Boudin[s]

In an effort to eat a meal without interruption the other day, I gave the Bug permission to take pictures with my camera. I was going through those pictures today, and found this gem.

When the Bug was a wee lass, she was a fatty. It's hard to tell now, but that girl had some rolls. And now, Tootsie, has followed in her big sister's footsteps and is sportin' her own set of rolls. I guess I just have fat babies. All the more to love, I say.

When my grandmother was alive, she would squeeze the Bug's fat legs and call them her "lil' boudins." We still laugh about that.

Well, Mawmaw Bobbie is not with us anymore. She went to be with Jesus before Tootsie was born. I wonder if she can see my lil' Tootsie's "boudins..."


In the very unlikely event there is someone reading this that doesn't know what "boudin" is, I provide the following:

bou•din also Bou•dain (bōō-dān', -dāɴ') n. pl. bou•dins also Bou•dains (-dān', -dānz')
A highly seasoned link sausage of pork, pork liver, and rice that is a typical element of Louisiana Creole cuisine.

Somehow, I know one day my girls will not appreciate having their legs likened to "a highly seasoned link sausage." But they're so cute right now, I struggle daily not to take a bite out of them.

Painting the Red Stick Red

So this past weekend, some of my closest girlfriends and I planned a girls' getaway. We didn't travel very far, but distance was not of particular importance on this getaway. It was peace.

I have been home for the past 3 months, with my girls, while Handy Daddy has been working out of town. He has been gone 4 days/3 nights, while I run the house solo. And it's been wearing me down. I've been doing a lot of screaming and wishing I could have a few belts before bed.

Handy Daddy found out last week that his out-of-town work was coming to a close, and he would be back home every night. And of course, the aforementioned girls' getaway was planned. It was like all was suddenly right with the world. Forget the oil spill crisis. Forget the state of the economy. Forget that our country is going to hell in a handbasket. (whatever that means). Mama is steppin' out!

I received the confirmation email from the hotel, and watched the goosebumps arise upon my arms. My friends and I swapped email about how we were gonna "tear up" the town and how we would be "ackin' da foo." Which really just amounted to us going to eat out and doing a little shopping. We were like little girls the night before the family trip to Disney. The excitement was at an all time high.

Then I woke up Friday morning to the Bug telling me she felt warm. By 10 a.m., she was running 102.6 fever. Great....

I didn't let it stop me. I called and made an appointment with the pediatrician, gave Handy Daddy instructions, kissed my lil' family goodbye, promised to miss them, and headed out the door. But it would've been so much easier to head out that door without my Bug being sick. Ugh!

So I worried a little, but mostly had fun. We went to lunch, did some shopping, acted "da foo" in the hotel room for a while, went out to dinner and got some gelato for dessert at Whole Foods. Then we all piled onto the fold-out sofa bed in the hotel room and flipped through the channels, all the while giggling because we were free. Free from laundry, bills, dishes, stoves, snotty noses. Oh, it was heavenly.

We headed back the next day, and I must say, I felt so refreshed! We weren't gone long, but I came home a different person. I can feel my sanity returning, and I am grateful for my little break.

Now, Handy Daddy's weekend went quite different. I will just give you the short version by giving you his report to me of the pediatrician visit. It went a little something like this:

• Very nervous father brings sick 4 year old and recently mobile 1 year old to pediatrician


• 4 year old has never been to this pediatrician, so he has to fill out a forms relative to her medical history, which he is fairly clueless about


• all the while, 1 year old screams to be removed from the infant carrier


• 4 year old sees doctor and doctor returns with script for antibiotics


• father asks, in front of the 4 year old, if she can just get a shot


• 4 year old cries and pleads with father to not get a shot. She says, "I got an idea. Maybe I can get a shot next time I come."


• father insists on the shot, and much more crying ensues


• father has to return 1 year old to the infant carrier, which elicits high-pitched screams to accompany the crying and pleading of the 4 year old


• father has to hold the 4 year old's flailing arms and swears "another appendage came out of nowhere and slapped the nurse"


• father is still filling out the medical history forms as he walks out of the office with the screaming children

Handy Daddy called to give me the report on the doctor visit, and realized that with all of the commotion and his frayed nerves, he didn't even know what the diagnosis was. We called back and found out that the Bug was suffering from tonsillitis.

Handy Daddy was very sweet to tell me that this 24-hour time period was very eye-opening for him, and he didn't realize all I have to do each day. He said he had no idea how I do it, because he didn't even have to cook dinner or bathe them. (I cooked a crock-pot meal for them before I left.)

Thank God for girlfriends.

It's like....the end of an era!

One year ago today I was awakened around 6 am or so by some very unexpected contractions. You see, I was scheduled for a c-section in about 8 days. I'd never experienced natural contractions before. I was induced for my first pregnancy and eventually delivered via the dreaded c-section. So, it was a little surprising, but also a little exciting. Because, when you're as big as a house and have been suffering with varicose veins for the last 6 months, any indication that this misery could soon end is welcomed.

But after reading all of the books and taking all of the classes, I figured that if this was the real deal, I had about 24 hours or so before something would really happen. So I got up with the Bug and we painted our toenails. Couldn't go to the hospital with gnarly toes, you know...

By this point, contractions had gone from 10 minutes apart to about 2 1/2 minutes apart. Uh....should I be worried? I asked the Bug to go wake up Handy Daddy, to which she replied, "No, tank you."

So we both went in to wake him up and the Bug told him that mommy's tummy was hurting and we painted our toenails. He looked at me like I was nuts, and we proceeded to make some kind of plan. I mean, we were totally unprepared for this. But we worked it all out and headed to the hospital in a frenzy.

It was like something out of a movie -- frantic husband drives up with the pregnant wife doubled over and trying desperately to remember how the stupid Lamaze breathing goes, but basically really just hyperventilating and screaming at him to hurry. Husband parks in the doctor's parking lot; CEO of hospital comes out and says you can't park there; CEO catches "the look" on crazy pregnant lady's face and runs back in to get a wheelchair; husband wheels crazy pregnant lady in past all the gawking people in the waiting room.

About 5 hours later, the sweetest little angel made her debut.

A few days later, we took our little Tootsie home, much to the Bug's delight. We put Tootsie in the bassinet and the Bug ran to get her Little People farm people and animals and threw them all into Tootsie's bassinet. And she even went so far as to say she wanted to give Tootsie her "coon bear," the lovey she has snuggled since she was about 6 months old. Needless to say, the Bug was in love with her little Tootsie.

So little Tootsie has grown and grown and made our hearts smile. She has moved out of her little bassinet and into her crib in the room she shares with her sister. They've become good friends.

And today she turns ONE YEAR OLD! This year truly has gone by in a blur.

I'm excited to see what this next year will bring: walking and talking, starting "school" at Mother's Day Out, making little friends, and holding her own with her big sister.

Happy Birthday, Tootsie! Mama loves you!

A Time to Dance

So we had the big par-tay on Saturday. The Bug turned 4 last week and Tootsie will turn 1 next week. I worked myself into delirium to get everything ready. I actually started planning this thing like...in January. Yeah, I'm crazy like that. I am a birthday party plannin' FOOL!

The Bug decided she wanted a Veggie Tale party and we decked everything out in red and green. My sister painted a Bob, Larry and Junior thing-a-ma-giggy (for lack of a better word) with Junior's face cut out so that the girls could stick their little faces in and get their pictures made. We played Pin the Nose on Bob, Hot Tomato and Bob-Bob-Larry. The girls (and the mamas) had a good ole' time. My dad put formula in his coffee instead of sugar, and we got a good laugh at that. (He didn't find it funny at all.)

As I said, I love me some birthday party. But this year, it was different. I wasn't sure what it was, but the more I think of it, I keep coming back to this:

My girls are growing up. I'm getting all choked up RIGHT NOW as I type this. This is all going by way too fast. Everyone always tells you how fast it's going to go by. But you have no idea what this means until it has already gone by.

Each day, from the day I took the little Bug home, I've given my whole self to taking care of these girls. From the time I get up in the morning until the time they are tucked in bed at night, I'm theirs. Most days, I feel like I've been through war by the time they're in bed. I ain't gonna lie...those girls wear me out. And I spend most days watching the clock and waiting for nap time and bed time. The days are long.

But then, suddenly, The Bug is 4 years old. Wait a minute. What happened? Didn't we just have her third birthday a couple months ago?

Tootsie is turning one! She's walking! Whoa! Just a few weeks ago, Handy Daddy and I dropped the Bug off at a friend's house so that we could rush to the hospital to deliver Tootsie.

WHY IS THIS GOING BY SO FAST????!!!

I couldn't help feeling a little sad as I watched my babies blow out their candles this weekend. I mean, I know they have to grow up. The alternative is, well, not very desirable. But I'm not looking forward to the aching my arms will feel when my babies are all grown up and won't let me hold them anymore. How will I handle the dreaded "eye roll" that Better Homes and Gardens assures me will come? (As a sidenote, what business does Better Homes and Gardens have in writing an article about raising girls? They need to stick to decorating and landscaping and leave the parenting articles to...well....Parenting Magazine.)

This is the first year I've felt this way, so I can only assume it is due to the fact that I think Handy Daddy and I are done procreatin'. My head believes we are, but my heart refuses to give this confirmation. And who knows what God has in store for us? So I just stick to saying I think we're done. Which makes me sooooo sad.

Do I want to be pregnant again, deliver again, wake up all night for feedings again? No, no and no. But I want my babies. I love my babies. I want to keep my babies. And since I know that's not possible, I go in their bedroom at night, look at them...and cry.

Oh, how I will miss this time. But I know this is God's will. This is how it's supposed to go. They're really not mine, anyway. They're His, and He has let me borrow them for a season. And though I really don't want this season to end, I know it will.

Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 says, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven...a time to mourn and a time to dance..." I pray He helps me to not mourn the loss of my "baby season," because I don't want to miss the dance of each new season He gives me with these precious gifts.

So I was babysitting a friends lil' boy today, Puddin'. He's almost 3.

Well, Puddin' very sweetly taps Tootsie on the head and says, "Baby." The Bug responds indignantly, "That's not any ole' baby....that's Tootsie."

That girl adores her sister.

The Adventure Begins

So I've been reading blogs for a few years now. I haven't devoted much time to it and, in fact, only read two. Someone said I should have my own, but I just didn't need the pressure. I don't want to have to entertain someone with my writing. I don't want to have to constantly post because so many people are waiting out there to hear whatever it is I have to say. I really don't have much to say. Except when it comes to my kids. But is there really anyone out there who wants to hear about every funny little thing my kids do? Maybe my mom and mother-in-law, and neither of them knows what a blog is.

So, I have just blown off the whole "you need to blog" comment for a few years now. But then, I just recently read one of the two aforementioned blogs. THAT blog was started to leave something behind for her girls to remember her by. Well....that's a great idea! I can do that! No pressure there....just something to leave behind for my girls. I can blog about all of their funny little sayings and whatever crazy things they do, and one day....they will have it to look back on. How sweet is that?

So, I have begun this adventure. There is so much that has happened already, since my oldest is almost 4 years old. But, better late than never.

If my girls are reading this, I hope this brings back fond memories, a lot of laughs and maybe a few tears. If anyone else is reading this, please -- no expectations.

I call my blog "Whole Lotta Drama Mama" because I have two girls. Hence.....whole lotta drama. Hopefully, this blog will document the drama, and when my girls are older, they will hold me in very high esteem. Indeed.