees hurt, my right ankle swells a little and I just don’t love to sweat but anyone who knows me well knows that for me to run 35 minutes straight is a pretty big deal. Seriously. In middle/high school, I was a P.E. teacher’s worst nightmare {and yet I married one!} No, really. There was nothing that could make me run or even walk for that matter. I preferred activities like scooter football or scooter soccer….something that didn’t involve me doing much physical work. When it came time for the one-mile run, I probably broke the school record but it was not for fastest time. And when they would try and force me to do the long jump or hurdles, I generally found some excuse that revolved around a monthly cycle. Yep, like I said, a big pain. So, as you can see, the fact that I’m willingly running 3.2 miles in one stretch is quite the accomplishment for me. Stay tuned for my actual time.

In other news, I am absolutely loving my new job and am reminded daily of God’s grace and mercy that I do not deserve. My life is crazy but filled with laughter and joy. And even on those hard days, I can rest in knowing that God is still God and God is still GOOD.

That’s all for now, folks.

A Weekend to Remember

Have you seen National Lampoons Christmas Vacation? You know that part where the tree catches on fire and you’re thinking, ‘Seriously? Can’t the dude catch a break? All he wants is a little bonus and a big tree!’ Well, with confidence, I can say that I can relate. Or we, rather. The only difference is that we were on a camping vacation, not Christmas.

I don’t even know where to begin, really. My intention was to give you a detailed play-by-play but I’ve decided to just do a summary recap of events to avoid any bitterness that might form again from too thorough of a review on my part.

Okay, so we got a camper about a month ago. It’s a 2001 Jayco Pop-Up and was in excellent shape for being 11 years old. We were super excited {yes, even me} to take it out for the first time to Calhoun Falls, a state park set on Lake Russell which is down on the Georgia border. We headed out on a Friday afternoon and the hour-and-a-half drive went great. Dallas proudly drove the van that was towing our prized possession and threw a few nods at other drivers as they admired our camper {or so BigD thought}. All in all, we were off to a good start. The next 48 hours, however, was a horse of a different color.

5:30pm – arrived at state park with zero signal for my phone. Yes, that is a notable tragedy

6:30pm – during water hookup, Dallas discovered leak #1 that occurred thanks to the faucet being in the ‘on’ position {courtesy of some little hands fiddling with them} which caused water to pour in on the floor that just so happened to be where our couch cushions were sitting

7:15pm – hurricane-like winds blew in while Dallas was still setting up; boys were starving; I rushed everyone {minus Dallas} to the van and fed them half-frozen mini pizzas and Slim Jims for dinner as they asked me if Daddy was going to blow away in the camper

8:00pm – we all entered camper while rain continued to pour, Dallas discovered that he broke a piece on the door which allowed unwanted bugs inside, and the boys were bouncing off the walls sides. I think this was the first time I said that I wanted to go home

8:15pm – I heard something break outside the camper. Next thing I knew, Dallas came in and told me that he had been mildly electrocuted and, as a result, dropped and broke our only flashlight

8:30pm – portable toilet was set up in the kitchenette. Keepin’ it classy, folks.

9:30pm – everyone was cranky and put to bed, including myself

1:30am – leak #2 sprouted sometime in the night due to another faucet issue and, once again, flooded the floor

The next day was not nearly as bad. I mean, I obviously don’t love the ‘bath house’ concept but the weather turned out pretty nice, the leaks were repaired and we enjoyed some nice time with family. I learned a few lessons when it comes to packing for these types of weekends. For example, one bath towel is not enough, especially when said towel was used to clean up leak #1 and we were left with no towels. Thankfully, Dallas’ aunt came to our rescue. Oh and probably the most important lesson I learned? Either bring 10 pairs of socks per child or only bring sandals. They were forever getting dirty and, for whatever reason, these crazies thought it was okay to walk around in the dirt with only their socks on. It’s like they left their brains at mile marker 42 or something – why on earth?!? Yes, I let little things like that stress me out but, as I’ve already said, it was a lesson learned. Here are the only two pictures taken because…wait for it…my camera battery was dead. Naturally.

All set up...

Isn't it ironic that I took a picture of the sink, given the grief that it caused? I was actually just admiring my cute little 3-in-1 griddle/toaster oven/coffee pot...

And the final day – oh, what a day it was. As did the first one, it started out really well. The weather was beautiful, the boys went out for a boat ride with Uncle Joe, we ate fried bologna, egg and cheese sandwiches {hold your vomit, please – it was quite tasty} and just hung out. The boys rode their bikes, we took nice walks and just enjoyed time where we weren’t running here, there and everywhere.

But then we headed home and that, my friends, is where it all bottomed out. As we were traveling on I-85, about 20 minutes from home, a lady drove up next to us, rolled down her window and was trying to tell us something. It sounded a whole lot like, ‘Your tag fell off’ and she was pointing to the back. We assumed the license plate had fallen off and were bummed we might have to pay the $20 replacement fee but just thanked her with a smile and a wave. It wasn’t long before we realized that she was saying, ‘Your ENTIRE BACK END {and spare tire} fell off.’ Or something like that. You see, when we pulled in to park the camper at home, this is what we found -



It was just like the lady said - the back is gone! From what we can gather, a family of Japanese hornets made their home in the tail end of the camper at some point in the last 11 years and hollowed out one of the main boards holding it all together. For whatever reason, maybe the weight of the spare tire on the back {which is still MIA} was too much for the tail but it all flew off somewhere between White Horse and Laurens Road on the interstate.

Apparently searching for old hornet nests is not a part of a standard camper inspection. One more lesson learned, I suppose.

This is where my, ‘Seriously? Can we not catch a break here?’ Clark Griswold comparison comes into play. Because how exactly does this happen? Let me break it down for you – IT DOESN’T. Ever. Even the multiple repair men we talked to last week had never heard of it. Listen, I’m all for setting ‘first time’ records but not so much in this category.

Alas, we're just going to get back on this horse and ride. We've already scheduled our next camping weeked over Memorial Day, assuming, of course, the replacement parts arrive in time. Here's the good news - it can't really get much worse than this, right?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

As I was driving the boys to school today, I was privy to an entertaining conversation between Dagen and Davis. And, for the record, they are not all entertaining but every now and then, they change it up for dear ole’ Ma.

Davis: Bubby, do you know my friend Cass said a bad word at school yesterday?
Dagen: He did? What did he say?
Me: Um, whatever it was, let’s not repeat it.
Davis: {in a quiet whisper} He said the ‘F’ word.
Me: {insert head spin} HE SAID WHAT?!?
Dagen: Oooh. Did he have to flip a card? Calling someone fat is really bad.

Now, not to discount this at all because I’m obviously not okay with any sort of name calling but given the fact that I almost fell out of my driver's seat when I heard them refer to the ‘f’ word, I was a bit relieved to find out what they were really talking about.

Seriously, though. Had one of them dropped the real ‘bomb,’ I would have died. They are 7 and 5 and think that the word ‘stupid’ is also known as the ‘s’ word and I’d love to keep it that way for, oh, another 10 years if possible.

It’s funny. Most days, I find myself wishing they would grow up in hopes that they would pick up after themselves and properly clean out their own crack {although their father is only 1-for-2….or so I assume}. However, when I hear conversations like these, I want them to stay young forever.

Needless to say, I'd like to see Jesus come back before these boys hit middle school. I'm really not so sure about those years.

Where's that darn fountain of youth anyway?

A Divine Intervention

These last few days of my life have been an amazing roller coaster ride. Not in the losing-your-lunch sort of way because who in the world could call that amazing? I’m talking about the are-you-serious, I-am-in-total-disbelief, get-out-of-town kind of way. I just {heart} hyphens - don't you?

Go back with me about two months and you’ll recall an update on how I was able to work out a new schedule at my job. I was ecstatic. It really was a dream come true – to be able to maintain my career in the number-crunching world and still be able to endure enjoy the carline every day at 2:30.

Sure, I still had to get up every morning at 5:15 and make the 30-minute commute with a crabby pre-preschooler {who would also lose a half-hour of his nap when I picked him up early in the afternoon which made for super-fun manic meltdowns on I-85} in order to put in my hours so that I could face aforementioned carline. And although I was working reduced hours, my workload wasn’t decreasing which meant 120% when I was in the office or it went home with me {boo!} Oh and the work….well, let’s just say that it’s not all peaches and petunias in the world of physician finance. It’s a tid bit stressful. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s a whole lotta pressure and anxiety. One might not understand why but just trust me when I say that it is. And once you factor in healthcare reform, the load wasn’t looking any lighter in the foreseeable future.

Reading back over that list, coupled with all the other activities going on in our lives right now, I really shouldn’t wonder where the cardiologist visits came from. It’s pretty clear. Even if it is a technical condition, my lifestyle was clearly exacerbating it. It’s probably no fluke that many of the ‘episodes’ occurred while at my desk. Nope, not when chasing Dayne over, under and through the clothing racks at Target or giving out disciplinary spoons to Dagen for backtalk {yes, Davis gets in trouble, too….every now and then}; instead, they usually came after another ‘long’ day at the office where my task list was long and my fuse was short.

I know, I know. You’re probably wondering when I'm going to get to the amazing ride. Well, that’s the thing. In one person’s eyes, you may not see it as that but it really was an answer to prayer that I hadn’t even prayed. When I got the call about a possible job opening at our church, I immediately thought it wasn’t for me. Not because I didn’t want to work for my church. I mean, come on. I LOVE my church. I have lots of friends who are on staff. I hear about their meetings and they sound NOTHING like mine. Prayer and praise time over cookies and coffee? Huh uh, I'm not familiar.

No, it wasn’t because I didn’t want it. Quite the opposite, actually. It was a combination of two things – 1) I didn’t feel worthy and 2) I didn’t see how it could work out financially.

The first reason is pretty normal, right? How could this large church want me on their team? It was an honor I felt I didn’t deserve. To join such an awesome team seemed out of my reach. However, after lots of time alone with the Lord and prayers for discernment, I felt such a peace about the decision. It was like God was reminding me that I don’t always have to ask for blessings before He will give them to me. He knows us better than we do which means He knows what is best for us. Isn’t that comforting?

And then there’s that second reason that’s a bit on the silly, superficial side - finances. How could I go from senior rank in the corporate world to a position in the church and still make ends meet? Don’t be misguided – we don’t live this superstar lifestyle that I felt we needed to maintain. In fact, that just gave me quite a chuckle. Seriously, though. We have what I would consider a modest house {that just happens to be in a very nice subdivision and which we bought at a great price}, we drive cars that are making some very noticeable noises when going through the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru {ahem, husband – please take note} and, since I just mentioned fast food, we rarely eat out unless we either have a coupon in hand or it’s a kids-eat-free promotion. Instead of purchasing new, when possible, we hold out for a deal on Craigslist or at Goodwill. Our date nights consist of a Netflix movie and Japanese take-out. Don't be jealous.

Now don’t hear what I’m not saying because I am not even trying to brag. We aren’t always smart with our spending habits, either, but we really do try and be good stewards with what God has blessed us and have, just this year, increased our offerings above our normal tithes each month. So after working the numbers out for a few days after this opportunity came about, it’s like it all mysteriously fit together. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I’ve heard the saying, ‘You can’t outgive God’ and I am seeing it in living color. I also just read somewhere that if it is God’s vision, He will show provision.

Obviously I took the job. I mean, there is no question in my heart that this was from the Lord, which excites me even more. For those that don’t know the logistics, our church is 5 minutes from our house, Dagen & Davis’ elementary school, Dallas’ school and Dayne’s new preschool. The close proximity will allow me to still pick them up every day and, for that, I am so grateful. Sadly {insert sarcasm}, I will be saying farewell to the long commute with flying books, rising gas prices and Dictator Dayne who doesn’t understand why I can’t just snap my fingers and make Mandisa’s ‘Stronger’ song cue up on the radio every morning and afternoon. Oh yes, I’ll miss those times…PSYCH.

As my friends, please pray with me during this transition. I really did/do love my job working with physicians but am grateful for the chance to serve my church in this capacity. I just hope that I can bless those that I will work with, that I will become an integral part of the staff, that I will bring useful talents and traits to my team and that, above all, I will honor and glorify Jesus. After all, I’m just along for this amazing ride.

*Ready for a ‘crazy’ example of provision? I have unclaimed property in Missouri. Not like a piece of farm land but some overpayment of a utility bill or something that warrants them to send me a refund of about $100 that I just found out about today. YES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!! {thanks, CS!}

Me and My Big Mouth

Remember the awesome fanny pack that I was prescribed? Well, I am happy to report that a) I am done wearing it and b) I managed to not drop it {or all its little plugs and wires} into the toilet. That in and of itself is a huge PRAISE. And now for the results….

Okay, before I tell you what Yogi said, I have to tell you that this was just another humorous visit. Not because of what the doc said but because of my sick lil’ sidekick that escorted me this morning.

Thanks to an annoying little cough and a sudden fever {remember how I had just bragged on our health?!?}, I didn’t have any choice but to take Dayne with me this morning. And {insert sarcasm} boy was that fun and exciting.

When we first walked in to the doctor’s office to check in, I honestly wondered if they were offering a 2-for-1 Senior Citizen special because there was no one under the age of 55. Now, I’m not hatin’ on the oldies; however, when I’m rolling in with a little guy bearing a big cough, I don’t get the Goo Goo Grandma looks – I get the Mean ‘Ole Margaret looks. It’s like they left their compassionate red hats at home or something….

And when I say big cough, I mean BIG cough – the kind that sounds like he’s hacking up a hairball {and since he has no problems eating off a floor, it’s quite possible}. It also didn’t help that Dayne just frowned at the first lady that would even give him the time of day. Seriously, kid. You’re not helping the cause.

After we got called back to the room and my stats were taken, we waited. And waited. And waited. Since Dayne being with me was not so much planned, I had limited forms of entertainment to keep him happy. All I could conjure up in a pinch from the backseat of our car was a book with many rips, a package of wipes, a couple of broken crayons and a dried up container of Floam. We looked through all the pictures and tried our hand at some toddler-type games on my iPhone but he wasn’t interested. My normal go-to with the boys, especially Dayne, is food. However, all I could find was two red-and-green peanut M&Ms in the bottom of my purse.

Obviously after waiting about 30 minutes, we were both getting restless. I may have mumbled a question to myself but fortunately Yogi arrived a moment later. Unfortunately, it happened to come right after said conversation with self which apparently was overheard because when the doctor said, ‘Good morning, Mrs. Darnell,’ my sweet son said, ‘What took so long?’ Note to self - Dayne has no filter.

After we reviewed my results, he informed me that I do have PVC’s – premature ventricular contractions. Basically that means that my ventricles contract first which then makes the circulation inefficient. Bored yet?

The good news is that I’m not crazy AND I’m not at risk for heart attack or stroke. However, the bad news is that there is nothing they can do. He told me that typically he would put a patient on a beta-blocker medication to help but apparently those meds lower blood pressure and, because mine is already very low, it would do more harm than good. He confirmed that some things do exacerbate these PVCs, namely smoking, alcohol and stress. Since I only struggle with 1 out of the 3, I should be in good shape right?

I’m sure he had to laugh a little on the inside. Here he is telling me that the best way to control these episodes is to reduce my stress while, at the same time, Dayne is repeatedly telling me that he has to poop and that he wants to go home and watch Mickey Mouse and that he's hungry. Obviously I would love to eliminate stress and I am actually very fortunate to have some changes coming that will help in a BIG way but there are some that cannot be controlled which means I just have to deal with the icky feeling I get when the episodes come over me. Oh and he did say I should increase my salt intake. I guess that helps. Of course, in my mind I’m immediately thinking, ‘But then I’ll end up a water buffalo from the water retention.’ I chose to keep that thought silent.

All in all, I’m very thankful for the diagnosis. It could have been much worse. I won’t lie – a part of me was hoping some miracle drug would fix it all but I’m good with this. My trust is in Jesus and I just have to work harder at simplifying my life and surrendering daily.

Oh but the funnies weren’t over when we left. As we’re walking down the hallway to the check out desk, something caught my attention and I looked away from Dayne. MONUMENTAL MISTAKE. When I turned around, he was opening a door to another patient room. Luckily, I did not make eye contact with whoever was in there because I might have fainted right there and it wouldn’t have had anything to do with PVCs.

Just as I thought my mortifying moments had ended for the morning, Dayne proved me wrong. As we made our way out to the parking lot, a cute old lady was sitting in a wheelchair waiting for someone to pick her up. As we passed by, she waved at Dayne. He didn’t wave back. Instead he stared and, unlike me, didn’t keep his thoughts to himself. He said, ‘Why you have those things in your nose? What are those?’ As luck would have it, she couldn’t understand him but I did. Loud and clear.

Nope, never a dull moment. Oh and in case you were wondering….

Yes, I fed him the Christmas candy and no, I don’t wonder why he’s sick right now.

The Same One

Davis: ‘Daddy, what’s for dinner?’
Dayne: 'I'll tell you what's for dinner. A punch in the face. That's what.'

I’m sorry. What has happened here? When did my little boy turn into a mouthy little monster?

In case you didn’t know, that was a hypothetical. I know what happened. It’s the same thing that has happened with all my boys. Their 'goob' of a father…..

…the same one that forces me to call a weekly Pantry Pow-Wow for the two of us to discuss his recent pile driver technique on the boys.

…the same one I have to remind that hitting soccer balls with the baseball bat in the dining room is probably not a good idea.

…the same one that has taught them how to make their spit stretch to the ground.


However, this man is also

…the same one that plays baseball/soccer/football/kickball/Nerf guns with these boys EVERY.SINGLE.DAY until it’s dark and/or his shoulder/knee/thumb is aching.

…the same one that thoroughly enjoys eating popcorn and watching silly movies with them.

…the same one that reminds them daily who they are in the eyes of Jesus, not the world, and encourages them to be different.

I don’t deserve such a man but am extremely thankful nonetheless. I just pray my boys grow up to be the same kind of 'goobs' as their daddy.

Ballin' It Up

Check out these super-short videos of my little ballers.



The Firstborn Son



Big Dave

Let me just tell you that, for me, there is nothing quite like watching my boys play ball. I love watching them have fun and they're pretty good at it. It used to be 'cute' to watch but now that it's getting a little more competitive {they actually keep score}, it's really exciting.

Proud mommy right here....

Bless His Heart

Have you ever heard someone say ‘Bless your heart?’ I hear it all the time and even find myself saying it, too. I’d like to preface this post with this little tidbit. I recently listened to a podcast from Craig Groeschel {have you heard of him? He is pretty fantastic!} and he equated the saying of, ‘Bless your heart’ to, ‘You’re a ding-dong.’ Actually, I think he used ‘idiot’ but I’ll go with ‘ding-dong’ since I’m working really hard to live out Ephesians 4:29 in my daily life and ding-dong doesn't sound nearly as ugly. Anyway, keep that in mind.


For those that don't know, Dallas grew up in the country on five acres of land. And then when we moved to South Carolina, our first house that we bought came with nearly a full acre. However, in this new pad, our outdoor space is limited. We basically traded our lot for convenience. I, for one, think it was a great swap and I know Dallas does, too, but our backyard really is ridiculously small and, paired with a ginormous deck {which holds a hot tub that we do not even use}, it doesn’t leave much room for the boys to run around.

Do you think that holds Dallas and his posse back? Let me help you here. The answer is no.

About a month ago, I peeked out in to the garage and found Dallas digging through his mess of tools. He looked a lot like a little boy who was gathering supplies for his secret hide-out. Bless his heart. When I asked what he was doing, he told me he was building a field goal post for the back yard.

I’m sorry. Come again? Because, for a minute, I thought you said something about a field goal post in our back yard. But then he followed with, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it down every night.’ Oh, well then, that makes me feel so much better.

Bless his heart.

A few minutes later, I look out into our pint-sized back yard and see that MacGuyver Dallas has managed to turn two shelving brackets and a bungee cord into a contraption with which my boys kick a football through. Nice, BigD. Real classy. Although I will give him an A for the ingenuity, I was still not sold. The good news is that he did not try to replicate one he saw in BiLo that was constructed from PVC pipes and spray-painted a nice shade of neon yellow. You know, if I’m going to look at the bright side….

And, as it is with everything else, the boys have moved on from being professional field goal kickers and the bungee shelves have not made an appearance in a good while. Thank goodness. Oh but not because they chose to spend some time working on Legos or playing a nice, quiet game of Scrabble Junior. They’re still outside in that itty bitty back yard but now they’ve become spectators to Dallas’ latest project – a tree house. Honestly, this man that I married cannot be still for five minutes. He has to be doing something all the time. Bless his heart. I sure do love that man but are we not busy enough?

I’m really not even sure how the idea of a tree house came about. My guess is that Dallas muttered something about a tree house, Dagen overheard him {because he has developed this knack for hanging on to every word out of our mouths – selectively, of course} and rallied the troops around the concept. The next thing I know, Dallas is talking with our neighbor across the street who happens to possess some serious wood-working skills and, 24 hours later, we had a detailed floor plan drawn out on notebook paper. This is no ordinary tree house, mind you. In fact, there’s not even a tree involved so I guess it’s more of a fort but with all the bells and whistles. It will be like the Biltmore Estate of forts.

All I know is that after this is done, they had better spend some quality time in it. In case you didn’t know, wood and hardware is NOT cheap. And, although I try not to dwell on the past, we did buy a very nice swing set just before Dayne was born {which may or may not have been a bribe to the older boys in exchange for their word that they would not use him as a human bowling ball until he was old enough to decide for himself} and they were over it in just a few days. Seriously, it took Dallas longer to assemble that swing set BY HIMSELF {remember, I was pregnant and when I’m with child, I am useless}. I just hope this keeps their attention a bit longer. I'm keeping my expectations low in an effort to be plesantly surprised.

Stay tuned.

Goodbye HRA, Hello Payment Plan

Have you ever been sitting in the doctor’s office and felt like you could hear the sound of money running out of your checking account? I felt that way this morning. And, for once, it wasn’t in our pediatrician’s office. This was actually a visit for Mommy…..with a cardiologist…..that included a ‘to-go’ monitor. Now are you hearing those cha-chings?

You see, a few months ago I started having some weird symptoms but since I tend to second guess myself {and like to see just how high I can bank my HRA}, I blew them off until it got to be too much. When you’re driving down the interstate and start to feel like you might black out, it’s probably time to get checked. Or so says my husband.

So, a couple of days before Christmas, I went in and saw a family practice physician. We ran through my symptoms – heart palpitations, lightheadedness, difficulty breathing. We talked through some of it because I had convinced myself that it was anxiety {and am still wondering if I’m right – in which case I might ask for a refund and enroll in medical school}. Anyway, he wanted to be safe and hooked me up to the EKG machine. The results showed some arrhythmia which I’m told would explain some of my symptoms. The next step was to get a referral to a cardiologist. {insert dark music}

A week later I met with a cardio guy {with the first name of Yogi – how I made it through without asking where Boo-Boo was remains a mystery}. We went through the same set of questions only he wanted to know more. I thought I’d log this conversation because it was comical to me. Granted, this may have been a ‘you had to have been there’ moment but whatever. It’s my blog and I’ll laugh alone if I wanna.

Dr. H: Hello Mrs. Darnell. I’m Yogi ________.
Me: {ahem} Nice to meet you.
Dr. H: Tell me what’s been going on.
Me: {Read above – not him, YOU}
Dr. H: And how long has this been going on?
Me: {Also above if you’re paying attention}
Dr. H: Let’s talk about your everyday. Do you smoke?
Me: Nope.
Dr. H: Drink?
Me: Would that help?
Dr. H : Do you have children?
Me: Yes.
Dr. H: How many?
Me: Three boys.
Dr. H: Well, we can stop right there. That can explain anyone’s problems away. Now let’s move on to family history. Any heart problems for Mom?
Me: I don’t know. We don’t talk much.
Dr. H: Dad?
Me: I don’t know. We’ve never talked.
Dr. H: Grandparents?
Me: Dead
Dr. H: Alright then. This conversation is going well.

I’ll give it to the guy. Ole’ Yogi has a sense of humor which I don’t see all that often in this profession. He did a little examination but it doesn’t help much when these palpitations that seem to trigger the other symptoms are not an everyday occurrence. Because of that, he sent me home with a 48-hour Holter monitor that I could not take off. Not even to shower which was just gross. However, they did tell me that I could ‘sponge bath.’ Right. And how exactly does one do that and actually feel clean?

Oh and the best part about my little electronic friend? He came in a….wait for it…..FANNY PACK. I wore a flippin’ fanny pack for 2 days {working days, I might add}. Um, hello? The last time I wore a fanny pack was in the 4th grade, it was pink and Joey McIntyre’s face was on the front of it. This, my friends, was not that cool….and I’m not nine years old. On the other hand, I knew that if I didn’t wear it, I would have ultimately owned it from dropping it in the toilet. Conformity at its best.

Fast forward three weeks. After I wore that dumb monitor, all along trying to hide the ridiculousness of its carrying case, wouldn’t you know, I didn’t experience one ‘episode.’ Naturally. So I went back in this morning for the results to which I was not surprised at all. They saw a few skipped beats but nothing to be concerned over. I told him that the episodes are so random and I can’t correlate it with anything but to say that they just come and go. I actually expected him to tell me that I was cuckoo and that I just need to simplify my life and relax. For the record, that feedback wouldn’t have gone over well as my million-dollar-diagnosis because how exactly does one just wake up and choose that path?

Instead, he informed me that we had to keep digging for the answer and that would require – you guessed it – another monitor. Only this one stays on for a month. And, according to the technician that suited me up, it transmits directly to the company who then will call me if they receive a ‘bad’ signal at which time they’ll tell me to go to the ER or call my doctor. As much as I want to get to the bottom of this issue, I’m not looking for one of those phone calls. I mean, who wants to hear, ‘Hello, Mrs. Darnell? This is ABC Heart Monitor Company. You’re about to have a heart attack/stroke/aneurysm. Please proceed to the nearest hospital.’ Just sayin.’ Send me an email, Toots.

Now, before you start thinking of how nasty my pits will smell from the 30-day timeframe, I will have you know that I can remove this contraption for a quick shower. That was definitely a deal breaker. And, although this monitor isn’t strapped to a string around my waist, it is riding in a holster-type carrier that makes me feel like I should be able to draw it out like a gun and taze someone. Seriously, in this day and age, can they design a monitor that is not as big as a 1998 cell phone strapped to my belt loop? I’ll add that to my comments and suggestions when I ship this bad boy back.

Don’t get me wrong – I know it could be worse. We’re not talking hospital bills, just physician and diagnostic charges, but those alone are probably going to run the same as a year’s worth of car payments….except I don’t get a new car, just a monthly invoice with Yogi’s name on it.

And since I’m turning my glass over, I’m going to reflect on the fact that we have not graced the doors of the pediatrician since May {with the exception of a round of flu shots}. So far, our little people have managed to avoid the typical stomach bug and strep throat mess. In my opinion, we’ve had our fair share for the last seven straight years. We were due a break.

So, all in all, I can’t complain….except I just did about 72 times, huh? It’s not me, it’s Manny the Monitor.

Justifying My Guilt

NOTE: Roll your cursor over to the right hand side, scroll down a hair and pause the music so that you can hear the videos.

Captions really aren’t necessary for these videos. It’s just Dayne being super cute. I choose to remember these moments over the ones where he is pitching his two-year-old tantrums in an effort to show me who’s boss {and some days I actually wonder that myself}.

And, no, we aren’t always in the car…..it’s just when he’s at his peak of CUTE. That, and when he’s nestled, all snug in his bed….those are extra sweet moments. And he's only cute in the car when books aren't flying at my head. Just to clarify because that is NOT cute.








Alright. Let’s go ahead and address the elephant in this cyber room. Yes, it is true. I post a lot of videos of Dayne. Maybe you’re wondering if I’m still the mom of three. I will assure you that I am but, before you start judging me, let’s get something straight. When Dagen was born, I had LOADS of time {even though I didn’t even realize it}. PSA for one-child parents – if you plan to have more, this IS your free time. Enjoy it. It only vanishes from here.

Ahem, so, because of all that ‘free time,’ Dagen has three elaborate scrapbooks that one day he will appreciate.

When Big Dave came along, the schedules got busier and middle son only has two scrapbooks {but more like pictures on paper} to someday cherish. Are you seeing a theme here?

When sweet little Dayne made a surprise entrance almost three years ago, I was dealing with one boy starting school, one boy mastering the art of potty training and one husband who returned to the basketball court as Coach. There was ZERO time to pull out my stickers, glue dots and stamps and record his first two years. Wait, I take that back. He has two pages – his birth and his first bath. Because that first bath is really a monumental step in his walk of life?!?

Anyway, my point is that this blog is his scrapbook and, at this point in our lives, he’s lucky to have that. I rarely find time to blog anymore, even with my new schedule, but try to jot down a few things, snap a few pictures and tape some footage of his third-child-awesomeness. That, my friends, is why he makes the blog a little more than the others. I may not have all of his statistics or when he first walked and talked but I'd like to think he'd prefer to hear his precious singing over that other 'stuff' anyway. Uh huh, I'm justifying my slack. And it's actually helping the guilt.

Besides, if I posted everyday videos of Dagen and Davis, you would be appalled at how many times they pass gas from one end or the other in a 30-second-interval. If you think I'm kidding, come spend an hour with me. I dare you. And if they're not having fun with flatulence, they're 'stealing' Dayne's buttcrack, throwing it on the front porch and laughing while they watch their baby brother search for it. Where did they come from?!?

That's all for tonight, friends. I hear Dayne screaming from a closet and lots of snickers from the peanut gallery. I'm off to do a search and rescue. Just one more on the long list of Mommy duties.