One week ago, I turned 35 years old. This birthday felt big to me, strangely much bigger than 30 felt. What's interesting, though, is that as this birthday approached, I found myself thinking much less about turning 35 and much more about the birthday I celebrated 20 years ago. As insane as it is for me to realize, 20 years ago I turned 15. I keep thinking about that 15-year-old girl and all the things I wish I could tell her...
Hi Beautiful! {Yes, I'm talking to you.}
It will be a long time before anyone ever calls you that and even longer before you feel it for yourself. But, trust me, beautiful you are.
Fifteen... And, yet, I know all you can think of is turning 16. You perceive all the other girls as being so much more mature; seeming to have it all together; seeming to know who they are. You feel like you're in some weird 'in between' stage - not a kid anymore but not grown up either. You struggle to play a role of who you think you're supposed to be or how you think you're supposed to act. Fifteen will be a hard year for you, and I'd like to share a little advice from someone who knows you pretty, pretty well.
Be YOU. And, yes, I do know you're still trying to figure out who you is. You know that little voice inside that whispers to you when something feels right or screams at you when it doesn't? Listen to it. You'll find that you are the happiest when your inside matches your outside, when there's a congruence between how you feel and how you act.
Relax. No, really. Relaaaaaax. Can you believe that you will take yourself and your life more seriously in these next couple years than during any other time of your life? Why? I can't say for sure beyond the fact that teenage emotions and hormones are kind of nutty. Things, all things, seem very serious right now; but believe me, Sweetheart, they are not.
Show kindness to everyone. Sometimes I've noticed that you get wrapped up in your own little clique even to the purposeful exclusion of others. But in your heart (that little voice I told you about) you are a sweet girl, and treating people unfairly has never felt quite right to you. Don't just treat others as you'd wish to be treated; treat them even better.
Smart is a good thing. Somewhere along the way, you seem to have gotten the idea that you can't be both smart and popular. I've even seen you act dumb at times. Girlfriend, there's nothing cute about stupid. This is an easy fix, though! You're a bright girl; anyone who expects you to dumb-down really doesn't deserve your time. (Trust me on this one. You'll really come to regret not doing your best in school when college applications come around.)
Boys are silly. Especially teenage boys. Don't spend one second of your life thinking about that boy who doesn't seem to want to give you a second glance. And for goodness sakes, dry those eyes! There's not a single boy you know who's worth your tears, Sweetie! (And when THE perfect fella does show up, you'll realize that he was totally worth the wait.)
Now, I've focused a lot on what's on the inside, and, no doubt, it is what's most important. However, we both know that the outside matters, too. So, My Dear, let me give you just a few tips on that front.
Hair. This is a biggie. I know how you envy the gals with the perfect hair, the hair that is completely unaffected by humidity and looks perfectly adorable in a randomly placed pony. Darling, that is not your hair. The sooner your accept this fact, the sooner you can move on to making the best of a not-so-great gene pool in the hair department.

1. Just because Fantastic Sam's has a coupon for a free hair-cut doesn't mean you should cash it in. Seriously. 
2. Pantene Pro-V will not do anything close to what it does on those tv commercials. It most deinitely does not create 'hair so healthy it shines.'
3. Invest in a good flat iron and learn to use it. (They'll get better and better over the next few years.) Cash all those babysitting checks you've been stacking up on your desk. There's no greater use of your money. 
4. Find a good salon (not Fantastic Sam's - I cannot stress this enough) and visit regularly. Ask for product recommendations and use them. 
5. You do not have to settle for the shade of mousey brown that your hair has turned over the past few years. A great stylist (see #4) can return you to your childhood blonde. A box purchased at Walmart, however, cannot. Don't even try. 
   
   NOT EVEN ONCE.
   {Orange hair flatters no one.}

Clothes. This one is a little tricky. The absurd dress code at school makes compiling a stylish wardrobe a tad precarious, but it can be done. Here are a few basic tips to get you started.

1. Avoid all sweatshirts that are decorated with furry animals, holiday motifs, or Disney characters. And for goodness sakes, no 15-year-old should be wearing a shirt embossed with puffy paint! 
2. Just because something's on sale, doesn't mean you should buy it. Even if it's at The Gap.
3. Those cheerleading uniforms are just hideous. If you insist on being a cheerleader, at least take that thing off before you go out in public. NO ONE WILL THINK IT'S COOL THAT YOU'RE A CHEERLEADER IN A SKIRT THAT LONG. 
4. Choose things that look good on you, not things that look good on your friends.
5. Take a friend who will tell you the truth (and who wants you to look good) shopping with you. Your mom is great at a lot of things, but fashion is not her strong suit. Take special advantage of your friends who have older sisters.
   
   Never. Borrow. Your. Mom's. Clothes.

Make-up. Wear it. It's pretty simple. Just take a little time to look your best each day. I know how hard it is for you to wake up in the mornings, but ten minutes to apply power, blush, mascara, and lip gloss is time well spent. This is another area that is worth a little investment. You can go cheap on the mascara, but spend a touch more on other things. It's worth it.
Sweetie, I wish I could save you all the heartache that comes with growing up, but I'm afraid it's just a part of life. Maybe it makes you feel better to know that all those people who seem to have it all together are just as confused as you are. And, can I let you in on a little secret? In about 15 years, something called FaceBook (It's a social networking site. On the internet. Never-mind.) will come around, and you'll see for yourself that the cutest boys and the most put together girls in this microcosm of high-school haven't turned out exactly as you might have expected.
I promise your life evolve in ways far greater than you could have even imagined. Things may not happen on the exact timetable you expect, but, believe me, it will all be worth the wait. And, just for fun, here's a little peek at yourself on your thirty-fifth birthday.

Were you expecting a jean jumper and gray hair?

(Looks like you finally mastered the mane!)

Chaos & Connections

Sitting down to type this evening feels like coming up for air (for full disclosure, I must admit that I'm not exactly sure what coming up for air feels like. I am not a strong swimmer. I mean, I'm not going to sink if I jump into the deep end, but I'm also not swimming laps underwater.) So, while I've never experienced the literal coming up for air feeling, I am pretty certain it feels exactly like I feel at this moment.

{Holy. Moly. I'm. So. Scattered.}

Lately, I've let the chaos of life get the best of me. I've been sinking in toys and laundry and whining and tattling. I've been drowning in self-expectations and schedules and mastitis and Mommy-guilt. I'm finding that despite the number of items I check off my to-do list each day, it still seems to grow longer and longer. I've been quick to anger and short on patience. I've needed an extra helping of grace yet have struggled at doling out even small amounts to those I love the most. 

In the midst of this season, I happened upon a blog post entitled Dear Mom on the iPhone (I am purposefully not including the link.) It was written in the form of a letter to a hypothetical mom who was on her phone while her kids played at the park, trying to get her attention. Initially, I thought it was a good read, something to consider. The premise of the blog being that we, moms, miss so many little moments with our children when we're distracted - whether by an iPhone or a computer or any other distraction, really. The ideas from the blog have come to my mind several times throughout the last month, and the more I thought about what the writer said, the more I began to disagree.

As a full time Mommy to three young children, rarely does a day pass without some well intending person with older children reminding me of how quickly these days will pass. 'You'll blink!' they say. 

I know they're right. I get it. Really. I do. 

My firstborn is starting kindergarten in the fall, and it does feel like just yesterday that I was laying my eyes on her precious face for the first time. Murphy Girl went from being my baby to a bonafide big sister, and the Itty Bitty (who I still refer to as a newborn!) is over halfway towards the one year mark. 

But here's the thing, despite the fact that these years with our young family will indeed fly by, the hours, most definitely, do not. So, if I've loaded up the stroller with snacks and diapers and dolls and sippies, headed to the park, and started the girls at building their latest sand masterpiece, I will not feel Mommy-guilt if I pull out my phone. Why? Because a quick text to a friend, a post to FaceBook, a scroll through Instagram, or a glance at CNN {or, let's be honest, RadarOnline}can do wonders to help me feel connected.

While I wouldn't trade my job as a stay at home Mommy for anything, it can be an isolating existence. Behind the walls of our house, it's just me and the mini monarchs, and I must make a concerted effort to be connected to something, to anything, in the adult world. Otherwise, I find myself morphing into a Mommy-sized version of a preschooler. 

I find myself adopting their preferences

their ways

their language.

{Imagine life in a sorority house or within a high-school clique, except my sisters are all under the age of five.}

Of course, I'm not suggesting that we should park our booties on the sofa and avoid all interaction with our children, but I just don't think my girls will suffer if I miss one cartwheel. In fact, I think teaching children to play independently is a good thing. I would love to help my girls to develop an internal sense of pride rather than always seeking external (Look at me!) validation. 

I am intentional in keeping my phone in my purse (and out of my hands!) most of the time - especially during family meals. I am conscious of not looking down at it when the girls are trying to talk to me. I don't want my voice to say, I'm listening, but my non-verbals to portray something different. And, more than once, I've reminded myself that whatever is happening in social media land is not important in comparison to what's happening in the moment.

As I'm trying to find balance and control and peace and calm, I find myself craving connections more than most anything. I'm grateful for girlfriends (especially those who always text right back) and for the technology that allows me to connect with friends across the country and watch their babies grow. I'm grateful for a quick check-in with my hubby and for minute to peek at an online article on Gwyneth Paltrow's workout routine (2 hours a day? uh. yea.) 

And, I'm thankful for this.

{Breathe.} 

Perplexing in Pink

I've been feeling the writing 'itch' for the past couple of weeks, but even as I sit down to type, I'm still unsure of how this post will unfold. I just know that I want to write and that the writing will provide a calm that is hard to explain to those who don't have a writer's heart. Life has just been moving... moving very quickly. And it feels like the days are full of ups and downs from hour to hour, minute to minute somedays.
Murphy Girl's moods are without question the number one contribution to this frequent fluidity. Her attitude can change on a dime with little or no forewarning. One moment, she's snuggling with Carter and calling her 'Carter Mommy', and the next she's slapping her, falling to the floor, and flailing about. A simple statement such as, 'Sweetheart, let's get ready to go to Target!' can yield an obstinate response like this:

'I not yike-a to go to Target.'

Once at the Mommy Mecca, she was a little angel and so proud of herself for being a good helper. Then moments later, in the parking lot, I thanked her for helping me push Baby Wright's stroller (thus keeping her hand on the stroller and herself safe.) Apparently, she did not want this positive action acknowledged, so she immediately let go of the stroller and began to casually meander around the parking garage. She paid no attention to my stern orders to hold on to the stroller, pulled away from my attempts to get ahold of her, and eventually collapsed to the ground beside of the car.  

This is the face I saw each time I peered

into the rearview mirror on our drive home.

Anytime Murphy disappears in the house, I am certain to find her upstairs in her room engaging in a little thumb-sucking, Mousey (her lovie) rubbing on the sly.

As she heard me walking up the stairs,

she assumed this position.

When I asked what she was doing,

she proudly flipped over and declared,

'I'm-a suckin' my tum!'

Just today she threw a fit in the bathroom over who-knows-what and then concluded the fit by begging for milk. I calmly informed her that her behavior was not the way one acts when one is looking for a sippy cup fill. She jumped up and ran to sulk behind the playhouse.

This is how I found her.

And, here she is, all smiles just seconds later

at the discovery of her reflection in the mirror behind her.

Taking a look at these pics, you may assume by the repeated attire that these photos were all taken on the same day: au contraire. What they do reveal, however, is a new, serious obsession in our house: the color PINK. Really, scroll back through. Are you seeing it? The carseat is pink. The bedroom walls are pink. The bedding is pink. Her princess gown is pink. The dress under it is pink. Her socks are pink. Her shoes are pink. Her panties (though hidden) are always pink. 

The problem that has arisen from this hue obsession is that big sis, who has always been a fan of orange and more recently gold,  has seen this as an opportunity to engage in yet another form of sibling rivalry. 

My pretty pink princesses.

{It's all fun and games until somebody loses a pigtail.}

Can you even imagine their pure joy 

at meeting THE REAL Pinkalicious?!?!

The whole pink thing has become such a problem that I've had to ban the use of pink bowls or pink plates from our kitchen. I simply could not handle the shrieking sounds that were filling every meal over who gets what plate. But, I digress...

Sweetest. Face. Ever.

Behind that sweet, pink exterior lies a little girl who'd just as soon tell her Mommy to 'Yeave-a me a-yone!' and 'Don't talk-a to me while I'm-a readin!' as to smother me with kisses and snuggles. She tells me daily that I'm her best friend and says 'I yuv-a you, Mommy!' with no prompting at all. Last week, I was struck with the thing that I had feared most as a nursing Mommy: mastitis. While closely observing me writhe in pain while feeding the baby, she raised her eyebrows, smacked her lips, and said, 'Mommy, your boobies are niiiiiiiice...' {Creepy? A tad.}

Rockin her pink gown and 

mommy's caged heels.

She refers to magic wands (and ANYTHING can be a magic wand) as her bippity-boppity-boo, and she wears either rain boots or sparkle shoes with every outfit. Her teachers often comment on her progressive fashion choices. She has begun sleeping in dresses instead of jammers, and she wears shoes (and I'm not talking slippers) to bed every night. She's finally mastered the art of pooping in the potty, but she must be staring me dead in the eyes in order to successfully complete the task {Creepy? Very.} Upon gazing at her addition to the toilet bowl, she sinisterly said, 'I'm-a gonna eat that poop. That yittle one? I'm-a eat that one.' {Super creepy? Yes. Super creepy and utterly hilarious? Indeed.}The girlie has her quirks; that's for sure. 

It's funny how this post evolved. I was thinking that I'd be writing about all the ups and downs with our family these days, but it turned out to solely focus on Murphy and her ups and downs. I've heard a saying that a mother is only as happy as her saddest child. In our house, I'd have to adjust that to say, This Mommy is only as sane as my most insane child! As I'm writing, I can't help but think back to this post. My how times haven't changed...

Oh, and about that pink car seat?

There are now two pink car seats. 

Having one green (it's barely visible there beside the pink one)

 and one pink was just an utter nightmare. 

{Hope Baby Wright doesn't mind green when she moves up!}

I Changed My Mind

As I prayed with Murphy tonight at bedtime, she concluded her God-bless list with, 'God bless the cockadoo (a new, favorite nonsense word of hers) and, YOU, Mama!' When Carter prayed, she asked God not to let Mommy or Daddy or Murphy or Baby Wright die. These sweet prayers followed one of my more challenging evenings as a parent, but back to the beginning...
I had high hopes for this Monday when it began with all three girls sleeping until after 8:00 AM. Then Carter and Murphy made it through breakfast with nary a harsh word, Carter went on to have a great morning at school, and Murphy had her most sweet side on full display. They spent the gorgeous afternoon outside and set up a much anticipated lemonade stand with friends. They played well together right up until dinner. In the midst of it all, Baby Wright had an equally good day taking great naps and being content to watch all the goings-on around her.
As dinnertime was coming to an end, things started taking a turn straight towards crazy town. Baby Wright was done with Bumbo-sitting and self-entertaining and ready for some focused attention. The big girls began mildly bickering and generally bouncing off the walls. As the day began slowly coming undone, I must admit that I did, too. We wrapped up dinner (Carter finishing hers and earning a brownie bite; Murphy eating pineapple, one bite of chicken, and two bites of a quesadilla), and headed  towards the bathtub. I gave Baby Wright a quick bath and then went to feed her while the big girls played together in the tub.
Splashing, screaming, and squealing were the sounds I heard coming from the bathroom as I nursed the baby and tried to help her relax for bedtime. At one point, the sounds became so loud and indiscernible that I headed into the bathroom, baby attached, to discover the girls were spitting large amounts of water out of their mouths at each other. I gave a stern warning and a few idle threats. As I was trying to wrap up nursing, I could hear that the energy level had amped back up. I then began verbally policing the girls through the wall. I was getting angry. And anxious. And irritated. And more angry. As I sat there, feeding the baby and listening to all the insanity, I made a decision: when I got the girls out of the tub, I was going to give each of then a spanking for their naughty behavior.
(Now, I have to deviate here for a second. I am not a spanker. Sure, I've swatted a fanny a few times, but spanking is not my go-to method of discipline. It may be for you, and that is fine. I don't judge your style of parenting, so please don't judge mine.  I aim to be deliberate in my parenting and intentional in making every consequence teach something. I cannot seem to reconcile what exactly I am teaching my children by hitting them when they don't do what I want them to do.)
Once I'd made this decision, I called my husband. I knew that I was angry and needed a second opinion from my Partner in Parenting as to whether or not a spanking was a rational and fair consequence for their behavior. He didn't answer. I kept nursing the baby, listening to the sounds from the bathroom, and becoming more and more irritated. I began to get an actual plan for how the spankings would take place, and I called my husband again. He still didn't answer. I tucked the baby into bed and headed into the bathroom, fully prepared to go through with my plan.
I was short and curt and demanding as I instructed the girls to get their hair washed and climb out of the tub: so much so that Carter reminded me that I was not saying 'please.' I wrapped them up in towels and combed out their hair. I lined my little lovelies up on the bathroom floor, sat down on their level, and I changed my mind.

They're good girls.

They stick together.

They love each other.

They make each other laugh.

Here's the thing: they were naughty, very naughty. 

(But doesn't leaving two already hyper children unattended in the bathtub 

just set up the perfect situation for silliness to get out of control?) 

Is there ever a time that spanking them may be appropriate and even necessary? 

Perhaps. But this was not that time. 

Were there consequences for the naughtiness? 

Yes. Early bedtime, no books, and no snuggles.

I don't have all the answers. Tonight, I trusted my intuition and chose not to respond out of anger or frustration. Like all Mommies, I'm learning as I go and am finding that I need as much grace as they do.

I'm glad I changed my mind. 

{God bless the cockadoo}

The Sweetest Things, Q1

As I sat down to begin writing, I took a minute browse over my past few posts. It was only then that I realized how absent I've been from blogging. One lonely entry exists in February and the same for March. No wonder I've been feeling the writing itch lately. Fortunately, the lack of writing has been due, at least in part, to my time being completely filled with life's greatest joys.
The Sweetest Things for the first quarter of 2013...

1. Breaking Bad... am I embarrassed that the number one item on my list on non-material things is a TV show focused on the production of methamphetamine? No, no I am not. OH. MY. GOSH. this show may be the best thing to have happened to Lindsay and me as a couple (childbirth excluded) in the past few years. If you're a blog follower or a real life friend, you know that he and I tend to do some of our best bonding over TV shows. It started a thousand years ago with The OC and My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé and continued with The Office and Mad Men. I watched the first few episodes of Breaking Bad on my IPhone when Lindsay was traveling and immediately knew that he would be hooked. We plowed through the first four seasons on the weekends in February and March after all the girls were in bed. Hypotheses and opinions about Walt, Jesse, Skylar, Gus, and Hank began to permeate our conversations and Google searches. We have just begun the fifth and final season and will be sad to see our new obsession come to an end. (And are already thinking ahead to our next fix... Homeland, perhaps?)
   
2. Puppy Love...Addie, a rescued Beagle, stole my heart when Lindsay and I chose her from a shelter in Grand Prairie, Texas in 2004. When he and I married, she joined Sutton, Lindsay's schnoodle, to become our first 'kids.' Once we had actual kids, however, my time (and patience) for the doggies greatly dissipated. The doggies were more often found resting their crate or playing in the fenced in backyard than receiving any real attention from their mom and dad. Then, last spring, after having a growth removed from her mouth, we learned that Addie had cancer, and the vet suggested that she'd only live for about three more months. We decided that since we were expecting yet another actual child and planning a big move, our family would not provide the best pet home. So, Lindsay found a great new family for Sutton in Colorado where he's getting all the love and attention that hyper little buddy can handle. Addie went to live with my parents for what we thought would be a brief stint of 'hospice' care. Something about country life really agreed with her, though, and she not only survived but thrived while exploring the open spaces. Over the early months of this year, Addie spent several long weekends with us. We loved having her around, and Carter even taught her a few new tricks. She finally did lose her battle with cancer just a week ago, but we're so grateful for the quality time we got to spend with her and the perfect, loving home she had for her final months.
   
3. Visitors...when we lived in Denver, I loved the frequency of our houseguests, and I hoped that when we moved to Charlotte we'd still find our guest room occupied. Over New Year's, one of our favorite families from Denver stopped for an overnight as they became the road trip back to Colorado from Virginia. The house was full {seven kids in total!} and so were our hearts. The fellas caught a Tarantino matinee; we gals did plenty of gabbing; and the kids, of course, picked right up where they'd left off.
   
   Then over MLK weekend, while the hubby was slumming it in a luxury Mexican resort, one of my best-besties left Pittsburgh with her own tiny gal in-tow for a girls' only weekend. We laughed and ate and wined and chatted for three days straight, and I can't begin to say how excited I am that in just a few months they (along with her three fellas) will be an afternoon's drive away. 
   
   K and Wrighty Pie.
   
   Second cousins now. BFF's for life.
   The next long holiday weekend brought yet another visitor in the form of Ms. Wendy. When her hubby had suggested presenting her with a visit as her Christmas gift, I was both honored and super excited. She left her boys behind in Denver and just settled right in to our house of ladies. Wendy has a calmness, a serene nature that is hard to explain, but her presence was refreshing and soothing. Whether in the midst of kid-wrangling or over a ladies' lunch at Dean and Decluca, I loved every moment with her. 
4. The Murph...if you catch Lindsay and me together and inquire about Murphy you are likely to hear, 'She's terrible' (from me) and 'She's hilarious' (from him.) Who's right? Both of us. Murphy continues to challenge and frustrate and baffle me on an hourly basis, but she also ignites genuine hilarity almost as frequently. She pronounces her 'Ls' like 'Ys' and when I was trying to wipe her nose during a recent cold, she sharply suggested that I needed to 'Yeave-a my boogers a-yone!' When I asked her to please keep her thumb-sucking for bedtime, she whipped that thumb out of her mouth, and squealed, 'But it tastes so goooood! It tastes yike sugar!' and then popped it right back in. She's becoming less and less shy, and when a new face asked her for her name, rather than replying 'Jelly Samich' as she would have a few months ago, she proudly stated, 'Murphy Gace Wew-e-win!' She moved to a big girl bed in January, and I had been planning to hold potty training boot camp over spring break. Then, a couple weeks before, she asked to wear panties, and potty trained herself. Literally. I've done nothing. That's Murph... she'll do what she wants when she wants on her own little Murphy time. And, the whole house (especially poor Carter) is well aware of the wrath of the Murph should we try to impose our own will upon her's. 
   
5. The Tiny One...over the first quarter of this year, Baby Wright has gone from being a wobbly little newborn to an almost sitting up baby. She's the best. Really. She's a champ as both a sleeper and eater and is completely content to hang out in her Bumbo while her big sisters are running circles around her. Her disposition is completely pleasant and cheerful most all the time. I love taking her along on errands where strangers are pretty smitten with her, too. She grins from ear to ear at everyone who speaks to her yet has some innate ability to make every person feel like that smile is just for them. Folks often comment on her small size and her likeness to a real-life doll. After having baby with reflux and another with colic, Baby Wright is a mommy's dream come true. 
   
6. My Bestie...Carter Lilly. She's a four and three-quarter year old who's as eager to please as Murphy Girl is to rebel. I recently asked her to go throw some dirty clothes in the laundry room, and she took it upon herself to LOAD THE WASHING MACHINE with all of the kids' clothes just to 'help Mommy.' She loves to 'babysit' Baby Wright and cheers Murphy on in her potty endeavor with every drop of tinkle that hits the potty. I've tried to be conscientious in carving out one on one time with her and love our little conversations. She poses interesting questions, 'If God can do anything, can't He fix my bike?' and keeps me on my toes. She's a little Mommy for sure, and I often have to remind her to just worry about herself and let me be the Mommy. She is happiest when she is outdoors... whether wading in a creek or climbing a tree or digging in the dirt {wearing a twirly skirt, of course} and was the first to notice the budding of the trees as being an early sign of spring. I really miss her when she's not around even for a short period of time. I am loving how our mother-daughter relationship is already evolving into a friendship, too. 
   
7. An Wedding of Epic Proportions...when Lindsay and I got married in 2006, he was the first of the Wachovia crew to tie the knot. Since that day, we've attended the weddings of most of our groomsmen and have loved being a part of each of their celebrations. Over Easter weekend, we traveled to Dallas (minus the big girls, but Baby Wright tagged along) to witness the union of Pratik and Amy. To simply call this event a wedding just doesn't seem right. The bride, groom, and their families created a weekend full of fun in an atmosphere of excitement and bliss. The decor, the food, the drinks, the band... every detail was top-notch. Lindsay and I also noticed how the culture of the Indian wedding felt so much more like a true union between two families than traditional American weddings. We loved dressing up in our fanciest garb and catching up with folks who we rarely get to see all while celebrating the special couple.
   
   The Sangeet was a treat for the visual senses.
   
   There was dancing in the streets. 
   Literally.
   
   The Newlyweds.
   
   A quick selfie during the ceremony.
   
   Me at my most fancy.
   Black-tie for the reception.

So, I guess while I haven't been doing much blogging lately, I have been living a whole lot of sweet, sweet life. These entries always serve as a reminder to count our blessings.
They are abundant for sure.

By the Numbers

Friday night, 6:30 PM. While I have no doubt that folks all around the city were engaging in all sorts of fun activites (or, more likely, getting dressed and pre-gaming before such activities), I was enjoying the peace and quiet of the house thanks to Daddy taking the big girls on a Daddy-Daughter-Double-Date. (Actually, that's probably not the right term given that there's only one of him... A Polygamist-Daddy-Daughter-Date? No, that can't be right... But I digress.) I was using my time alone in the house to chat with Baby Wright (it's funny that I now feel alone when only with one child) and fold a heaping stack of the girls' laundry.

My happy helper.

At the risk of being outed as a giant nerd, I'll admit a little known tidbit of personal information: I really enjoy math. I picked up an algebra book for fun (really) a year or two ago, and it's not unusual that I fill my mind with numerical thought patterns.
So while working my way through the basket, I began doing a bit of mental math:

7 days a week x 1 outfit a day 

+ 1 pair of jammer a day [- Carter who doesn't wear jammers]

[+ Baby Wright's clothes' changes thanks to bodily fluids] [+ Carter's fashion conscious changes]

x 3 children 

=

A HECK OF A LOT OF LAUNDRY

This mathematical thought train then continued down a path of numerating my work-week as a whole. What I came up with looks something like this...

27} number of times I nursed Baby Wright.

5} number of lunches I packed. 

34} age Lindsay turned on Wednesday.

35} age I will be four months from today.

24} age we both were when we met.

6} number of times I heard an unsolicited 'I love you, Mommy.'

50} number of diapers I changed (Murphy seriously needs to get on the potty bandwagon!)

3} number of those diapers that leaked poop onto my lap.

5} number of days this week the girls argued about whose turn it was to choose a show.

5} number of days they argued about who would sit in the pink seat.

5} number of days they argued about who would should pray before eating.

5} number of days they argued about (I'm guessing I've made my point.)

10.15} number of pounds Baby Wright weighed at her four month check-up.

12.13} number of pounds Murphy weighed at the same age.

13.7} number of pounds Carter weighed. (Shocked to discover this about my tiny one!)

3} number of Cokes I've had today since I vowed to give them up.

1.5} number of hours I was successful at keeping the vow.

5} number of days I thought about exercising.

0} number of days I actually did it. (There's always next week.)

As for that heaping stack of laundry, it turned out to be

65 individual articles of clothing + 2 baby hats + 6 pairs of socks + 8 leftover socks

{But, who's counting?}

No Regrets

For the most part, people are pretty free with advice giving. All you really have to do is bring up a conundrum on virtually any subject to most any person, and advice on said dilemma will be shared. Some advice is welcome and requested; some is welcome though not requested; and some (a lot when it comes to certain topics or certain advice-givers) is neither welcome nor requested.

Just as the advice varies, so does what we choose to do with the advice. Will it just go in one ear and out the other? {Like when someone told me that holding my sleeping newborn would spoil her and create a bad sleeper.} Will we give it a half hearted try? {Like the advice I was given to do a load of laundry every night.} Will we both try it and share it with others? {Can't tell enough people about the healing power of breast milk on pink eye!} 

Over ten years ago, I was given a piece of advice that I not only used (and shared), but I have thought of many times since and extended its use far beyond the subject matter for which it was given. The scenario was simple and so was the advice: I was debating whether or not to go the gym one afternoon, and my friend said, 'You never regret working out.' She was right. I hadn't ever left the gym and thought, 'Man, I wish I hadn't done that.' But many, many, many times I'd gotten to the end of a day and wished I had made my way to the gym. That advice lead me to drag my lazy booty into the gym many times when motivation wasn't coming easy.

Many years later, that simple piece of advice has reached far beyond my friend's intentions. I think of the words, 'You'll never regret' quite often, but I complete the phrase and am prompted to action in a variety of ways.

You'll I'll never regret... 

• Blogging.
• Snuggling.
• Slowing down.
• Drinking water.
• Going to church.
• Biting my tongue.
• Practicing patience.
• Holding on to a hug.
• Making a new friend.
• Teaching. Guiding. Learning.
• Reading an extra bedtime story.
• Listening. Helping. Encouraging.
• Taking my shower before the girls get up.
• Putting on lip gloss. Curling my eyelashes.
• Packing lunches at night. Laying out clothes.
• Praying. Talking to God and listening for His voice. 
• Saying 'I made a mistake' or 'I'm sorry' or 'I'm proud of you' or 'I love you.' 

And, yes, working out. 

It's funny. 

Many of the items listed above were realized because of times when I did not do them. 

{I've often wished I'd held that hug a little longer.}

The advice was simple; its implication, great.