The things this kid comes up with...
Tootsie is dressed as an LSU cheerleader today, and she is in full character.
After doing a very impressive cheer for me, she proceeded to tell me all about her day at "cheerleader school."
It went like this:
Tootsie: (with a very sad pouty face) The other cheerleaders spit on me, Mama.
Mama: They spit on you?!! That's terrible.
Tootsie: Yes, and then an alligator ate my butt.
Mama: (laughing) Girl, you are so silly.
Tootsie: Then, the other cheerleaders poo poo'ed on me.
Mama: Tootsie! That is gross! That's enough.
Tootsie: It's true, Mama! They said, "Ready...set...poo poo!"
She makes my brain tired, y'all.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
I don't have time to blog because I am raising THIS child...
Well, hullooooo there! Where HAVE I been?
Just like with every hobby I take upon myself, I get bored. Yes, it appears I've become bored withmyself this blog, and haven't visited it lately.
Honestly, I just don't know how anyone has the time to do this consistently. I feel overwhelmed almost every waking moment. How can I be on this blog typing when there are toilets to be cleaned? I just can't figure out how to do both well.
Anywho...
I was able to scrape a few minutes together to type this, because Handy Daddy said I should. The pressure was too much to bear, you see.
So, I had a conversation with Tootsie today that went like this:
Tootsie: Mama, Aladdin is my god.
Mama: No, Tootsie, Aladdin is not God.
Tootsie: Yes, he is. And he's in my heart.
Mama: No. Aladdin is not in your heart.
Tootsie: Yes. And I worship him.
Mama: (pausing briefly to catch my breath) No, you do NOT worship Aladdin, and...and just stop it.
Tootsie: (with an impish grin of obvious delight, begins to belt out this little melody) -- Aladdin loves the little children...all the children of the world....
Y'all....
Really? At three years old she knows how to make me squirm.
Sweet Lord Jesus in Heaven -- HELP ME!!!
Just like with every hobby I take upon myself, I get bored. Yes, it appears I've become bored with
Honestly, I just don't know how anyone has the time to do this consistently. I feel overwhelmed almost every waking moment. How can I be on this blog typing when there are toilets to be cleaned? I just can't figure out how to do both well.
Anywho...
I was able to scrape a few minutes together to type this, because Handy Daddy said I should. The pressure was too much to bear, you see.
So, I had a conversation with Tootsie today that went like this:
Tootsie: Mama, Aladdin is my god.
Mama: No, Tootsie, Aladdin is not God.
Tootsie: Yes, he is. And he's in my heart.
Mama: No. Aladdin is not in your heart.
Tootsie: Yes. And I worship him.
Mama: (pausing briefly to catch my breath) No, you do NOT worship Aladdin, and...and just stop it.
Tootsie: (with an impish grin of obvious delight, begins to belt out this little melody) -- Aladdin loves the little children...all the children of the world....
Y'all....
Really? At three years old she knows how to make me squirm.
Sweet Lord Jesus in Heaven -- HELP ME!!!
Friday, September 28, 2012
Alive!
"God's not dead -- He's surely alive.
He's living on the inside, roaring like a Lion."
Keep roaring, Lord.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Je ne parle pas espagnol
One of my BFFs had the brilliant idea to teach a foreign language to the kids this summer, and I could not be more excited about the idea.
I dove right in, and have been teaching my girls French for 4 days now.
Yes, I know Spanish-speaking people are taking over the country, but I would not be swayed. I am anti-Spanish. And before some of you go gettin' all offended by that statement, like my four-years-of-high-school-Spanish-husband did, let me explain something to you.
It issimple mathematics.
Me = the mother = 100% French
Him = the father = 50% French, 25% Italian and 25% German
That makes them = the children = you do the math.
No, seriously, you do it. I've forgotten how to figure this out.
Maybe I should trade French lessons for math lessons.
Either way, it makes them a whole lot French.
And 0% Spanish.
Italian is a possibility for the future, but German? I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole.
And it's not just heritage we're talking about here.
My great-grandparents, and the vast majority of all my ancestors before them, spoke French exclusively.
Thus, my grandparents (all four of them) spoke French exclusively until they entered school. They learned to speak English while in school, and were actually spanked on the hand with a ruler if they were caught speaking French.
Both of my parents grew up in bilingual homes, and both speak French (and English, of course).
Sadly, the buck stopped there, as my parents did not teach my siblings and me to speak French. I'd like to spank their hands with a ruler over that one, but that would be....well...inappropriate.
You know -- the whole Honor thy father and thy mother thing...
So, it only makes sense that I would teach my children to speak French.
That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.
So this is them after 4 days...en français, bien sûr..
I dove right in, and have been teaching my girls French for 4 days now.
Yes, I know Spanish-speaking people are taking over the country, but I would not be swayed. I am anti-Spanish. And before some of you go gettin' all offended by that statement, like my four-years-of-high-school-Spanish-husband did, let me explain something to you.
It is
Me = the mother = 100% French
Him = the father = 50% French, 25% Italian and 25% German
That makes them = the children = you do the math.
No, seriously, you do it. I've forgotten how to figure this out.
Maybe I should trade French lessons for math lessons.
Either way, it makes them a whole lot French.
And 0% Spanish.
Italian is a possibility for the future, but German? I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole.
And it's not just heritage we're talking about here.
My great-grandparents, and the vast majority of all my ancestors before them, spoke French exclusively.
Thus, my grandparents (all four of them) spoke French exclusively until they entered school. They learned to speak English while in school, and were actually spanked on the hand with a ruler if they were caught speaking French.
Both of my parents grew up in bilingual homes, and both speak French (and English, of course).
Sadly, the buck stopped there, as my parents did not teach my siblings and me to speak French. I'd like to spank their hands with a ruler over that one, but that would be....well...inappropriate.
You know -- the whole Honor thy father and thy mother thing...
So, it only makes sense that I would teach my children to speak French.
That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.
So this is them after 4 days...en français, bien sûr..
Très bon, mes petites filles!
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
A Man Named "Boy"
About a month ago my grandfather went to the emergency room with excruciating pain. After waiting for hours and undergoing a slew of tests, the doctors told him he had an infection in his gall bladder, and he needed emergency surgery to remove the gall bladder. They opened him up and found cancer -- so much cancer that they couldn't even remove the gall bladder.
My grandfather had never been sick a day in his life. He had a tonsillectomy when he was 13 years old and had not had surgery since then -- and he was 81 years old.
They sent him home, and we soon learned that this type of cancer was not responsive to treatment, and surgery was not an option. They didn't think he would last a month.
To say we were all in shock is putting it mildly. Our strong, healthy patriarch -- the man we thought would never die -- was dying.
My dad, my aunts, my cousins and I stayed by his side every minute of every day. We made a schedule and took turns staying with him so that he was never alone, and never with a stranger.
He told us that he didn't accept the doctors' diagnosis and that he was believing for a miracle. He said he had made a pact with my grandmother a long time ago -- they were going up in the Rapture. My Mawmaw didn't make it -- she went to be with Jesus 5 years ago -- but he was determined that he was going to make it. We assured him we were standing with him, and believing for a miracle.
Each day, we watched him grow weaker and weaker. His body failed him. Even when he was unable to get out of the bed, or even sit up in bed alone, he kept the faith. He told the nurses he was still going to pull through.
On Sunday, April 22, 2012, at 9:20 a.m., my Pawpaw went Home to meet his Savior. He was surrounded by his family, and we know without a doubt, that he stepped out of his earthly shell and into his glorified body in the presence of the holy angels.
We laid my Pawpaw to rest today.
This is the letter I wrote in memory of him. My cousin graciously read it for me today at his memorial service.
My daddy said that ever since he was a little boy, Pawpaw
was his hero. I can totally relate to
that, because as far as I can remember, I thought my Pawpaw hung the moon. I mean, when I said “Pawpaw”, I’d said it all.
I think I sat in Pawpaw’s lap until I was about 13 years old, and the
joy and satisfaction I felt at seeing my little girls sitting on his lap is
indescribable.
My grandfather had never been sick a day in his life. He had a tonsillectomy when he was 13 years old and had not had surgery since then -- and he was 81 years old.
They sent him home, and we soon learned that this type of cancer was not responsive to treatment, and surgery was not an option. They didn't think he would last a month.
To say we were all in shock is putting it mildly. Our strong, healthy patriarch -- the man we thought would never die -- was dying.
My dad, my aunts, my cousins and I stayed by his side every minute of every day. We made a schedule and took turns staying with him so that he was never alone, and never with a stranger.
He told us that he didn't accept the doctors' diagnosis and that he was believing for a miracle. He said he had made a pact with my grandmother a long time ago -- they were going up in the Rapture. My Mawmaw didn't make it -- she went to be with Jesus 5 years ago -- but he was determined that he was going to make it. We assured him we were standing with him, and believing for a miracle.
Each day, we watched him grow weaker and weaker. His body failed him. Even when he was unable to get out of the bed, or even sit up in bed alone, he kept the faith. He told the nurses he was still going to pull through.
On Sunday, April 22, 2012, at 9:20 a.m., my Pawpaw went Home to meet his Savior. He was surrounded by his family, and we know without a doubt, that he stepped out of his earthly shell and into his glorified body in the presence of the holy angels.
We laid my Pawpaw to rest today.
This is the letter I wrote in memory of him. My cousin graciously read it for me today at his memorial service.
My sweet, precious Pawpaw.
It’s difficult to write this, because it seems impossible to
put into words the feelings I have for this man.
In the days before he went to be with Jesus, we all tried to
tell him how we felt. I was flooded with
emotion as I hugged my Pawpaw’s neck, buried my face in his chest and told him
how much I love him. I told him how glad
I was that he was my Pawpaw. He told me he was glad I was his
granddaughter.
Some of the happiest times of my childhood were with Pawpaw
and Mawmaw. They loved us
unconditionally -- they treasured us.
My earliest memories of Pawpaw are the times spent at his
and Mawmaw’s house in Belaire Cove. One
of my favorite memories that still makes me giggle is of us playing “barber
shop.” Pawpaw would sit on the floor in
front of the couch and I would sit on the couch with the comb and tiny
scissors. I would mess up his hair and
then comb it and trim the little hairs in his ears. Another favorite is when Mikey and I would
sleep over. They’d tuck us into the spare
bedroom and Pawpaw would sit next to the bed and tell us stories of heroes from
the Bible. I specifically remember him
telling us about David and Goliath and about Samson. I felt so safe and so loved in that home in
my Mawmaw and Pawpaw’s care. They’d take
us to church and teach us about the Lord.
I also remember that whenever we’d leave their house to go back home,
we’d walk around the entire house with Pawpaw and pray for God’s protection
over the house, trees, the birds and the sheep.
Pawpaw had a big van that had only the driver and passenger seats
installed. The entire back of the van
was covered in shag carpet….floor, walls and ceiling. The back windows had peacocks on them. I prayed the Sinner’s Prayer in that van…I
was seven years old, and my Pawpaw prayed with me.
My Pawpaw always made me feel precious. There was not one time in my entire life
where he ever made me feel like I had disappointed him.
I made some mistakes when I was younger but, because of the
foundation instilled in me by my precious grandparents, I knew who I was meant
to be in Christ. Because of all they
taught me, I knew that Jesus had died for me and that, regardless of my past, I
could walk in victory through Him.
So that’s what I’ve decided to do. Because of the godly legacy Pawpaw has left
behind, I will serve the Lord and so will my children and my children’s
children…. ‘if the Lord should tarry,” as Pawpaw always said.
Though death has taken Pawpaw from us for a while, each
memory is a precious jewel that can never be taken from us. These memories, along with the love in our
hearts and the blood running through our veins, are what we have left of Pawpaw
until we meet him again.
1 Corinthians
15:42-44,51-56
So will it be with the
resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised
imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in
weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a
spiritual body.
Listen, I tell you a
mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the
twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead
will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must
clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the
perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with
immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been
swallowed up in victory.” “Where, O
death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” The sting of death is
sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the
victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
![]() |
| Pawpaw and Mawmaw with my cousin and me (I'm on the right) |
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| Mawmaw, Pawpaw and me |
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| Pawpaw getting smooches from my cousin and me (I'm on the left) |
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| Pawpaw in his front yard with my cousin and me -- same cousin (can you tell we were the first two grandbabies born???) I'm on the right |
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| My favorite spot - my Pawpaw's lap |
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| Mawmaw, me, Pawpaw and Mikey (my little brother) |
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| Mawmaw, Mikey, me and Pawpaw |
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| on my wedding day with my proud Pawpaw |
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| the Bug in Pawpaw's lap - I would've climbed up there if there had been enough room for me. |
| Pawpaw with Tootsie |
| Pawpaw, my girls and me - his 80th birthday party |
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day
Due to the Bug's newfound fascination with pets, but aversion to animals in general, Handy Daddy and I decided it was time to take the plunge (pun intended).
The newest member of our family is...
I rallied hard for another name. I named every male Disney character I could think of. It was to no avail.
She decided on Lightning McQueen Pascale. "Lightning McQueen" being his first name and "Pascale" being his middle name.
And every time we address Lightning, Tootsie corrects us and says, "No, dass not Lye-teen. Dass a fish. Dass not a car."
Either way, we've got some happy little girls.
Upon opening up the magical package that contained our newest member, the Bug squealed, "Wow! It's my first pet! Mama, take a picture for my Baby Book!"
She really is her Mama's child.
The newest member of our family is...
Lightning McQueen!
I rallied hard for another name. I named every male Disney character I could think of. It was to no avail.
She decided on Lightning McQueen Pascale. "Lightning McQueen" being his first name and "Pascale" being his middle name.
And every time we address Lightning, Tootsie corrects us and says, "No, dass not Lye-teen. Dass a fish. Dass not a car."
Either way, we've got some happy little girls.
Upon opening up the magical package that contained our newest member, the Bug squealed, "Wow! It's my first pet! Mama, take a picture for my Baby Book!"
She really is her Mama's child.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Stanley is my hero
I wish I could find his entire Christmas speech from last night, but this is all I could find on YouTube. If you missed it, aw man, you missed it. But you can watch The Office episode on nbc.com.
Halla-to-da-lujah!
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